The tiny sailing yacht he boarded in Newport, Rhode Island, was pounded mercilessly by powerful 120-mph winds and terrifying 20-foot waves during the 700-mile journey. Things looked grim. At one point, the skipper, having been awake for three straight days, put Lennon – a novice sailor at best – at the helm. It could have been a disaster. John later recalled:
So, I was there driving the boat for six hours, keeping it on course. I was buried under water. I was smashed in the face by waves for six solid hours. It won’t go away. You can’t change your mind. It’s like being on stage; once you’re on there’s no gettin’ off. A couple of the waves had me on my knees. I was just hanging on with my hands on the wheel – it’s very powerful weather – and I was having the time of my life. I was screaming sea chanteys and shoutin’ at the gods! I felt like the Viking, you know, Jason and the Golden Fleece.
So much for rest and relaxation. Calmer seas prevailed, however, and soon Lennon and the yacht’s crew sailed into St. George’s Harbour, surely breathing a collective sigh of relief. Lennon rented a home in Bermuda’s quiet Fairylands district and settled in.
But instead of a lazy island vacation, the songwriter quickly discovered that his muse had returned.