Cabin top bends and warps. So do you. Thirty foot swells with the top ten feet a tangle of logs and debris. You quake with fear and vow never to do this again. 55 knots You daren't look.
Dog rises from the dead and takes the helm.
Wife clicks her tongue and resumes making sandwiches. Boat shrugs and realizes it can't count on any more help from you. All sail is either lowered or shredded. Downwind is the only direction you can go. Two hundred foot waves and frequent sea monsters.