Bermuda Triangle, Azores High

A biting easterly wind blows against us at 27 knots. Asja shoots through high, steep waves. When the bow hits the water, it feels like we're hitting concrete. Anything that isn't tied down flies across the saloon. But that’s not enough: our coffee pot crashes out of its ocean-going hangers. A couple of books fall from their small shelf.

For days, the sea confronts us as we head east. We no longer frequent the foredeck, unless it’s necessary. And there aren't enough handholds below deck to hold on to. The North Atlantic is an experience, but fun is something different.