Great Seamanship
OVERBOARD IN A DESERTED ANCHORAGE AT NIGHT, CULLY PETTIGREW IS IN TROUBLE
The ‘Yachting Journal of a Hebridean Sailor’ by Cully Pettigrew offers an unusual insight into the mind of a deep-thinking man. His relationship with a small yacht over 30 years and 28,000 miles gives his readers access to a fund of knowledge about the Scottish islands while the sea teases out his more abstract thoughts and ideas.
Among the charming, informative and challenging accounts that make up much of this book, I came across the following description of something which every male reader dreads: the fall over the toerail into cold water while making an after-dark visit to the deck in search of simple relief. Cully’s description of what happened and his inner transformation from accepting fate to finding a refusal to quit is something to which those of us who have been in the water and survived may well relate.
Ever the modest man, an entry in one of his log books from 1990 remarks, ‘Why do I bother to write all this down, as nobody will ever read this stuff.’
Thirty years on, as we all profit from his diligence,
I’d like to think that he finally understands why he took the trouble.
Leisure sailors rarely lose their lives at sea, which should make sailing one of the safest activities. Sadly, this hobby claims several victims each year, a loss easily avoided as most of these accidents occur a short distance from safety.
Papillon of Carden is a 28ft Dufour Safari built in La Rochelle, Brittany, in 1972, and has been in my ownership since 1979. The 2012 delivery cruise from my winter base on the Island of Luing near Oban to the summer mooring at Crinan in the Sound of Jura should have been routine, but was to serve me a sharp lesson in early season over-complacency.
When completing the biannual refit before Easter,
I little realised the survival ordeal ahead. The 12 mile trip was undertaken single-handed around the middle of March, the plan being to stop overnight a short distance from Crinan at the popular summer anchorage of Goat Island in Loch Craignish.
After a pleasant motorsail through the Dorus Mor, I anchored and settled down for my first and nearly last night on board. Goat Island was sheltered and deserted, no other yachts venturing out so early in the season, and the boat lay still in the evening calm of a dark, cold winter night. The stars were out and tomorrow’s forecast promised a sunny and pleasant motor to Crinan Harbour.
Around 10pm I decided on the customary visit over the side. I hadn’t put on a harness or lifejacket as this ritual had been successfully performed over the last 33 years without mishap. My arm was hooked around the backstay, a normal precaution against losing balance, and next thing I remembered was a whooshing effect, followed soon after by the weird sensation of waking up in my warm bunk having had a nightmare of swallowing water and drowning in the sea... except that this worst dream was real and I was actually drowning.
I awoke to the horrible sensation of bubbles bursting around my head and the strong taste of salt water in my mouth. I had lost consciousness and tumbled over the side. Regaining my senses shortly after hitting the water, I found myself three metres from the dinghy always kept inflated at the stern of the yacht for such an emergency. This was the one safety precaution relied on to escape from the water, as in past incidents I had been able to clamber into the dinghy from the sea and from there regain the safety of the yacht’s cockpit.
I am neither swimmer nor drowner, but managed to reach the side of the dinghy only to find my arms wouldn’t function, having lost all strength.
Despite being fit for my age, I was unable to board the dinghy or reach up to the pushpit. My immediate thought
was that a stroke had affected my limbs. Looking up towards the life ring fitted securely in the pushpit above, I realised with a sinking heart it was well beyond reach and I was now in a dangerous and life-threatening situation.
The anchorage was deserted and the nearby shoreline of Goat Island forbiddingly dark so there was no chance of shouting and receiving help from third parties. Treading water and feeling acutely aware of my difficult position, I thought calmly for a means to escape the sea.
I was angry with my inability to help myself out, but, although despondent, surprisingly felt no panic despite this being a cold, late-winter evening with a sea temperature of around 48°F or 9°C; the temperature, although not uncomfortable, could have slowed down my body clock. After 20 minutes of dithering indecisively, I made a move more of desperation, and started to slowly lift one leg into the rubber dingy which alarmingly tilted sideways then flipped me unceremoniously back under water for a second time. I was beginning to feel tired and a little fed up but thanks to my three thick jumpers felt surprisingly warm.
AN EERIE GLOW
An eerie glow from the cabin lights reflected onto the water and I felt like a sailor having survived the shipwreck only to find himself helplessly marooned on a piece of wreckage with little chance of escape. My arms felt like two lead weights and, being a poor swimmer, I was reluctant to try and reach the nearby deserted shore. This would provide little shelter from the freezing conditions, but my body still felt unexpectedly warm despite having been in the water a considerable time. The exact period was hard to gauge but, treading water, I dithered and slithered a further 15 or 20 minutes making a total time immersed of around 50 minutes. A sense of futility and hopelessness began to affect me. Rather worryingly I felt an inward deeper calm and wondered if I was reluctantly starting to accept my fate.
Looking up at the starlit sky, I knew little time was left before becoming unconscious. What a bloody shame to go without a struggle, I thought, and pondered if I would be unconscious before drowning, which sounds melodramatic but such events are sometimes hard to express without emotion.
These pessimistic thoughts must have kick-started my survival instinct and, summoning what energy was left, my bare foot found a toe hole between the skeg and the boat’s rudder. Using this technique gave extra purchase, and slowly, so very slowly, I manoeuvred the back of my head onto the bow of the now upturned dinghy, then my shoulders, and started to lever my body backwards, not daring to shift for a number of minutes during each movement lest the dinghy tip me back into the water one last time. I doubted I would have energy for a further attempt as cold, tiredness and dejection were beginning to take effect.
When the top of the upturned dinghy had been gained, and on recovering balance and nerve, carefully, very carefully, I turned over onto my knees and facing the stern of Papillon gave her a wholesome kiss on her backside... nearly home... out of the water... don’t do anything stupid. Gaining the cockpit was easily accomplished despite having to climb over the top of my lifebelt but, surprisingly, on reaching the cabin there was no feeling of relief or gratefulness for being alive... I think I was still in shock.
I didn’t even have energy to dry myself, put on the fire, or make a hot drink. Anyway, my hands were now numb and useless for any intricate task, and my body started to shake, and shake violently. It was now essential for me to crawl into my sleeping bag, even in my wet condition. I was experiencing hypothermia and beginning to convulse, but my head was clear and I rationalised the shivering would pass although I vaguely wondered if the following day someone was going to find a corpse.
Now in a physically exhausted state there was no option but to let my body shake it out. After around 60 minutes, the violent shivering did subside, helped by moving my legs and feet vigorously together. I irrationally thought of a boy scout lighting a fire by rubbing two sticks, but this visualisation seemed to help me warm up.
After a change into dry clothing, with events still fresh to mind, I wrote up my log and a troubled sleep eventually
‘I realised with a sinking heart the life ring was well beyond reach and I was now in a dangerous and life-threatening situation’
came around 3am. I had been immersed for between 50 and 60 minutes and I knew little time had been left to me, being a further 10 to 20 minutes away from total incapacity and certain drowning.
NORMALITY RESUMED
Next day was a beautiful sunny morning. I had breakfast, raised the anchor and continued to Crinan as if nothing had happened, wondering if I was experiencing the classical delayed reaction to a traumatic event?
The purpose of this account is to alert all boat owners to the danger of over complacency, especially early in the season. Events can happen when least expected so the following lessons have been learned. The wearing of three jumpers may have preserved body heat as I didn’t feel cold until getting back on board but it certainly hampered my efforts in the water. My bare feet may have saved my life. Had shoes been worn, I wouldn’t have had the extra purchase between the skeg and rudder, similar to how a climber achieves a handhold by using tiny crevices in the rock to give more leverage.
Never make a night visit over the side unless you are well secured from falling outboard. My fainting was diagnosed as a postural or orthostatic hypotension, a drop in blood pressure caused by suddenly getting up from a low position and a common occurrence when we get older. Better still, use the inboard toilet or a bucket if you do not want to disturb a sleeping crew.
On this occasion the use of a safety line, although prolonging my survival time, wouldn’t have helped and the wearing of a lifejacket may have impeded the eventual method of exiting the water on my back onto the upturned dinghy. Of course, these two elemental safety precautions should be a necessity on every occasion and more especially for single-handed sailors.
Being a strong swimmer may not save you as the shock of hitting cold water can seriously impair your swimming efficiency, especially the use of your arms. Swimming to the shore is equally dangerous as the coastline can appear closer than it really is, the sea may be colder and the currents stronger than you expect.
Last week I fitted a Plastimo 1.6m safety ladder but not the 1.3m version as you must be able to place your feet into the bottom rungs to easily escape from the water. Two weeks after my initial immersion, I tried the ladder and was able to exit the water in less than 60 seconds. The plan was to test the new equipment as well as ridding myself of any delayed shock or trauma from the first incident. The ladder worked perfectly.
I hope my experience might shake up a few complacent boaters and maybe even save a life.