Hell on the high seas as we filmed Bounty mutiny
What would possess a young doctor to risk his life recreating the aftermath of mutiny on the Bounty? Dr Luke Kane explains
An uptight GP from south London who’s terrified of virtually everything may not sound like the material of a great explorer. I suppose that’s what drove me to try to recreate the treacherous voyage of those cut adrift by the mutiny on the Bounty in 1789. In spite of being as far as possible from a fitness freak – or even someone who finds the slightest enjoyment in sailing – a little over a year ago, I decided to undertake an extreme challenge.
In early 2015 I had just returned from volunteering with the NHS at an ebola treatment centre in Sierra Leone, the sort of life-changing experience which made me think about how I wanted to push myself in life and medicine. I wanted more adventures like that, and the Mutiny journey – which was to be filmed for a Channel 4 survival series – leapt out at me. It may not have been as selfless as my motivation for going to Sierra Leone, but it turned out to be far, far tougher.
I knew “the Mutiny on the Bounty’’ from the many film adaptations. The Bounty, and her 46-strong Royal Navy crew were sailing from Tahiti, in the Southern Pacific Ocean, to the West Indies. A few weeks into the voyage, members of the crew turned on the captain, Lieutenant William Bligh, and mutinied, forcing Bligh and a group of loyalists into the Bounty’s 23ft wooden launch. With just five days’ of food, faced with horrific weather and with a mishmash of sailing abilities, Bligh and his crew completed a death-defying, seven-week voyage to arrive safely at the nearest friendly harbour – 4,000 miles away in Eastern Timor.
The concept of Mutiny was to replicate that journey as faithfully as possible, following the detailed diary Bligh kept. We’d have nine crew crammed into a purpose-built, exact replica of the 18th-century launch, no toilets, rudimentary equipment and the same rations: 400-calorie ship’s biscuits and some dried beef, with less than a litre of drinking water a day.
We’d match the demographic of the originals, too. We had a tough and experienced captain, ex-Special Boat Services soldier Ant Middleton, a few seasoned sailors, some amateurs, a carpenter and a doctor, me. If successful, the voyage was expected to take around two months.
My family were furious. Recreating the mutiny on the Bounty for a television challenge wasn’t viewed as a worthwhile risk. I’m 33, so they couldn’t stop me, but even now my husband, Pete, still gets angry.
That’s not to say my enthusiasm lasted once the voyage began. I worried about storms, sunburn, malnutrition, crocodiles, sharks and diarrhoea. As the medic, my preparation had to be thorough. Unlike the carpenter and his 18th century tools, I would have modern antibiotics and dressings, but the potential maladies were new to me. You do not see many cases of trenchfoot or whole-body jellyfish stings at a Lewisham surgery.
The trip was far worse than any of us could have conceived. As Ant, our inspirational, hard-as-nails leader, said, Bligh’s crew were hardened seamen. We’d tried to prepare, though that was mostly basic sailing training and putting some weight on, but the heat was more extreme than we imagined, the storms far more powerful and terrifying, the boat more cramped and the food disgusting.
As the doctor, I felt pressure – albeit not from history: the original doctor was an overweight alcoholic who was incompetent enough to die within a month of the quest starting. Even so, it was nice to have a fixed role and to be somebody Ant relied on. We all bonded over the hardship, but nine exhausted men on a boat meant nine exhausted egos – and there wasn’t a lot of room in that boat.
Aside from the constant digestive woes – which weren’t helped by the only toilet being overboard, in view of everybody – and sleep deprivation, we had relentless skin conditions like saltwater sores, and even trench hand. When that crewman, one of our embedded cameramen, Sam, got home, the skin on his digits had changed so much that his smartphone’s fingerprint scanner didn’t recognise him.
On one occasion, Freddy, the youngest member at 23, started getting very snappy and out of sorts. I found his pulse to be incredibly low. It was obviously severe dehydration, which in England would see him put on an I/ V drip and cardiac monitor. I couldn’t even take his blood pressure as all my equipment had rusted, so I prescribed a dirty tin cup with 100ml of muddy sulphur water inside. He could easily have died that night.
I lost more weight than anybody: four stone in eight weeks. From an already fairly skinny frame, that left me gaunt. I also became so tired that I was hallucinating. There may have been a support boat with extra medical equipment and food, but it couldn’t come within miles of us during the apocalyptic storms, and we’d have failed the challenge if anyone set foot on it.
We didn’t all get on all of the time, but everyone has Ant to thank for being here today. He saved our lives on so many occasions with his leadership, nautical skills and selflessness that I couldn’t even mention his name without bursting into tears for a while after I got home – difficult to explain to my partner.
We all had our reasons for signing up, but most of us took from it what I think anybody who volunteers for extreme hardships seeks – learning just how resilient the human mind and body can be. And, of course, I came back with a hell of a story. I was looking for an adventure; I certainly found one. As told to Guy Kelly
The original doctor was an overweight alcoholic who died within a month
Mutiny begins on Monday at 9pm on Channel 4