The waning gibbous moon cast a silver light on the churning sea, with the sky dusted with a million stars. It was 2 am, and our heeled boat was being tossed like a toy in the wind and waves. I stood at the helm, bone-tired, clothes soaked with saltwater, and shivers running down my spine. But as I gripped the wheel, feeling the wind howl and the waves hiss past the hull, I found peace and resolution.

This was the biennial Newport Bermuda Race, a dangerous 636-nautical mile voyage across the treacherous Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf Stream, where 160 sailboats and their crews tested their grit. This year was different. Two boats were lost, and fifteen were forced to retire. No one predicted the endless strong upwind across the ocean. I embarked on my journey as one of the youngest sailors in the race at fifteen, determined to prove that I was capable of competing in the “Thrash to the Onion Patch.”

As the days blurred into an endless loop of scorching sunshine, salt-encrusted gear, and bone-chilling fatigue, I discovered the true meaning of resilience. We fought fickle winds that left us calm for hours with our sails flapping uselessly, only to be slammed with 25 knots and towering waves that heeled the boat with the rails dipping in the water. One moment I was walking towards the bow, and in the blink of an eye, a wave banged against our hull and sent me sprawling across the deck, my ribs slamming against the rail as I clung to the jack line. We faced other challenges – the booming snap of our jib halyard (twice) and breaking of the shackle, the 100 miles inside the Gulf Stream’s unpredictable currents, and the tough grinding of winches in 25 knots.

Amidst the hardship, I discovered my own strength. With every drenched watch, salt-sprayed meal, and night spent sleeping on a wet mattress under dripping saltwater, I learned to fight the exhaustion and find a second wind. Sticking to the plan was crucial, and I learned how ambition could quickly turn into recklessness. In the Gulf Stream, we decided to chase what we thought was a favorable wind shift, venturing off the rhumbline in pursuit of extra speed. It was a gamble that backfired. We sailed more miles, and our advantage vanished. As a team, we learned to anticipate, communicate, and trust each other. We celebrated small victories together, laughed in the face of adversity, and emerged from the challenge stronger.

The ocean also offered moments of beauty. The sapphire Gulf Stream was marked by cotton candy-like small cumulonimbus clouds. Sleek silver dolphins surfed by our side as the sun set. Looking up at the night sky, countless stars blazing above the boat, the moon glimmering on the water, I was reminded about how small we were but also our connection to something greater.

I also recognized the cleanliness of the pristine water. Looking down from the deck, the surface reflected the sky perfectly. As the boat glided through the waves, I barely noticed any litter. It was just untouched blue, stretching out to the horizon. While sailing across an ocean of such clean water without any plastic, I realized we have to protect it. We are so dependent upon the health of the sea. Protecting the ocean is about protecting our future.

And then there were moments like the night under the gleaming moon when all my discomfort dissolved, not because it wasn’t there but because I was no longer separate from it. I was simply another element connected to the boat, the sea, and something much more significant than myself.

We crossed the finish line after three days and fifteen hours. The Newport Bermuda Race was not just a test of sailing skills but a journey of self-discovery. It forged resilience, ignited a passion for adventure, and reinforced deep respect for the power and beauty of the natural world. Most importantly, it showed me the possibility of peace in the heart of the struggle. And in that surrender, being connected with it all, I found a peace that resonated with me long after we were safely on shore.

About the Series:

In 2026, the Bermuda Race Foundation will celebrate not just 120 years of the Newport Bermuda Race, but also the 100th anniversary of the remarkable partnership between the Cruising Club of America and the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club. To honor this milestone of adventure, camaraderie, and seamanship, we’re inviting sailors to share their most memorable moments from past races in a special storytelling series called “This One Time in the Gulf Stream.” Whether it was a thrilling midnight spinnaker run, a tricky navigation call, a crew moment that kept spirits high, or even the lessons learned in tough conditions, we want to hear your stories — and see your photos — that capture the essence of what makes this race unforgettable. Learn more at