Читать книгу Into the Abyss - Rod MacDonald - Страница 16

‘BOND-LIKE BOAT CHASE’

Sunday Post, June 15 1986

From initial training in 1982 onwards I had been spending progressively more time out at sea, diving. Other than a panic attack on my first deep boat dive and a few other minor mishaps I had not managed to get myself into any particularly dangerous or life threatening situations. That was about to change on 14 June 1986 in a way that would have been comical - had it not been so deadly serious. Curiously the incident was in no way connected to diving.

Since purchasing my Aberglen Gordon 5 metre inflatable dive boat in 1984 I had learned quickly how to handle it, how to launch and retrieve it, how to drop divers in the right place and how to recover them safely from the water. But with hindsight my sea-craft was still in its infancy and I had had no formal training. None is legally required in the UK although the Royal Yachting Association does offer very good courses.

I bought a pair of second hand wooden water skis and soon found that learning to water ski was hard work, but exhilarating. At first I spent a lot of time floating in the water – being pulled up eventually to last upright for only a second or two, before crashing back down into the water in an explosion of froth and foam.

The theory was simple enough. Float in a sitting position, knees up at chest and get the tips of the skis out of the water. The boat should circle towing the water ski rope, which would gradually close in. Grabbing the rope it could be flicked over a ski until it was in a comfortable central position between the skis. The boat would move forward slowly until the slack was taken up – then a lusty cry of “Hit it!” was the signal for the cox to gun the throttle. The boat would surge through the water, pulling at the skier. The effect of the skis pushing against the oncoming water would start to raise the skier out of the water.

Once I got to this point, I would push down hard with my legs - thrusting upwards and lifting my body into a standing position. More often than not however, this standing position lasted for only a few seconds before I leant back and fell in – or fell forward – or fell to the side - or pulled the rope handle too close to me, losing speed before wiping out in a white explosion of spray. Evolution is a slow process as the saying goes but eventually my style did evolve and I began to master the art of staying upright.

Before long I could stay upright indefinitely and started learning how to turn way out to one side before swinging backwards across the wake of the boat - sometimes getting airborne as I took off from the wake. Emboldened I then tried mono skiing. I found it impossible to get up on just one ski – and even though I tried getting up on both skis before kicking one off, as soon as I was on one ski, the water would inexplicably rise up to engulf me. But at least I had mastered two skis.

On a sunny Saturday morning, the 14 June 1986 I telephoned my friend and former flat mate Derek Sangster, who had expressed an interest in getting out to try learning to water ski. We arranged to meet down at Stonehaven harbour around 12 noon. My wife Claire and Derek’s girlfriend decided to come down to the harbour to do a bit of sun bathing on the sand in the shelter of the harbour wall. As Derek and I launched the boat, Claire went into the Ship Inn and came out with a couple of drinks for the girls.

Once we had my Aberglen launched, as we slowly motored out of the harbour to sea, I ran over the procedure with Derek. I agreed with him that I would drive the boat first to let him have go skiing - and then after that, he could do a bit of driving for me in the boat. There was no one else in the boat with us.

Once we got about half a mile to a mile offshore, I took the boat down off the plane and we slewed to a halt. Derek was in a full wet suit and before long was sitting on the side of the boat pulling on the water skis over his wet suit boots. He slipped into the water and got into the start position.

I motored round him and played out the water ski rope. Once he had grabbed it I took up the slack - until the rope was taught. At his shouted command, I gunned the outboard engine and the boat surged forward. Although he clung on manfully he didn’t get up. Of all the times I had taken first time water skiers out I had never seen anyone learn to get up and going very quickly.

After a few more attempts, he started to get up and then was trying to master the art of staying up. Having found this hard to do myself I realised how tough he would be finding it.

Bravely he persevered and after a while was able to stay up for longer and longer periods. After about 45 minutes of this rather arduous work he signalled that he had had enough. I pulled in the water ski rope and came alongside him. He pulled off the skis and handed them up to me and then pulled himself up over the tube into the boat.

The wind by now had picked up a bit and there was a bit of a swell to the sea. But I still thought I could ski in the conditions and pulling on the skis slipped over the side.

Derek motored round me perfectly, just as I had told him. The rope closed in on me and as it came past me I grabbed hold of it and he slowly took up the slack. I flipped the rope over one ski and got myself into the start position - skis upright, arms outstretched and rope between the skis.

Once I was ready I looked up and saw Derek standing up at the stern of the boat looking at me, waiting until I was ready. He had one hand on the tiller throttle of the engine. I looked at my skis and shouted out “Hit it”. I heard the engine roar and I was pulled forward, but not with enough torque to get up. I was dragged through the water in a mass of white water for a second or two. My arms felt as though they were being pulled right out of their sockets - I realised I wasn’t going to get up on this occasion. I let go of the ski rope handle and sank down into the water.

Once the motion subsided I looked up to see what had happened and saw the boat careering off to one side – there was no sign of Derek. My God, I thought, what has happened? Where is Derek? Has he slipped and fallen?

I stared fixedly at my boat, which had now started going round in circles, seemingly flat out. It was going so fast that it was bouncing off small waves almost to the point of getting airborne.

I watched, as the boat seemed to come round in a full circle and start coming towards me. As it came to its closest point I could clearly see that the boat was empty. The tiller was hard over – which was what was causing it to go round in circles. The throttle on my Johnston 35hp outboard stayed open at the point you throttled up to – it was intended to do that to avoid having to hold the throttle open on long journeys the whole time.

As the boat came past me, there was at first a feeling of disbelief – denial even – that this was really happening to me. As the boat bounced and sped past me I suddenly saw Derek in the water, head up and gesticulating at me. I couldn’t hear his cries for the noise of the outboard.

We started swimming over towards each other. In my full wet suit with wet suit boots on, it was hard to make any way at all on my front. I flopped over on my back and sculled over to him. As I did so I looked towards the distant shore – we were an awful long way offshore and I felt that there was no way I could swim it in the restrictive 7mm wet suit.

As I reached Derek, I was relieved to learn that he was not hurt. He told me that he had been standing at the engine and when I shouted, “Hit it!” he had opened the throttle fully. The engine had been more powerful than he had expected and quite simply as the boat had surged forward he had been flung over the top of the engine and into the water.

As he talked to me I became aware that he was not wearing his wet suit top and had only the long johns on. His upper chest and arms were bare. Whilst I was in the water getting ready to waterski he had taken off his wet suit jacket as he was hot. Although this was the middle of the summer, it was still the North Sea - and the water was still icy cold to the touch.

“I’m getting cold.” he said. “I’m going to have to swim for the shore” With his arms unencumbered by a wet suit he would be able to crawl on his front.

“I can’t swim it in this wet suit, Derek.” I replied. “I’ll have to wait here - when you get ashore get help as quickly as you can.”

Derek thankfully, was a very strong swimmer and he struck off in a crawl towards the shore. Later he would recount that as he headed towards the shore a wind surfer had come up to him. He had asked for help but the surfer said he couldn’t help and just sped off into the distance.

With Derek a receding figure I looked around me. In the distance I could see another white speedboat. I tried yelling as hard as I could and tried splashing and throwing white water high into the air. But my cries and efforts were futile. They were simply too far off and my blue wetsuit blended in too well with the surrounding water. The speedboat soon disappeared off towards the harbour. I was left completely alone far offshore trying to come to terms with my predicament.

I started to think what I could do to resolve my predicament. The boat was continuing to career round and round in circles not far from me. As I floated there upright in the water I watched the boat – every now and then it would strike a wave at an awkward angle as it circled and this would change its direction slightly – so the area it was circling was changing over time.

As I watched the boat it took a big hit on a wave that altered its direction significantly. It suddenly dawned on me that the boat may well now circle fairly close to me. Sure enough, the bow of the boat started to turn towards me - and soon the bow was heading right at me. But the boat was continuing to turn and it wasn’t going to hit me – this time.

The boat rushed round in its eternal circle and as it did so I saw the water-ski rope still trailing out behind it. The rope wasn’t particularly long, perhaps about 20-25 feet. The Off switch for the outboard was mounted very close to where the rope was attached to the water ski hook – if I could pull myself up the rope I could perhaps get my hand up and switch off the engine.

I know now never to react in the first flush of emotion – it usually isn’t wise and can lead to more trouble. If I did nothing I would float out here not coming to any harm until either Derek got ashore and raised help – or the girls ashore realised that we were overdue and called for help. Either way, in my 7mm full diving wet suit I wasn’t going to come to any harm – I could float out there in relative warmth and comfort for 24 hours if need be. The Coastguard would know the currents and which way I would be swept. They would know where to look for me.

But, that’s not how the brain works in moments of crisis. I reached out my hand and grabbed hold of the water ski rope as it whisked past – I thought this might be my one and only chance to get myself out of this situation under my own steam.

As soon as I grabbed the rope I realised this was a seriously bad move. The boat was probably only doing 10-15 knots but it was still a big speed to move instantly to - from a water logged standing start. My arm seemed to stretch out cartoon style as it tried to remove itself from its socket. I had to let go quickly or risk injury.

The boat sped away in another circle, bouncing off waves before turning round and starting to head towards me. This time I knew the boat was going to hit me.

In my full wet suit I wasn’t able to move with any speed and couldn’t get out of its way. With no weight belt on I was hugely buoyant and couldn’t duck dive beneath the boat. Remorselessly the bow of the boat got closer and closer – and as it approached the bow was turning towards me all the time. The boat sped past me – so close that I could almost touch it. With each circle the boat had come closer to me and I was now hugely concerned about the next circle.

I kicked my feet and tried to propel myself away from what I guessed would be the next circle of the boat. As I did so I looked up to see the boat moving away into the distance engine roaring but all the time starting to wheel round towards my direction. In my full wet suit, no matter how hard I kicked my legs I just didn’t seem to move with any speed through the water. I looked up again and was horrified to see the bow of my own boat bearing right down onto me.

In a slightly surreal moment I was fixed on the big square orange section of tubing at the front of the boat, never having seen the boat in this way. But it wasn’t the bow I was worried about – it was the stern and thrashing propeller that could do me an awful lot of harm.

The bow came at me - closer and closer - and as it did, it turned slightly to my left-hand side. I flung my arms up, crossed in front of my face, hands well out of the water before the port side tube whacked me. I was swept down the port side of the tube - luckily the boat didn’t ride up over me.

Suddenly, my head was in the water. Eyes wide open with fear, I saw the white thrashing of the propeller flash past me in an instant with incredible speed. The propeller missed my torso by about 1-2 feet – had it hit me no doubt it would have ripped me to pieces.

The whole thing was over in a second and the boat was away again. Perhaps it hit another wave that changed its course – or perhaps the act of hitting me had changed its course for although it continued its wild circling, it was now starting to move slowly out to sea away from me. I bobbed in the water helplessly as my boat started to get smaller and smaller and moved well away from me.

I don’t know how long I floated in the water for – it seemed to be forever but was in reality probably only half an hour or so. There was no one else out on the sea and I had resigned myself to a long float before any eventual rescue.

As I turned to look forlornly at the distant shore my eyes drifted towards the harbour and suddenly my spirits jumped in a single second from utter dejection to utter elation. For there charging out of the harbour was the large bow and white bow wash of one of the Maritime Rescue Institute training vessels, one of several fast rescue vessels that were used for training out of Stonehaven harbour.

Either Derek had made it to shore or else someone ashore had seen what had happened and called for help. As it was, the boat sped over nearer the shore and I realised that they were getting Derek out of the water. Before long the boat was charging over to me and slowing down beside me to let me clamber aboard. We then went over and picked up the water skis, which were floating not that far away from me.

The skipper of the boat Hamish McDonald then had me go through what had happened and asked some searching questions about the set up on my boat. He wanted to know how much petrol was left in it – if it was low then he would simply wait until it ran out of fuel and stopped of its own accord.

“It’s got a full tank,” I said. “We’ve only been out on the water for about an hour – the engine will run all day.”

He then asked about my engine - did it have a long shaft or a short shaft – did it have a shear pin. I replied that it had a long shaft but that I didn’t know if it was fitted with a shear pin or not. He decided to try and lay a rope across the track my boat would take. Hopefully we would foul the propeller and the engine would stall – or else the shear pin would disable the engine.

Having agreed the plan of action he throttled up his boat and we raced out to sea in the direction my boat had headed off. Very soon we were closing on it as he rigged up a sturdy rope to a large pink danbuoy.

We motored across the path my boat would take as it circled. Hamish threw out the danbuoy and attached rope and as he motored forward the rope floated up to the surface in a long line stretched across the path of my boat.

My boat came charging round and motored right up to and onto the rope. Suddenly the rope went taught – we had hooked my boat all right, but the rope had caught above the prop and not fouled it or sheared it off. We now had my boat straining to go in one direction like a hooked fish. My boat thrashed and the sea churned at its stern as the prop tried to force it on its way. It wasn’t going anywhere against the weight and power of Hamish’s far larger boat – but we couldn’t do anything with it.

Eventually Hamish cast off the rope and my boat immediately leapt forward and went about its way again. We pulled in the rope and buoy wondering what to do next.

A large dredger platform had been moored just outside the entrance to the harbour over the course of the preceding week. I now became aware of a small grey Rigid Inflatable Boat (RIB) heading off from it and making a bee line for our position at great speed. They must have seen what had happened and were coming over to have a go at bringing my boat under control.

There were three crew in the RIB, all in work boiler suits, peaked caps and steel capped work boots. They handled their boat well and with ease as it sped past us and headed straight for my boat. As they approached, the cox started to track my boat as it circled. Gradually, after sizing up the situation, he started to edge his RIB closer and closer to my careering inflatable.

The gap was perhaps 20 feet at first, and then the RIB edged closer to 15 feet, then 10 feet, then 5 feet.

Before long the RIB was side by side by my boat tracking it perfectly as it circled. I was hugely impressed by the skill and seamanship shown by the cox as my boat wasn’t taking a true course and was bumping and changing course every now and then. The cox had to react immediately to all these sudden changes in direction but did so as if he had been doing it all his life.

The cox closed in one more time on my boat and one of the crew calmly jumped into it, moved to the stern and pressed the Stop button killing the engine. It was over.

Hamish took us alongside and I made my thanks to the crew of the RIB. They graciously made light of it and zipped off back to work on the dredger. I jumped back onto my own boat and pulled in the water ski rope. I started the engine up and I followed Hamish’s boat as we headed back to the harbour at a sedate, safe speed. I had had enough thrills for one day.

Meanwhile, back at the harbour Claire and Derek’s girlfriend had enjoyed a leisurely couple of drinks down on the sand by the slip. It had crossed their minds that Derek and I were taking a long time to come back but that’s not unusual when you go to sea. They were just enjoying the pleasant sunny conditions.

As they sat, glass in hand on the sand they watched bemused as the Maritime Rescue Institute fast rescue boat had powered up, cast off and sped out of the harbour. They watched innocently as an ambulance arrived down at the harbour followed by a police car. What could all the commotion be about? It never crossed their minds that we could be in trouble – their view of the sea was screened by the harbour walls and building themselves.

It was only when Derek stepped off the Maritime Rescue Institute boat back in the harbour, and I arrived back shortly afterwards alone in my own boat, that the penny dropped. I was interviewed by the ambulance man to make sure I wasn’t suffering any adverse effects from my immersion, such as hypothermia. I was then interviewed by a police officer who took my details for the record. They told me that someone in the small coastal village of Cowie, adjacent to Stonehaven, had spotted our plight and alerted the rescue services.

I also learned later that my predicament had stopped play up on Stonehaven Golf Course, which sits high on the cliffs looking down over Stonehaven Bay. The golfers had a grandstand view of the events as they unfolded from up there.

Needless to say, I made a suitable donation to the RNLI in the weeks following as a thank you token. I had been very impressed by the cool professionalism displayed by Hamish and by the crew from the dredger.

Thankfully no one got hurt but it had been a close thing and I learned a number of invaluable lessons in those short hours on the water. Like everything else in life you learn your hardest lessons from experience. But I would try never again to leave anyone alone in a boat and I would always have a means of attracting attention to myself in the water. For years afterwards I dived carrying a small watertight plastic container that held personal distress flares and a launcher.

In more recent times, partly as a result of this experience I went on become a Royal Yachting Association Yachtmaster Offshore and Advanced Powerboat Instructor. In addition I served for four years as lifeboat crew on the Maritime Rescue Institute private lifeboat service in Stonehaven - the same lifeboat that had pulled me out of the water. When it was closed down following damage during the great storm of December 2012, RNLI stepped in and opened a lifeboat station in its place. I served as the volunteer RNLI Lifeboat Operations Manager for a number of years thereafter.