Deep seemed the valleys when we lay between the reeling seas.
High were the hills when we perched momentarily on the tops of giant combers.

Nearly always there were gales.

So small was our boat and so great were the seas that often our sail flapped idly in the calm between the crests of two waves.

Then we would climb the next slope and catch the full fury of the gale where the wool-like whiteness of the breaking water surged around us.

We had our moments of laughter--rare, it is true, but hearty enough.