While So Long bobbed at anchor on Long Island Sound, a cell of hot air down in the Caribbean was fixing to make a name for itself as Hurricane Cleo, a storm with 160 mph winds and no intention of making landfall.

Cleo, So Long and I met 50 years ago, and only one of us survived. With the third anniversary of Hurricane Katrina upon us, and many cities evacuating to avoid Hurricane Gustav, it seemed a good time to tell the story.

HAL WEIDNERThe vessel So Long, before she was sent to the depths by hurricane Cleo's waves and wind.

So Long had seen 20 years of hard service as a Norwegian pilot cutter before she came to the States. In July of 1958, she was anchored near Northport Yacht Club on Long Island Sound. Her owner, a Norwegian named Ruddy, had been trying without luck to sell her. I had worked at the yacht club for several years to stay near the water. Raised in the Midwest, salt water was a case of love at first sight for me and I jumped at the chance to sail her back to Norway.

So Long was unique among the other yachts, a bulldog among greyhounds. She was 32 feet long and beamy. She carried huge baggy wrinkles on 5/8–inch stays and shackles that had come from a destroyer. They had little trouble supporting tree trunk masts. The massive rudder looked like it had come from a river barge. So Long was a heavyweight.

But so was Cleo.

TROUBLE FROM THE START

Soon after we launched, So Long lost her auxiliary engine hurtling down the East River as she swept by the United Nations building. We tied up at the Brooklyn Naval Yard and had her single sideband radio checked. A radioman from a nearby destroyer pronounced the gear beyond repair. We did have a radio for getting the time signals from Greenwich so we could shoot our latitude.

We knew that no rescue would come even if we could get off a Mayday, so we said a prayer, threw the Statue of Liberty a kiss and headed west for Falmouth. Two days out of New York we passed the Queen Mary headed into Manhattan. Playfully, I slowly lowered our flag and raised it again. I then saw a crewman run out on the stern of the Queen. He went to the jack staff and dipped the Union Jack, to return our salute. I was so thrilled I yelled like a madman and danced around on deck. Someone in their wheelhouse must have been watching with binoculars because to this the Queen gave a sprightly whistle.

CHARLES HATCHERThe author pictured in 1983 while working on a hydrographic vessel named Cisco in the Great Lakes.

By Aug. 15, we were reaching the midpoint of our course in the fan of the Gulf Stream, 45N 44W. The warm water glowed, making our wake light up like skeins of neon tubes. We rigged out twin headsails and brought their sheets aft to quarter blocks, then attached them to the tiller, which gave us some self–steering and relief from standing at the wheel. We also sent up our square sail to the head of the mainmast. Without using our fore and aft sails we made our top speed of 6 knots.

One day while sitting in the cockpit, looking astern, I saw a huge fish leap almost straight out of the water and smack back in with loud splash. It looked like a shark, but I'm wasn't sure. Then, I noticed that something was wrong with the taffrail log, which we used to record milage. I pulled it aboard and saw that one of its three blades had been almost sheered off. Thinking about how a fish could tear–up a 3/8–inch thick blade of solid brass made my teeth hurt.

Before long, the storm was punching up the middle of the Atlantic, sending ships on both sides scurrying back toward shore to let her pass. So Long, however, was dead–centered in Cleo's path – 1,500 miles out of New York and 1,500 miles from England, playing chicken with a Category 5 hurricane.

MEET HURRICANE CLEO

Disturbing signs surfaced. We experienced large ground swells, saw the moon wearing a green ring and felt the winds increase to 55 mph. It was exhilarating and we made all of 6.5 knots per hour. We took some confidence from So Long's hefty build with oak beams of 6–by–8 inches that were meant to defeat the ice. We liked to think of her as our floating tank.

What we should have done was to go below and ride her out under bare poles. We were needlessly wasting energy and later we'd pay for it.

In the middle of the ocean, I suppose, all sailors love their ships. In the gales we took time to try how So Long lay to the wind. She appeared to ride comfortably with her bow up and her tiller down. She would not lay closer than 55 degrees to the wind. She did, however, like her storm trysail; we agreed that this was to be our fallback if we got a real blow. Besides, Joshua Slocum, who circumnavigated the globe solo in the late 1890s, had recommended it.