The weather reports had been updated to gale and storm warnings, and I had begun to fear whether the tent would last the night. I scouted for a better location. Back against the tree line, I found a log protruding six feet at a forty-five degree angle-high enough to allow our tent to nestle under it. I thought that if I could move the tent there and then cover both with a tarp, I could alleviate some of the stress on the tent. Moving the tent in those winds was no easy feat, and securing the tarp was a chore, but the activity did provide some relief from my constant worry and the noise of the tent. As night fell, I listened yet again to the weather report: gale warnings with no mention of when the storm would abate. I decided that if things weren't calm by morning, I would use my handheld VHF radio (a six-year-old Raytheon that I kept in a dry bag) to try to contact someone who could get us off the island. My wife and I were exhausted and cold. It was impossible to get any sleep with the roaring of the wind and snapping of the tent. I was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on small tasks at hand. Neither of us had an appetite, despite the fact that we had not eaten during the day. I knew that we should eat, but I didn't have the energy to make a meal. It took all of the energy I had to keep adjusting the tarp and tent against the wind, and trying to keep the tent dry. Throughout the night, I asked Theresa how she was doing. She always said she was doing fine, and sounded upbeat. The minutes dragged by when, around 1:00 a.m., a gust of wind flattened our tent on top of us. I decided to try to contact the Canadian Coast Guard. Better to communicate with them while I had some shelter from the elements than to do so in the midst of the storm. I had been struggling all day with the question of what to do if conditions deteriorated. I felt that asking for help was to admit defeat, but once I made the decision and began transmitting on the VHF, I felt a considerable amount of relief.