MAN OVERBOARD

The day started out overcast with a light rain.  Late March, autumn, in New Zealand.  The race out of Royal Port Nicholson Yacht Club in Wellington was due to start at 1:15 PM.  By noon the weather was improving and a nice breeze promised good sailing.

With my work as a Senior Medical Officer in the ER at Hutt Valley Hospital I am on duty every other weekend.  As a result I miss out on some of the races.  I hate that, when work gets in the way of my social life!  A recent holiday in Fiji, that involved travelling on 2 Saturdays, meant I had missed a few more races.  But I was off duty this weekend and determined to get out on the water.

The previous evening's Friday Rum race was called off after about an hour, due to calm seas, virtually no wind at all, a circumstance I suspect is uncommon in "Windy" Wellington.  Those of us on Cantilina motored back and joined other sailors at the clubhouse for the post-race festivities that are a hallmark of the RPNYC.  I was having trouble lining up a boat to sail on the following day.

On Saturday I was thrilled to find out that the beautiful 43 ft. Montego Bay III was looking for crew.  I had hoped to get a chance to sail on her one of these days.  

Saucy Sausage, the boat that had won the previous month's Regatta, and on which I had sailed a number of times, had snapped her kite pole a few days before and was sitting out this weekend's races.   Most of the other yachts were either not going out on Saturday or had enough crew.  But I was getting a chance to sail on Montego Bay III.  What luck!

We got off to a good start and with seven onboard, three of us were relegated mostly to sitting on the high side deck edge with legs hanging over, to give more speed to the yacht.  "Rail meat", as my sailing friends back in Charlottetown, PEI, Canada call it.  

The only problem with this job of sitting on the rail is that when the skipper decides to tack, you have to move quickly over to the other side of the boat, while being careful to avoid getting hit in the head with the boom.  If the move is made prematurely it doesn't really help the speed of the boat.  If you delay, it can be difficult to get into proper position because you're then fighting to go uphill, often on a wet and somewhat slippery deck.  Timing in this, as in many of life's situations, is everything.

The race was thrilling, with good speed, lots of waves and the large red spinnaker filled with wind.  We were doing well and rounded the first mark, narrowly edging out our nearest competitor, Flying Circus.  We were all pumped with enthusiasm and the joy of a good afternoon on the water, in beautiful Wellington harbour.  The sun bathed our faces, the wind blew our hair, the waves splashed over us and it was hard to imagine a nicer place to be.

About an hour into the race, cruising along at 7 knots, the skipper indicated he was going to tack again.  We three on the rail prepared to go across to the other side and I started perhaps a second or two early, so as to move in time to get to the other rail before the tack was completed.

Suddenly, without warning, and with the boat executing its turn, having crossed the middle of the deck I slipped and slid right under the lower lifeline.  In a split second I was in the water, hanging onto one of the lifeline poles for dear life.  The boat continued its forward momentum, dragging me along in the rough water, and it was a few seconds before the crew realized there was a "man overboard".

Struggling to hang on, as waves washed over me and salt water filled my mouth, my chest slamming against the side of the boat, I realized I was in a rather precarious situation.   At first it seemed it should be easy to get back on board but as time went on I decided it would be best to inflate my life vest, in case it took awhile.  One pull on the cord and the air chambers filled up.

I had bought the new Hutchwilco vest a month previously on the recommendation of other sailors and I liked the way it fit, without restricting my movements on the boat.  I made a point of purchasing one with a harness clip so a line could be attached to pull me out of the water in case of a mishap.

Apparently one can purchase a crotch strap also, to be added to the life vest to prevent it from sliding up on the chest.  No one at the store had recommended this to me and I erroneously made the assumption that if a reputable marine business, near the yacht club, was selling a personal flotation device (PFD) it would be a reliable one.  I now realize that I should have taken the responsibility to be better educated about the various types of PFD's.

Though it seemed longer to me, swallowing salt water, and feeling like my arm was being ripped from its socket, it was only a short time until one of the crew grabbed my other hand and tried to help me, while the others worked frantically to stop the boat.  In retrospect I might have been better off to have not held on to the side of the boat but it was a reflex to grab for anything I could as I plunged into the water.  

The life vest had migrated up a little and once inflated began to restrict my movements.  When someone managed to tie a rope to the harness clip the vest moved even higher and soon I was having more trouble, my face was being covered and I began to feel like I might drown in spite of the PFD.  

It soon became apparent that the crew would not be able to lift me up over the side of the boat with the rope tied to the harness clip, because of the problem it was causing me.  They suggested that I let go of the boat and they would pull me around to the back and get me onboard that way.

By this time, after being in the water for about ten minutes, fighting the waves and the ill-fitted PFD, it took a little courage to let go of the boat and put my faith in these new friends I had met only that day.  They were all wonderful and managed to get my sorry ass back to safety, despite the fact that I wasn't able to help them much because of the pain in my chest whenever I tried to pull myself up.  It felt like I had cracked my sternum and any arm movements exacerbated the pain.

The race was lost, of course.  We motored back to the club.  I was taken, given a towel and directed to the showers.  Luckily I had a change of clothes with me.

It seemed that I had ruined the day for the entire crew.  At least that's what I thought.  They, on the other hand, were quite unperturbed that they had had to abandon the race, and appeared genuinely pleased with the way things had turned out.  I expect it was better than having someone drown!

They told me that 3 people from the club had gone overboard last season.  On the RPNYC website it says that there were actually five.  So I guess I'm in good company

Dahl, Fran, Bob, Simon, Hash and Ben saved my life and I will always be in awe and grateful to them for it.  

Buying them all drinks at the bar later, though appreciated, seemed like such a small thank-you.  Other sailors, the ones who actually completed the race, soon began to arrive back and the incident on our boat was the talk of the club.

Someone told me that New Zealand has a "Man Overboard club" and that I am now eligible to join.  I must look into that.

Today I am covered with bruises and have been taking paracetamol (tylenol) and ibuprofen for the pain in my chest and arms.  Me, the one who says "Stay away from doctors and don't take pills".  Imagine!

Tomorrow it's back to work.  Glad I had today off to recover.  Next week I'm going to get a different PFD.

Can't wait to go sailing again!!

Marlene Buckler, MD