We arrived at Lossiemouth on a cold, grey afternoon in mid-September. As we drove through the rain-swept streets of this tiny Scottish town, I felt a mixture of excitement and fear.

The dreary weather made the outlook for our five-day long cruise seem bleak -- but enticingly challenging as well.

The team that I was part of consisted of twelve students and two instructors.

We were to crew the Sea Spirit for the next few days and our task was to take her from the east of Scotland to the west coast. That meant sailing her through the the Caledonian Shipping Canal, a stretch of water which starts at Inverness and ends 60 miles to the south-west at Fort William. The Sea Spirit is a 60 foot, 30-year-old yacht that was donated to Gordonstoun School in 1969. I found myself standing on her scrubbed teak deck being briefed by the Bosun on the rules of the boat. He explained we would be split into two groups of six, alternating daily between deck and domestic duty.

Sitting at harbour, it was hard to get an idea of how rough the open sea was.

When we motored out of the harbour we were hit broadside by an easterly 50-knot wind.

Once the mainsail had been hoisted, the vessel was pulled over to a 45-degree angle and the waves started crashing over the deck, drenching everyone in cold, North Sea water.

The skipper of the boat was Captain John Tanner. He is a tall, dark man whose face seemed to have been hardened by years at sea.

He seemed almost oblivious to the outside world and everthing about him reminded me of the ocean -- from the way he dressed to the way he talked.

He spoke about about the simple geometrics of the boat and its sails in a voice straining to rise above the wind.

In this weather he explained, everyone had to use safety harnesses to stop us from falling overboard. We strapped them on and clung to the side railings for dear life.

The rain came down like almost horizontal daggers, mercilessly stinging our wind-burned faces. Those who had nothing to do merely huddled up into a ball to wait out the long hours in a cold, gloomy silence.

Once in a while I would be ordered to help reef a sail or tie up a loose rope.

Just standing up made me feel seasick and, for that first afternoon, I felt daunted by the days that seemed to stretch ahead into the distance.

My sense of adventure was replaced by helplessness and uncertainty.

We arrived in Inverness at about 11 p.m. The sky was tinted with the orange of the city lights and in the salty fall air, we could see our breath in clouds of steam.

We were exhausted and we tied the boat to a dock in a tired stupour.

Our beds were little more than hammocks; cramped and uncomfortable. Nobody had the energy to complain about the conditions though. We just fell into our bunks, drunk with fatigue and lifelessness.

I was awakened the next morning by the sound of a saucepan being drummed. The sleeping cabin was as cold as an igloo and outside it was still dark and raining.

Urged on by shouts from the Bosun, we climbed out of our bunks and got to work. I climbed topside to get the breakfast grapefruits out of the fruit locker; content not to have to go up on deck that day. The weather was abysmal and, although I had had six hours sleep, I felt like I had had none.

I stopped for a minute to survey the view. Inverness was still asleep and the only sound to be heard was the lapping of the water against the hull. The sky was black as pitch, save from the east where clouds lingered the colour of lavender.

I stood there shivering in the cold, clear air, savouring the moment of peace before the dawn.

The experiences I had during those five days were unforgettable. As we made our way through the canal, we met each challenge with a renewed sense of teamwork and I savoured each moment of the day -- from the frosty, multi-coloured dawns to the warmth of evening below deck listening to the strumming of an acoustic guitar.

We were individuals working together to accomplish something and the feeling it brought was indescribable and, although at times it was cold and hard, we gained an experience of a lifetime that I think anyone should feel lucky to have.