Woman against the sea.

• Author: Fontenoy, Maud
• Position: ATHLETIC ARENA - Column

THE MONTH OF SEPTEMBER had gone by. Now it was October and still no landfall. The easterly winds that blew against me relentlessly were torture. I knew the European coast lay only a few days away, yet it was eluding me because of the headwinds.

If I needed proof that fate was mocking me and that I was near land, a tiny sparrow, completely exhausted, alighted on Pilot. The scene was surrealistic: I was alone on the ocean, prey to strong winds from land, which made me lose a bit more mileage every day, dooming me to endless rowing. I was dreading the onset of another storm, becoming more and more likely as the year dragged on--and then one day, while already a bit giddy with the pleasure of speaking on the phone with my friend Thomas, in flew this small chocolate-colored bird. Trembling, it nestled in the fleece jacket I had converted into a pillow. How strange that such a winged creature had lost its way, landing on a boat many miles out at sea. It must have been carried offshore by those same easterlies from Europe that were giving me so much trouble. I hastily said good-bye to Thomas and, motionless, began watching the bird. Tired, it paid no attention to me at all, simply taking a bit of a rest. A few minutes went by and then it got ready to depart I bent down to help it find its way out of the hatch and then off it went.

The whole incident left me puzzled: What had prompted this sparrow to take off again when it had finally found shelter? I went on pondering this question for some time. Finally, I told myself that it could not have done otherwise. Something stronger than its weariness had compelled it to alight on my boat. It was something stronger than the hundred or so miles that separated it from land. It was its natural instinct as a bird--and what about me? Exactly what made me tick? What made me go on rowing?

That same week, I had another unexpected visit: three yellow and gold butterflies carried to sea by the same easterly wind that flew over my boat. These tiny spots of color against the gray-blue sea were magical. I was fascinated by their natural splendor on an otherwise troubling morning. Three days earlier the news had been confirmed: An extremely severe storm was headed into my area. They were forecasting waves 24 to 30 feet high and gusts of 50 to 60 knots. I felt an oppressive weight on my chest.

"How long is it going to last?" I asked my weatherman on the cell phone rather insistently.

"It should take about 12 hours for...