Just before 6 o'clock on the morning of June 4, 1989, a yacht known as the Rose Noelle was

peacefully bobbing somewhere off the coast of New Zealand.

Below deck, four men were sleep after what had been a long, exhausting day.

The weather had been ugly the afternoon before with strong winds and heavy seas, but they

fought hard to maintain control of the vessel.

The sails were by then secured and a sea anchor had been deployed to keep the boat steady

and in place.

Outside, the wind had spent most of the night howling climbing toward hurricane force before

easing off.

At one point, gusts were even over 69 miles or 111 kilometers per hour, but by then things had calmed

enough for the men to fall asleep. At 6 a.m. though, the quiet of the early morning gradually

started to change. A deep roaring sound, like something massive was approaching, suddenly woke

the four men up and shook them from their bunks. The roar kept growing, reaching deafening levels before the inevitable occurred.

This would be the beginning of one of the most prolonged and grueling ordeals in maritime

history.

As always, viewer discretion is advised. The sound was coming from an approaching rogue wave that had risen in excess of 60 feet or 18 meters.

And as the men scrambled for something to grab onto, the rose-noelle went nearly vertical.

For a split second, it felt as though the boat

was being held in place. Then everything tipped. The wave picked the yacht up and flipped

it clean over. Inside the cabin, loose gear went flying and everything went dark as water

surged in from every direction. A moment later, the Rose Noelle was upside down in the ocean.

The collision threw the men into the walls and as the wave carried past the boat and

...