On my honeymoon.
My husband's family has a yacht. Nothing fancy, it's basically a floating caravan. Still, he loves it and is an able sailor, and I'm a water baby so was more than happy to spend our honeymoon pootling around the Med. Lovely.
About three days before the end of the trip, mid afternoon, a storm blew in. We had been expecting it, as you keep an eye on these things when your accommodation is on the sea, and it was predicted to be fairly average in intensity, so we decided we'd find a sheltered bay to anchor in and wait it out. We found a great little place on the map that was protected on three sides and supposedly had a sandy bottom. Great, we thought, let's ride it out there, I'll make us a late lunch while we watch the waves. On the way to the bay, we spotted a couple of waterspouts far off in the distance. Cool, we thought, never seen one of those before, and continued on our merry way. We dropped anchor in the bay, a little way away from a German boat that had done the same thing, let out a large amount of chain for good measure, battened down a couple of hatches and started cooking.
The storm comes in, and it starts to get a bit fiercer than we anticipated, so I turn the stove off and sit down to watch the GPS as we swing around into the wind, which is blowing in from the one unprotected side of the bay. However, the app starts to show us zigzagging out and we realise the anchor is dragging - turns out the bottom isn't so sandy after all. Not good. There is no chance in hell I can winch that thing up safely and get it back down in this weather, which has by now turned from violent to downright terrifying, and the thunder is now right overhead. And, worse, it's a rocky bay and we are suddenly being blown backwards right into a large jagged rock.
My husband shouts at me over the deafening wind to get a lifejacket on and heads out onto deck. I beg him not to but he points out that if we wreck, we'll probably both drown. I'm sobbing hysterically by this point and, as someone who has spent all of four weeks in total on a boat in my life, am completely useless as he goes out into the driving rain and guns the engine in an attempt to stop us getting smashed to pieces. The lightning is striking the rocks all around us; I've never heard anything like it and I'm convinced I'm about to watch my husband get killed in front of me. The motor isn't quite up to the job and the boat is slowly, inexorably edging closer to that rock. At one point I look out and see it only a couple of metres behind the stern and start screaming uncontrollably. The wind is gusting about 70 knots by now. My husband is just grimly clinging onto the wheel and revving the engine for all it's worth, soaked to the bone. I've been trying to radio or call emergency services on my mobile, but I can't get the radio working, I don't speak a lot of French and am too terrified to string two words together, so when I finally get through to someone I scream MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MARINE, COASTGUARD over and over until I get patched through to someone else. I can't hear anything they're saying and just keep shouting our coordinates with the hope that they can understand me.
Somehow, my husband, who is a fucking hero, manages to keep the boat off the rocks, and after what feels like an eternity but is probably about 15-20 minutes, the thunderclouds move inland. I adjust the anchor and get him into some dry clothes to warm up.
The wind and rain subside enough for us to get out and inspect the ship. We check on the German boat, and although they're unhurt, their engine is gone, they can't move anywhere; at distance, we can't hear them well enough to be sure but we think they're saying they've been struck. The sea is too rough for either party to get into a dinghy so we can't get them to safety on our boat, which is somewhat miraculously unharmed. We stick around to keep an eye on them and the coastguard shows up; we direct them to the other boat. Another storm is due to roll in in a couple of hours so we're taking no chances this time; we bid adieu to the Germans, who are now safely on the coastguard's rib, and head to the closest marina. Fortunately, they have space, so we moor up and get onto dry land. We are still shaking and find a local restaurant to sit in; the friendly waitress is a bit nonplussed by our thousand-yard stares. I have never truly understood what it means to need a stiff drink until that point.
It's been over a year and I still shake when I hear lightning. That storm, incidentally, made international news.