At the top of the forecastle ladder you grip the rails and look down at the waist of the ship. The bridge deck, unable to drain quickly enough, is awash with waves. Bronze-barreled guns snap and strain in their lashings with each pounding wave.

As you make your way down the ladder in the heaving ship, the deck seems to rise up to meet you in a rush, then to fall away. The wind now howls at more than 80 miles (129 kilometers) an hour.