Laurence
New member
Man Overboard
It was an early November evening, dark and cold and the Hamble was ebbing at over 4 knots in places. We had just come back from a weekend in Bembridge (boats were still rafted up on the visitors pontoon despite the lateness of the season) and I was returning the tender to her spot in Crableck Marina, whilst Liz, my partner, was at the other end of the pontoon picking up assorted bits of gear that we had taken out of the dinghy.
I’m not too sure how it happened but I think I must have overreached to grab a hold of another dinghy in order to pull myself into place. The tender flipped and I went under water. I was wearing full foul weather gear including boots but no life jacket.
I remember the next bit very clearly. My first thought was annoyance or concern that my head had gone underwater as this is the point from which most heat is lost. My second thought was that I would almost certainly have a heart attack (having been the subject of recent heart surgery) and my third thought was that the water was not particularly cold and why do people make such a fuss about swimming in winter. I also remember feeling particularly stupid. These thoughts all passed through my mind whilst still under water although it can only have been a few seconds.
I surfaced and shouted for Liz. At the second attempt she heard and ran back. It took her a moment to realise that I was in the water, by now hanging on to the edge of a pontoon with the ebb sweeping my legs under it. Liz tried to pull me out but to no avail. She shouted for help but no-one responded. It was then that I spotted the steps over the side of an adjacent pontoon with their newly painted tops in Dayglo orange installed, presumably, for idiots like me. They were only a few metres away and I worked my way through the moored dinghies and climbed out of the water.
I stripped off, dried with the help of few T shirts and got (most of myself) into a fleece babygrow garment that Liz always seems to have but never wears.
If the dinghy had flipped whilst rowing from boat to pontoon we both would have gone in to the drink in a faster current and the end result may have been tragically different.
We all know that the trip in the tender out and back to the boat (or, worse, to and from the pub) is the most dangerous part of most voyages but familiarity had bred a high level of contempt in me and I hadn’t worn a lifejacket in the tender for years. Now that the good Lord (or a benign Fate) has been kind enough to give me a painless reminder we are reviewing our safety procedures and starting a series of long overdue Man Overboard practices under sail and power and laying down hard and fast rules concerning the use of lifejackets in the dinghy and whilst deploying or recovering fenders and warps.
It was an early November evening, dark and cold and the Hamble was ebbing at over 4 knots in places. We had just come back from a weekend in Bembridge (boats were still rafted up on the visitors pontoon despite the lateness of the season) and I was returning the tender to her spot in Crableck Marina, whilst Liz, my partner, was at the other end of the pontoon picking up assorted bits of gear that we had taken out of the dinghy.
I’m not too sure how it happened but I think I must have overreached to grab a hold of another dinghy in order to pull myself into place. The tender flipped and I went under water. I was wearing full foul weather gear including boots but no life jacket.
I remember the next bit very clearly. My first thought was annoyance or concern that my head had gone underwater as this is the point from which most heat is lost. My second thought was that I would almost certainly have a heart attack (having been the subject of recent heart surgery) and my third thought was that the water was not particularly cold and why do people make such a fuss about swimming in winter. I also remember feeling particularly stupid. These thoughts all passed through my mind whilst still under water although it can only have been a few seconds.
I surfaced and shouted for Liz. At the second attempt she heard and ran back. It took her a moment to realise that I was in the water, by now hanging on to the edge of a pontoon with the ebb sweeping my legs under it. Liz tried to pull me out but to no avail. She shouted for help but no-one responded. It was then that I spotted the steps over the side of an adjacent pontoon with their newly painted tops in Dayglo orange installed, presumably, for idiots like me. They were only a few metres away and I worked my way through the moored dinghies and climbed out of the water.
I stripped off, dried with the help of few T shirts and got (most of myself) into a fleece babygrow garment that Liz always seems to have but never wears.
If the dinghy had flipped whilst rowing from boat to pontoon we both would have gone in to the drink in a faster current and the end result may have been tragically different.
We all know that the trip in the tender out and back to the boat (or, worse, to and from the pub) is the most dangerous part of most voyages but familiarity had bred a high level of contempt in me and I hadn’t worn a lifejacket in the tender for years. Now that the good Lord (or a benign Fate) has been kind enough to give me a painless reminder we are reviewing our safety procedures and starting a series of long overdue Man Overboard practices under sail and power and laying down hard and fast rules concerning the use of lifejackets in the dinghy and whilst deploying or recovering fenders and warps.
