A gentle weekend sailing trip in November. What could possibly go wrong?
We anchored up on Saturday night just off the Hoo peninsula. Danny and Em in the cabin at the front of the boat, Louise and I on the two couch beds in the back.
The weather was calm but a bit wet. By 0600, after a few sleepless hours of listening to the sound of rain drops on the roof of the boat, I decided to get up and make a cup of tea.
Standing in the galley I put the kettle on the stove, and struck a match. I'm not sure exactly what happened at this point, because the next thing I remember is laying on the deck, in smoke and debris of an explosion. My crew mates were busy, trying to sort out what to do next. I could hear Em making a Mayday call on the radio while Louise readied the tender. As fire rapidly took hold across the boat, we didn't have time to grab much -- just a bug-out bag from the rear deck.
The other three helped me into the tender, and then climbed in themselves. This wasn't easy, the tender was small, and I was crying out in pain at the burns across my face and arm.
Shore wasn't far away -- maybe 25 yards -- so didn't take long. We landed somewhere on the north coast of Kent. Although it was still pitch black, Danny said he could see lights in the distance. In my state there was no way I would make it to the lights, so we agreed Louise would take me to shelter -- there were some ruined building near the shore -- while Em and Danny would go get help.
There wasn't much shelter in the buildings: None of them had a roof, or even a floor, just a foot of dirty water and a lot of brambles. The best we could manage was to get out of the wind, in the shelter of a berm. We raided the bug-out bag. It didn't have much of use, only a camping mat, which Louise put underneath me, and a poncho, which she put on the top to try and keep in some warmth.
In pain, and drifting in and out of consciousness, I lay there.
The next thing I heard was footsteps and a guy in an orange jacket appearing in front of me. A shake, some words. I rose up through the fog. Where am I? What's happened? I managed to get out the word "Cold" before drifting off once more.
A flurry of activity as the orange angels got to work. My poncho was replaced with some much more effective space blankets, and somebody surveyed my injuries, checked my pulse and other vitals. I remember hearing snippets of a radio message calling for an ambulance and help to evacuate a casualty. Me.
My next conscious period lasted longer than the previous few. "Where does it hurt?" asked the guy in orange. "My neck". Suddenly the approach to treatment changed, and a flurry of radio messages called in extra equipment.
My feet were numb, I was shivering, my face hurt, my neck hurt. My arm didn't. As they moved my arm to roll me onto my back I caught sight of the black singed remains of my skin. Why didn't it hurt. Why did my face hurt?
I drifted off again.
When next I regained consciousness I was tilted at an angle, but held firmly on all sides as something cold and metallic was slid under me, then tilted the other way as another matching item was slid in, followed by the metallic click of catches flipping into place.
I flew up into the air, before being lowered gently into something. I could feel the edges of it against my arms. Straps were fitted along with a collar round my neck. I'd stopped shivering now, I was so cold. But I couldn't move, even if I wanted to, fastened firmly but safely into a basket stretcher. There was a count and I took off. Watching the featureless grey sky rotate above me, as the orange jacketed stretcher bearers explained they were taking me to a helicopter that would take me to the hospital. I was cold, but the thought of a helicopter filled me with hope. Maybe I would make it through the day.
Something wasn't right though. If there was a helicopter, why couldn't I hear it? Was I disorientated? Was my hearing failing me? Or was this a Nissan pick-up I was being slid into?
The straps were loosened, and the collar removed, a hand reached for mine and lifted me to the sitting position.
"You OK?"
"Cold"
"ENDEX, you can climb out of there and warm up in the cab"
"Cheers"
----
If you don't remember reading about a serious boating accident off Kent last weekend, it's because it was only an exercise by my local Lowland Rescue team (you know, like Mountain Rescue but without the mountains).
They had appealed on Twitter for bodies for an exercise, and I volunteered.
I arrived bright and early, not sure what to expect. Friendly people from the Lowland Rescue team, the Police and Fire & rescue greeted me and thanked me for coming, before I sat down and received some casualty simulation make-up. Burns was apparently my part for the day. Coupled with some diabetes just to liven up the first aid. If you want to see the gruesome and frankly brilliant injury make up, have a look at this link. You have been warned.
http://photos.quixotic.eu/misc/facialburns01.jpg
Playing the part of a relatively ill equipped sailor who had been the victim of an accident, I lay on an insulated matt, in just a base layer and thin trousers, with a poncho over the top to keep the worst out. In case of a genuine emergency, next to me sat my backpack with a sleeping bag and bivi bag in it, and also a SOLAS whistle in the pack. Have to keep to the scenario though.
I lay there, curled up under the poncho getting colder and colder for what felt like ages, but was in reality only 2 hours. Eventually after what felt like an eternity the SAR crew turned up and got to work with my safe evacuation to medical attention.
The whole experience was an enlightening one. Unless you happen to have an unfortunate accident on a hillside or in the woods, you generally won't experience the machine that is a Lowland/Mountain Rescue team, and you don't experience the care, thought, and effort that goes into getting us home. I was laying on top of a berm, surrounded by the evidence of a recent herd of cows, on a bleak, windswept salt marsh on a foggy Sunday Morning. These guys came there to rescue me.
I am a strong supporter of the work that volunteer Lowland/Mountain Rescue teams perform in the UK. I'm not very well off so can't support them with cash, nor do I have the skills or personality to be able to contribute as a volunteer. So the least I can do to help is by doing something I am very good at: Getting lost.
I left the marsh today with mild hypothermia (my own stupid fault), and a very fetching burns make-up to my face and arm. Hopefully the training and experience that everyone went through today means that when it happens for real, someone else might make it to the hospital alive.
Julia
We anchored up on Saturday night just off the Hoo peninsula. Danny and Em in the cabin at the front of the boat, Louise and I on the two couch beds in the back.
The weather was calm but a bit wet. By 0600, after a few sleepless hours of listening to the sound of rain drops on the roof of the boat, I decided to get up and make a cup of tea.
Standing in the galley I put the kettle on the stove, and struck a match. I'm not sure exactly what happened at this point, because the next thing I remember is laying on the deck, in smoke and debris of an explosion. My crew mates were busy, trying to sort out what to do next. I could hear Em making a Mayday call on the radio while Louise readied the tender. As fire rapidly took hold across the boat, we didn't have time to grab much -- just a bug-out bag from the rear deck.
The other three helped me into the tender, and then climbed in themselves. This wasn't easy, the tender was small, and I was crying out in pain at the burns across my face and arm.
Shore wasn't far away -- maybe 25 yards -- so didn't take long. We landed somewhere on the north coast of Kent. Although it was still pitch black, Danny said he could see lights in the distance. In my state there was no way I would make it to the lights, so we agreed Louise would take me to shelter -- there were some ruined building near the shore -- while Em and Danny would go get help.
There wasn't much shelter in the buildings: None of them had a roof, or even a floor, just a foot of dirty water and a lot of brambles. The best we could manage was to get out of the wind, in the shelter of a berm. We raided the bug-out bag. It didn't have much of use, only a camping mat, which Louise put underneath me, and a poncho, which she put on the top to try and keep in some warmth.
In pain, and drifting in and out of consciousness, I lay there.
The next thing I heard was footsteps and a guy in an orange jacket appearing in front of me. A shake, some words. I rose up through the fog. Where am I? What's happened? I managed to get out the word "Cold" before drifting off once more.
A flurry of activity as the orange angels got to work. My poncho was replaced with some much more effective space blankets, and somebody surveyed my injuries, checked my pulse and other vitals. I remember hearing snippets of a radio message calling for an ambulance and help to evacuate a casualty. Me.
My next conscious period lasted longer than the previous few. "Where does it hurt?" asked the guy in orange. "My neck". Suddenly the approach to treatment changed, and a flurry of radio messages called in extra equipment.
My feet were numb, I was shivering, my face hurt, my neck hurt. My arm didn't. As they moved my arm to roll me onto my back I caught sight of the black singed remains of my skin. Why didn't it hurt. Why did my face hurt?
I drifted off again.
When next I regained consciousness I was tilted at an angle, but held firmly on all sides as something cold and metallic was slid under me, then tilted the other way as another matching item was slid in, followed by the metallic click of catches flipping into place.
I flew up into the air, before being lowered gently into something. I could feel the edges of it against my arms. Straps were fitted along with a collar round my neck. I'd stopped shivering now, I was so cold. But I couldn't move, even if I wanted to, fastened firmly but safely into a basket stretcher. There was a count and I took off. Watching the featureless grey sky rotate above me, as the orange jacketed stretcher bearers explained they were taking me to a helicopter that would take me to the hospital. I was cold, but the thought of a helicopter filled me with hope. Maybe I would make it through the day.
Something wasn't right though. If there was a helicopter, why couldn't I hear it? Was I disorientated? Was my hearing failing me? Or was this a Nissan pick-up I was being slid into?
The straps were loosened, and the collar removed, a hand reached for mine and lifted me to the sitting position.
"You OK?"
"Cold"
"ENDEX, you can climb out of there and warm up in the cab"
"Cheers"
----
If you don't remember reading about a serious boating accident off Kent last weekend, it's because it was only an exercise by my local Lowland Rescue team (you know, like Mountain Rescue but without the mountains).
They had appealed on Twitter for bodies for an exercise, and I volunteered.
I arrived bright and early, not sure what to expect. Friendly people from the Lowland Rescue team, the Police and Fire & rescue greeted me and thanked me for coming, before I sat down and received some casualty simulation make-up. Burns was apparently my part for the day. Coupled with some diabetes just to liven up the first aid. If you want to see the gruesome and frankly brilliant injury make up, have a look at this link. You have been warned.
http://photos.quixotic.eu/misc/facialburns01.jpg
Playing the part of a relatively ill equipped sailor who had been the victim of an accident, I lay on an insulated matt, in just a base layer and thin trousers, with a poncho over the top to keep the worst out. In case of a genuine emergency, next to me sat my backpack with a sleeping bag and bivi bag in it, and also a SOLAS whistle in the pack. Have to keep to the scenario though.
I lay there, curled up under the poncho getting colder and colder for what felt like ages, but was in reality only 2 hours. Eventually after what felt like an eternity the SAR crew turned up and got to work with my safe evacuation to medical attention.
The whole experience was an enlightening one. Unless you happen to have an unfortunate accident on a hillside or in the woods, you generally won't experience the machine that is a Lowland/Mountain Rescue team, and you don't experience the care, thought, and effort that goes into getting us home. I was laying on top of a berm, surrounded by the evidence of a recent herd of cows, on a bleak, windswept salt marsh on a foggy Sunday Morning. These guys came there to rescue me.
I am a strong supporter of the work that volunteer Lowland/Mountain Rescue teams perform in the UK. I'm not very well off so can't support them with cash, nor do I have the skills or personality to be able to contribute as a volunteer. So the least I can do to help is by doing something I am very good at: Getting lost.
I left the marsh today with mild hypothermia (my own stupid fault), and a very fetching burns make-up to my face and arm. Hopefully the training and experience that everyone went through today means that when it happens for real, someone else might make it to the hospital alive.
Julia
.
(sorry Lyn)
