Franco and I were crewing on the yacht Integrity. The plan was to sail the Pacific Ocean for about a year, dropping anchor where and when we wanted to. Jim, the owner and skipper, and Frank, an experienced yachtsman, taught us navigation, to take bearings from the sat nav, how to read the depth sounder, how to chart our progress and how to cook on the high seas.
We left Sandringham Yacht Club one fine evening and bunked down for the night. While we three were sleeping, Jim decided to ‘test’ Integrity and had started through the Heads against the tide. Franco and I awoke to the pounding of the yacht against very high waves, leaking hatches and an imperturbable Jim at the wheel. He was revelling in the power he assumedly had against the sea with his steel hulled ketch in which he had absolute faith. Being new to this business, we had our doubts. Frank slept. Eventually we cleared the Heads and arrived in calmer water.
The ideal way to cross to the Bay of Islands is to sail towards Sydney but unbeknown to us we were heading straight into the Roaring 40s, known as one of the roughest parts of the ocean anywhere in the world. We’d read about yachting adventures, mishaps and heroic rescues, but nothing prepares one for the force of the elements when you’re right in the thick of it. It’s very beautiful, but awesome and frightening at the same time. I think we all knew that all was not right with our world and as it turns out we were right.
The consequences of trying to better the elements was an overturned yacht 300 miles (482km) from Gabo Island. At 12:20am, pitch black sky and upside down is no way to spend a relaxing holiday. “Theoretically,” said Franco as we stared at the stared at the ceiling (under our feet), “these things are supposed to right themselves.” Famous last words. Very shortly, the ‘thing’ had righted itself by doing two 180-degree flips, creating an enormous amount of damage. The damage to me was quite considerable. Upside down in the engine, unconscious, I was very close to being an ex-person. Franco and Frank had a leg each and as salt water trickled up my nose I awoke to the danger, twisted my shoulders and shot out of there like a cork out of champagne!
For a few hours we bailed with buckets. Jim was in a terrible state as he’d cracked his head the night before, so Frank took over as captain. He bullied Jim into remembering where the pump and bolts were and to rig an aerial. The seas were still huge, which meant there was a real possibility of being swamped. Jim did erect the aerial and sent out a mayday. “Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Integrity, Integrity, Integrity.” I’ve never forgotten those words or the reality that hit as they were transmitted. Melbourne received and passed us on to Canberra who said that rescue was being organised.
An Australian Air force Hercules located us 30 miles (48km) from the last sat nav fix that I’d taken at 12.10am, then the Columbus California sailed into view. The captain advised Canberra that if the conditions were not right, the rescue attempt would have to be aborted. A container ship has a thin steel hull and if our vessel had collided with it there could have been grave damage. As it turned out, the captain was more than equal to the task and brilliantly manoeuvred alongside us. A net was thrown down for us to climb and Franco and I readied ourselves for the jump, waiting for the time when Integrity was high on a swell before launching ourselves. The time arrived and off we went.
Hanging from the side of a ship is no laughing matter (well, it is now!) especially because I realised that I had no strength in my left side. Encouragement was coming from all quarters, but there was just nothing I could do. Against orders, a gallant seaman came down the net, rolled me up and I was hauled aboard. Slings were lowered for Frank and Jim and they were hauled up.
There ends the story. As they say, all’s well that ends well! Of course something like this changes one’s attitude to life. Now I don’t sweat the small stuff.