I saw one, while delivering a 36ft mono from Rio to Santos to race it back a week later (220 NM) in 1980, plus or less one year.

The wave was about twice the size of the 3-4 meter waves we were beating against under second reef and #3 headsail. The boat climbed nearly three quarters up the wave and the remaining wall of water and foam washed the deck.

Only one stay broke and one structural bulkhead delaminated from the deck - besides three folks that opened the hatch to see what the laughing was all about and were soaked to the bone. The boat took about one ton of water through the partially opened hatch, smashing them against the floor.

Two boats that came from the south running downwind reported a rogue wave that almost certainly was the same one: one of them lost the rudder and the other washed the crostrees unwillingly. But we only knew about it after we arrived.

It was supposed to be scary, but I was just 20 and all I did was laugh at the wet folks who stayed inside exactly because they wanted to avoid the rain/spray...

The story goes on: After the wave, we used some halyards to help hold the mast, shortened to third reef/storm jib and went on - cautiously but safely. After a couple of hours, already close to sheltered waters, I was at the helm. A small boat approached coming from the port, rolling wildly in the heavy weather. I became truly concerned about the safety of that small orange tug that followed us with their crew making strange signs and shouting. I even considered calling them on radio. But after a few minutes they headed back to port, so I just followed them. 15 minutes later, in sheltered waters, I turned on the engine and followed to the club - never too far from the orange tug boat.

When we arrived the orange boat was already there. Out of it came a very angry commodore shouting at me (assuming I was the skipper) because I asked for assistance, forcing him and his fellows to leave the comfort of the bar to take the RC boat outside and tug our boat - only to find us in perfect shape and return.

What could I say? They were really brave to go outside in such a small boat in that weather in the middle of the night , but I (and the other guys on deck) knew nothing about a distress call. Maybe from another boat?

That made things worse. They KNEW what they were talking about (in spite of coming from the bar, as I insinuated - only to make things worse AGAIN). After some minutes of anger, indignation and curses that enriched my vocabulary, they left - back to the bar, but not without promising to expell me from the club, from sailing, from the world, etc...

It was only then that the boat owner came out of the cabin (with his bodygard, his phisician and his friend, a South African navigator who managed to miss Brazil and ended near the equator when he crossed the Atlantic) and confessed that they was so freightened after the wave and the hardware failures, that they had radioed the club asking for help. They were ashamed to tell us (and unwilling to get wet outside - again) so they went to sleep until the shouting and cursing woke them.

Luckily, one of the other two guys on deck was a well known photographer/reporter/sailor, knew the commodore and was old enough not to be considered a young delinquent, pathologic lier and a hazard to navigation. He helped clear things and the commodore half understood what happened. Anyway, he did not call security and I was allowed to return a week later for the race. But it did not keep us from becoming the joke of the fleet during the entire season.

Luiz