‘I was a captive in this water prison with over 1,000 miles left to sail’: how an ocean odyssey with my old flame turned into a nightmare

London, United Kingdom Jul 11, 2026 ALN: I sat on the stern bench, the sun shining down on me. The bright orange wheel spun gently on autopilot, keeping us on course to the Marquesas Islands. We were a week out of Panama, and it had been a smooth passage so far, with everyone settling into their rhythm and responsibilities as we worked as a team to sail the 4,000 nautical miles. Then, the email from the Pacific Crossing network we were part of arrived.

Coronavirus had become a worldwide pandemic – borders were closing fast. There was nowhere to land. I was on a 47ft (14-metre) sailboat with my on-again, off-again boyfriend (the Captain), three strangers and a dog – the safest place on Earth, and the most stuck I had ever been in my life.

What did this mean for us? How were we even going to get home? I was hearing stories from actor friends back in Los Angeles that restaurants were closed, auditions had stopped and the only place people were allowed to go was the grocery store.

At least I had the Captain. But it was a curious situation I now found myself in, stuck in the middle of the ocean with the boyfriend I had only recently reunited with. When I first arrived in Panama to join the sailing passage, he was barely paying attention to me. We had a painfully awkward conversation where I made it clear that I wasn’t going on a six-week passage with someone who didn’t seem to care if I was there or not. He immediately adjusted his behaviour, but we had no idea what we were about to encounter out there in the middle of the ocean. And I didn’t understand what I was already starting to sense between us.

I had first met the Captain five years before. He lived across the street from me in Austin, Texas and would sit on his front stoop smoking Marlboro Silvers. One day, I walked over and introduced myself, and we became inseparable from that moment on. He was soon headed out to California for business and knew I wanted to move there one day to fully pursue my acting career. He invited me on an epic road trip. We got in his Tesla the next day, sightseeing our way across the vast American west. He was much older than me, bald and wrinkled, and had knowledge and experience that I admired. By the time we returned home, I realised I had fallen for him.

My attraction to the Captain caught me off guard. He had lived an adventurous life, in multiple countries, running companies and having a family, though he was now divorced. He was so capable, and anything seemed possible with him. I was full of dreams, but had no real idea about how to manifest them, or any experience in life to give me the confidence to make a big leap. One by one, the Captain addressed my every concern as he helped me find a way around the obstacles I perceived standing in my way.

But there were some red flags, our age and values among them, and I didn’t think we were right for each other long-term. Besides, I didn’t want any distraction before I moved to LA, so I ended things. He didn’t make it easy when he started bombarding me with constant texts about how much I had hurt him, how we were meant to be together, how mean it was that I didn’t think he was good enough for me. I tried my best to reassure and reason with him, and he would say anything to get me to engage. I soon moved to LA with everything that could fit into my Honda Civic, and threw myself into pursuing my acting dreams. I missed the Captain dearly, but I was trying to remain strong and focused, even when he moved to California for work soon after I had.

But everything was about to change, and that strength and focus I was grasping for would soon elude me. Two months after moving to LA, a producer took me to dinner, under the pretence of making a job offer. He ended up drugging, raping and strangling me. The next morning, I woke up naked, in shock. I woke him and demanded he let me go. He unlocked the deadbolt and I escaped into the sunrise. I spent six gruelling hours at the police station being interrogated, photographed, drug-tested, and calling my rapist on a recorded line to try to get an admission of guilt.

I felt so alone after the brutal trauma; I couldn’t stay strong any more. I called the Captain and let him know I wanted to see him. He held me in his arms while I wept and told him everything. As I began the difficult road to healing, the Captain kept watch with me – he comforted me when I was sad, and listened when I poured out my broken heart. He knew when to say something and when to be silent and sit with me in the pain. But I still didn’t think he was the one for me; those red flags were still there. So when he sold his company, bought his sailboat and left to sail the Caribbean, we drifted apart.

With him out of the country, my main priority became healing. I was in therapy and doing yoga classes that focused on releasing sexual trauma. Then one day, I got a text from the Captain: “I’ll be in LA over Christmas. Do you want to see me?” I realised I did and quickly replied yes. Before I knew it, we were on a 10-day, four-state whirlwind of a trip, and he was immediately back in my heart. Right on cue, the world seemed so large and full of possibility again. I longed for adventure, and being with the Captain always provided that. At the end of that trip, he dropped me off at the airport and invited me to come with him on a sailing adventure on his boat, Alkemi, a quarter of the way around the world. I was worried about what auditions I might miss while away, but I told him I would consider it.

After much deliberation, I said yes. The Captain was thrilled, and offered to buy me a film-making camera that I could use to shoot a documentary about the passage. On 3 March 2020, I stepped on to the boat with my Black Magic 6K camera. People asked what my documentary was about, and I had no idea. But I got out the camera and just started shooting and doing interviews. When we received that email about coronavirus breaking out across the world, I finally had my story. We weren’t confined to our homes – we were confined to a boat. But we had chosen this, unlike others back home who found themselves in an unexpected quarantine.

We started getting updates about the rules and regulations for landing in the Marquesas. We were told our passage time would count as quarantine, and we could go on land upon arrival. Then the advice changed – we could go on land, but only after we observed a 14-day quarantine on our boat. Then we were told we wouldn’t be allowed on land at all; so, no visiting all the places I had circled in the Cruiser’s Guide to the Marquesas. The rules changed every day. But one of our crew was relaxed, saying: “In this moment, we have no problems.”

It was true: we had sunshine, wind, plenty of food and water, and our health. Panama had closed its borders to new arrivals, so going back was not possible. We had no option but to continue west across the Pacific. We spread out navigational charts in the salon, looking for any islands that might still be accepting foreign arrivals. We even considered going to an uninhabited island to wait it out there for a few weeks, hoping the craziness would pass. In the end, the Captain decided to land in the Marquesas in the hope of at least getting groceries and fuel.

When we anchored in Nuka Hiva Bay after 26 days at sea, a ghost town greeted us. Even though there were other boats anchored in the bay, barely anyone was topside. No dinghies were motoring about, and no one was allowed to swim off their boat. Everyone was being heavily monitored by the gendarmerie, who strictly enforced the rules. We were able to look at land and even smell it, but forced to stay aboard. On arrival, they had let us know that we could refuel and reprovision, but then we would have to leave or risk heavy fines or our boat being impounded.

It was starting to look like Hawaii was the best option for the Captain and me as US citizens. But our European crew wanted to go to Tahiti. We put out a call to the other boats anchored in the bay to see if anyone was headed that way and had room for the three of them. A boat answered right away that they did, but said they were leaving in 45 minutes. A mad scramble followed as the crew packed their things and all the food left on our boat, then sailed to Tahiti. We reprovisioned and headed out – just the Captain, the sea dog and me.

Everything had changed. Now we would have to keep a constant watch with just the two of us. He would sleep and I would watch for four or five hours; then I would sleep while he watched. We had to scan the horizon every 10 minutes, looking for other boats or shipping containers. With the crew gone, I was now responsible for two meals a day. The Captain took care of the maintenance, weather reports and navigation. I had to actually step up and pull my weight, rather than standing back and watching the crew handle the sailing. It was nerve-racking with just two people. I wasn’t sure I could make it to land if something happened to the Captain. He showed me everything I would need to know about the boat just in case. A sense of anxiety hung over us.

One night after dinner, he was reading an email and exclaimed, “Holy Mackerel!” I popped my head up and asked what was going on. He told me there was a fleet of 20 fishing boats ahead with steel cables spread five miles long from boat to boat. If we ran into one of those cables, it would sink us. The Captain came downstairs and started pressing buttons at the navigation station. I finished washing the dinner dishes, praying for our safety as I waited for the right time to talk to him. Finally, he got up and I asked, “What are we going to do?” His reply was casual. “We don’t have to do anything. I just altered our course a little, and we’ll be fine.” I was relieved we were safe, but mad that he had failed to communicate that to me. It was starting to seem as if he had no concern for my feelings. I was just left to work it all out on my own.

Our next challenge came when we got to five to six degrees north of the equator at what’s called the ITCZ, or Intertropical Convergence Zone, which is famous for its intense, stormy weather. The squalls raged, with lightning rods overhead, high winds and pouring rains. One lasted 18 hours. At one point, Alkemi was heeled over hard at a 45-degree angle. I looked out the galley windows, which were underwater. The Captain alerted me that our life raft, strapped to the side of the boat, was fully submerged as well. He was terrified during the worst of the storms, sweating bullets and worrying about the many things that could go wrong that would leave us fighting for our lives. I had an unexplainable peace, though it was exhausting, and we were very happy to make it into calmer seas.

But those calmer seas were not to be found in our relationship, as my trust in him started to collapse. One week into our passage, I found out he had enjoyed a passionate time with another woman aboard the boat before I arrived. I stumbled across some pictures I don’t think he intended for me to see. Pictures of them together, him smiling with pride. Pictures of her barely clothed, laid out seductively across his bed… our bed. Did the Captain think she was hotter than me? I suddenly felt completely insecure in my own body, wondering if he even thought I was beautiful or desired me.

I was thrown into a tailspin and tried to talk to him about it, but he refused. Before long we were barely speaking except when absolutely necessary for shift changes. I would let him know how many knots we were travelling as I handed over to him, in case he wanted to reef the sails. He would grunt a thank you, without making eye contact. His avoidance was killing me. I wanted to leave, but that wasn’t an option. I was a captive in this water prison, and we still had over 1,000 miles left to sail to Hawaii.

When it got to be too much to carry alone, I crawled out to the side of the boat to call my mom on the satellite phone. But the Captain, who had been below, ignoring me, suddenly appeared topside. I felt like an escaped kidnap victim, only to turn the corner and be faced with her kidnapper.

He let me know that it wasn’t safe for me to be out there without a lifejacket on. I came back into the cockpit, put one on, then crawled back out to make the call. I’m not sure what my mom could hear between the sobs and five-second delay as my words travelled to space and then to her. But I poured out my heart about my jealousy and mistrust. She encouraged me to forgive him, give him grace, and sort it all out later when we had safely landed. I had already tried to talk to him, but I had been confrontational. I decided to soften my approach.

I went below and asked him if we could talk. I shared how insecure his rendezvous made me feel, that maybe he wanted to be with someone like the woman in the photographs, rather than me. He pulled me closer in his arms and reassured me that he didn’t want to be with her; that he had been happy to see her go when she left the boat. He told me that he wanted to be with me: “Angela, stay with me, and one day you’ll be able to trust me like I trust you.” I wasn’t sure that was true. But it was all I had to hold on to. At least he was talking to me again. We went above, and he made gin and tonics. I was learning that on a small boat with one other person, forgiveness is necessary for survival.

A few days later, we reached the halfway point to Hawaii. We decided to celebrate the milestone: high tea on the high seas. We dressed up in the fanciest clothes we had aboard. I made chilled mint tea, cucumber sandwiches, and found some cookies in the cabinet. It was a welcome distraction from the stress of the ocean.

The night watches on that Hawaiian passage were my favourite moments. While the Captain slept below, I was completely alone with the stars in the sky – I had never seen so many. Towards the end, I had to sleep on my watch, setting an alarm for every 10 minutes to look out. There was no other way I could do it, I was so exhausted. But we were almost there. I was getting more capable, resilient and strong with each sea mile.