By the time evening settled in they were fighting  gale force winds of 40 knots and 8-10 foot waves. For five gruelling hours Millar managed one of the two helms on the boat. His choice was topside;  the flying bridge overhead.

Over and over the Sea Cat leapt into the air then come crashing down with a horrific splash in the swelling, torrential surf.  What wasn't nailed, tied or screwed down was in constant motion. Including the five passengers below. Swaying, crashing dipping, when she tipped too far to one side, the catamarans would right her

Although Millar and Donovan had great faith in their catamaran style houseboat; they too were nervous. They knew by the way she was built that she'd float like a cork but with all this pounding would the Sea Cat break up?  After all, she wasn't intended as an ocean vessel.

But she kept chugging along,  finally making it into the safe, calm waters of  Cape Balantyne's Harbour.  Exhaused they slept. For the next few days they cruised across St. George's Bay, through the Strait of Canso then onto Little Dover which faces the Atlantic.  Shortly after leaving port a thick wall of fog moved in forcing them into a sheltered cove for the night.

The next day, disaster struck.   Going It Alone