November 6th 2021

With a great forecast for the next three days, I set off at 7 am in a cloudless sky, hoping that the predicted wind, northerly 4-5 would show itself as I left the shadow of the Island. It did, for a while. From 9am t around 1pm I was happily sailing at 4.5-5 knots. Then the wind dropped. Now I was only doing 3 knots. That was going to make two nights at sea into four. The motor went on again. At a third throttle, I was back up to 5 knots. Other than the lack of wind, the conditions were perfect, visibility was excellent and the sun warm, maybe even too hot.

Throughout the afternoon, I weaved my way through debris that can only have been thrown from a ship. All five cushions from a three-piece suite, two tyres, a couple of massive plastic bin liners and six or seven shrink-wrapped bales of straw.

As afternoon turned to evening and the wind died to nothing, I increased the revs to keep up my speed. But as the night progressed, I had to face the facts. I didn’t have enough diesel to motor all the way to Cyprus. Of course the wind might turn up tomorrow. Or maybe not.

At 9.30pm I made the decision and turned 90 degrees to port, setting a course for Rhodes town on the north-east tip of Rhodes, 80 miles away. I’d be there just after dawn. There, I’d refuel and if need be, spend a few days exploring the nearby islands waiting for the next weather window and a chance to leap off to Cyprus, and from there to Beirut.

I had promised myself an adventure, an early gift to myself for my 60th birthday next March. Beirut was my target, an iconic city that filled the news during my childhood. The home office said it was safe and Airbnb said it was affordable. I had to go. The delay was a little frustrating, but my commitment to my family was “I’ll be home for Christmas.” I had plenty of time.

Almost immediately my course change, as if to confirm I’d made the right decision. The dolphins arrived.

‘What the hell are they doing here?’ said Zeus.

‘I’ve got no idea, there always sticking their noses in,’ Poseidon banged his fist on his knee.

‘I thought you were supposed to have control over, “all the creatures of the oceans”,’ he wiggled his fingers in air quotation marks.

‘Those little freaks are out of control. I’m going to bring it up at next year’s AGM.’

Zeus looked doubtfully at his old mate, knowing full well the agenda was already chock-a-block and he’d have no chance of getting a resolution through. But there was no point in spoiling their night, so he kept schtum. ‘What are they doing, anyway?’

‘They’re trying to warn him, to get him back on his old course.’

‘Bloody do gooders,’ grumbled Zeus.

Although I only saw them when they surfaced into the glow of the nav lights, their trails were etched in silver by the phosphorescent plankton that glowed in their wake. They stayed with me for an hour or more, swooping and diving around and under the boat, jumping and splashing, their breaths caught in sharp gasps as they gulped in air around me.

‘Are sure that’s big enough?’ asked Zeus.

‘Ye, look at the point on that!’ Poseidon pinged the tip of the tree trunk, ‘I’ve just sharpened it up with this,’ he waved his trident around his head.

‘Steady on P, you’re gonna have somebodi’s eye out.’

At 12.30 am, I hit something. Whatever it was, it hit the starboard side. There were three distinct bangs. I looked over the side but could see nothing. Whatever it was must have had a fair amount of weight, because the boat lurched to port at the first strike. The log (speed indicator) had stopped, which must mean that the impeller (small paddle wheel that rotates to measure speed) must have been damaged. Not critical in itself. The Navionics app on my phone is more accurate, but it could indicate damage to the hull. I went below to investigate. The through hull fitting is amidships inside a small cupboard for tools and spares. The stern anchor warp drains into the bilges, so there is always a little water sloshing around. There didn’t appear to be any damage so I moved aft into the heads (toilet) compartment. There are three skin fittings in a cluster on the starboard side, toilet inlet and outlet, and sink outlet. I was drawn there because I figured they were the next most vulnerable point. All was well, so I moved forward to check the bow. Lifting my bed base, I was alarmed to find the space underneath was already full of water. As quickly as I could, I pulled out the foam mattress, then removed the plywood panels. By this time the water was already overflowing into the saloon. The space is awkward. A thin doorway leads into the cabin, which doesn’t have full headroom and tapers to a point at the front. It’s used to store tools and spare, mostly kept in plastic baskets. I reached into the water and lifted them out, stacking them on the floor behind me, feeling for the damage as I cleared each section. I had to work by feel. The cabin light was dim and also behind me, so everywhere I moved I was casting a shadow in front of me, my head torch simply reflected back at me from the disturbed surface. As I moved forward I had to climb over the timber frame which dug into my knees and shins, reluctant to step into the water for fear of getting my foot trapped I balanced awkwardly on the frame, trying to feel down into the lockers, some beyond my reach. I looked back into the saloon to see the floorboards floating. I needed to get out. I flicked on the electric bilge pump as I passed the navigation table. The handle for the manual pump is fixed on clips to the front of the gas locker in the cockpit. I grabbed it and started to pump and think. Glad to have something positive to do. Hopefully I would be able to delay things until daybreak, still 5 hours away. But after half an hour, I seemed to be making little if any progress. I changed my priority; I wasn’t trying to save the boat any more, just myself.

I was always confident that I’d be OK. The water was flat calm, there was no wind and I had a dinghy already inflated on the foredeck. The next thing was to gather together the other lifesaving equipment I had, starting with the life raft. The raft has been stored just forward of the companionway hatch on a wooden frame since I bought it in 2016. I cut the webbing straps that held it in place and pushed it overboard, tying off the operating cord to a cleat at the stern. Pulling the cord from inside the canister, I felt resistance. One more tug and the canister split as the life raft inflated. Good. Next, I unfastened the dinghy and threw that overboard, tying off on the same cleat. Then I got out the flare pack from inside the cockpit locker and went back inside. The water level was now above my knees. How much water did it take before it sank? I had no idea, but I knew I had to get anything I needed quickly and get back outside. Clearing away the floorboards, I pulled a large holdall from the back cabin, noting that it wouldn’t be long before the batteries would be under water. I stuffed a change of clothes and the EPIRB (Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon) along with two bottles of water into the bag and put my grab bag (a pre prepared waterproof bag with essential items, passport, boat documents, cash and cards) into my ruck sack. I made a mayday distress call to “all ships”, on the VHF, but received no reply. Back on deck, I continued to pump the bilges and look around to see if there were any ships in sight as I still hoped not to have to activate the EPIRB. There were none.

That last couple of hours were strange. The navigation lights cast a weak pool of light around Emma Rose. It was easy to imagine that I was on a stage and beyond the light was an audience, or a shore. But of course I knew there was neither. I was seventy-five miles away from the nearest land in water that was three to four thousand meters deep.

Now the foredeck was under water, it was time to abandon ship. Throwing the holdall, and the tub of flares, I climbed in, untied the lines from the cleat, and pushed away. I’d put my phone into a Tupperware container to keep it dry. There was one last chance of a photo, so I took it out and took the shot. Almost immediately, the boats stern rose into the air, the cockpit was full of debris and as she gained pace, air escaped from the stern locker and vents as she went down quicker than I could ever have imagined.

‘Is that it then?’ asked Poseidon.

‘No, is it bloody hell, watch this, I’ve just tied that rope to the propeller!’

For a moment, all was still, then the line to the raft tightened and started to pull me under. The line, which was spooled between the boat and the life raft, must have snagged on something, I’m guessing the rudder or the boarding ladder. Whatever it was stuck on, as the life raft went under, I fell forward into the sea, my lifejacket immediately inflating and bringing me back up.

‘Classic P, classic, that’ll mess him right up,’ they both chuckled at the splash.

‘Did you get his phone?’ asked Zeus.

‘Course I did, it’s in the bottom of the rafty thing; his daughter's face is staring up at him.’

‘Oh,’ said Zeus, clutching his heart, ‘it’s a sign from the gods, my beloved daughter watches over me.’

Poseidon laughed, ‘exactly, the silly sods are into all that nonsense aren’t they.’

‘Prats,’ said Zeus.

By the time I’d come to my senses, the line had broken free and the life raft was free, but of course, now it was full of water. I climbed back in to find my daughter Emmaline’s face on the home screen, staring up at me from my phone at the bottom of the raft. I used the Tupperware container to bail out the water. I knew it would come in handy. That done, I retrieved the EPIRB, only to find its dunking had activated it automatically. All there was to do now was wait.

This gave me time to think about an appointment I had with the cardiology department at Barnsley hospital in December. Anyone aware of my current position could be forgiven for assuming I was trying to provoke some kind of negative outcome. Then dolphins turned up again, slowly swimming around the raft, trying to cheer me up? Belatedly, I realized my mistake with the raft launch.

‘Now what are those little sods up to?’ Zeus said, pointing at the dolphins.

‘I don’t know, trying to keep him company or raise his spirits.’ Zeus raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

‘Do you want me to send a thunderbolt down? Blow the little buggers up?’ Zeus beamed.

‘No,’ said Poseidon said glumly, ‘I’ll sort ’em out later. There’s nothing they can do. Look at ’em, bloody useless. If I get my way, I’m going to make them taste like chocolate mousse, then the fishermen would hoover them up, the tuna got cocky, and I sorted them out.’

Zeus looked doubtfully at his mate as he ground his teeth and clenched his fist. ‘I’d just smash their little beaky faces I if they were anything to do with me,’ he chuntered under his breath.

Inside the raft is a safety knife, for the single purpose of cutting the activation cord. By untying the cord instead, I’d created a danger I didn’t know existed until it was too late. Next time, I’ll use the knife.

My rescue was a stream of false alarms as the stars rose over the eastern horizon, each misinterpreted as a ship. I’d stick my head up every so often, putting my hand over the strobe that sent out an SOS Morse signal, to retain my night vision. After another couple of hours, a rising star got bigger and split into green and red, the navigation lights of my rescuers.

Navigation lights on a ship give you the information you need in order to discern the direction it is travelling. Green and red on a steady bearing meant it was heading straight towards me. Like a rescue ship would. Or like a ship that just happened to be heading straight for me would. I gave it a while before my nerve cracked and I fired a rocket flare. Now that is something that I wished I’d rehearsed before doing it for the first time in a liferaft! They don’t half go off with a whoosh! Ten minutes later, I fired another. The surrounding area was lit up by a threatening red light as the flare fell slowly on its parachute. He’d definitely see that. Wouldn’t he? After another ten, I lit a hand held flare, ducking my head and stretching my arm out as much as possible. Still, the effect was blinding. I still had no sign if they had seen me, although I was sure the ship was slowing. Just in case, I lit up another. He’d seen me now and to make sure I knew it, he tooted the fog horn like a taxi on a chilly night, when the driver wants to stay warm, Bwah Bwe Bwe Bwe Bwe, Bwa Bwahhhh! The blasts overlapped and collided, like Les Dawson playing the piano, but I knew what he meant.

The ship took a long time to arrive, slowly drawing to a standstill a hundred yards short. Inside the life raft among the useful items are two small paddles. I extended the handle, locked it in place, and started the painfully slow process of trying to get a life raft to move through the water in the direction you want it to. On the underside of the raft are four large triangular pockets which fold down and fill with water to make it more stable, but they do nothing to make it easier to paddle.