The storm rages all Monday night and most of the day Tuesday. Finally late Tuesday afternoon the wind begins to moderate, and by early evening the rain stops and there are a few ragged breaks in the sky to the north. Amanda climbs up on deck to fill her lungs with fresh air and stretch her legs. She looks longingly at the beach. Then she asks if she might retrieve the rubber boat from where it has been stowed below decks, inflate it, and launch it for a short trip ashore.

I feel like an ogre as I veto her request. The wind is still gusting into the thirties, I remind her, and there's no guarantee that it may not come around and begin blowing again from some other direction. Brendan isn't out of danger yet - she could still become trapped here on a lee shore. It's not time to have the rubber boat on deck where it might get in the way if we have to do some quick readjusting of the anchors.

Late Tuesday evening the wind moderates again. I ask for hands to help shorten the anchor lines, then I set a schedule for an all-night anchor watch. I'm concerned now that when the wind does finally drop, a leftover swell might turn the boat around and carry her onto the rocks. "We'll each take an hour at the radar during the dark hours," I say, "so we can keep an eye on our position. I'll take the first hour, from eleven to midnight. Amanda will take the last."

After thirty hours of incessant noise, the silence when the wind stops is oddly unsettling. Once my hour on watch is done, I climb into my bunk, pull my sleeping bag up around my ears, and stare at the overhead. I don't fall asleep for a long time-I have the feeling that I don't fall asleep at all. But eventually I must, for suddenly I'm aware of someone standing next to me, shaking me by the shoulders.

"Skipper, wake up . . . wake up." Amanda's voice. "Skipper, there's something out there-something you need to see."

I sit up too fast and knock my head on the lamp above the bunk. My mind begins to race, filled with images of Brendan grounded on a ledge or pinned against a rocky shore. "Huh? What is it? What is . . ."

"Don't worry, there's nothing the matter with the boat. I just think you need to come up on deck and see what I've been looking at."

I pull on my Mustang coverall and a pair of boots and follow Amanda through the galley area and up the companionway ladder. For the next several seconds I am utterly blinded by the darkness that surrounds the boat.

"What's going on?" I ask again. "What is . . ."

Amanda leans over and covers my mouth with her hand.

"Shhhhh . . ." she warns in a whisper. "Don't make a sound. You may frighten them away."

She points into the darkness to the left. I stare, blink, rub my eyes. Then slowly, as my pupils adjust to the faint glow of the dawn just breaking, I'm finally able to distinguish a cluster of white forms – moving - about twenty meters from Brendan's cockpit.

"Polar bears," Amanda whispers. "A mother and two cubs. She's been stalking back and forth on that flat section of rock for about five minutes now - trying to figure out who we are."

We watch in silence as the dawn rises. The adult bear continues to stalk, lifting on her haunches from time to time to sniff the air and stare out at the sailboat. She knows we are here - she has our scent, and now she can see us. When Brendan swings sideways in the swell, our stern is carried toward the shore until we are only about a boat length from where she stands. She looks straight at us, utterly unafraid, while her cubs wrestle and tumble at her feet.

Eventually she seems to tire of our company, and she turns and begins to forage among the boulders. The cubs follow, circling close, as if they are connected to her on invisible tethers. She appears to move slowly, yet she covers the ground with surprising speed. One minute she is standing on the ledge a few feet away from Brendan's cockpit; the next minute she has traversed several small hills and is moving across the beach at the head of the cove.

I glance at Amanda and smile to myself, suddenly happy that there was too much wind last night for her trip ashore in the rubber boat. The encounter we've just had this morning feels like a gesture of truce from this wild land after our ordeal of the past two days. But I know it could easily have been otherwise - and I'm thankful that Brendan's crew are unharmed and ready to continue on.

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