One hundred twenty-five miles off the coast of North Carolina, Brian Sager was busy stuffing survival gear and small personal effects into ditch bags in the Zulu’s cabin.
If they had to abandon ship, Sager could only take what personal belongings he could fit in the pockets of his foul weather gear. He double-bagged his passport, his camera’s memory cards, a small Swiss Army knife and his lucky baseball cap.
Suddenly a wave slammed the boat, launching all six-feet six-inches of him into a mounted armchair in the saloon, snapping it at the base. Zulu had been rag dolling like this ever since its crew watched in horror as their rudder inexplicably snapped off and floated away in their wake.
Controlling the boat by sail proved futile in the worsening sea state, and with no way to steer, the three men were now at the mercy of Mother Nature.