spiker's blog: "Sea survival"

So we’re in the crash boat heading into the Strait of Georgia out of Comox on Vancouver Island. It’s July so the weather is good at least and the sea is reasonable with five foot swells but it’s still quite bumpy because we’re making at least twenty knots. In fact one or two of the lads are feeling decidedly unwell and looking a strange shade of green.

It’s called a crash boat because it is designed to respond to aircraft that have to ditch or crash into the sea so it’s fast and has a water-cannon to put out fires, and it can hold a crew of four plus at least 20 survivors. But today it’s not responding to a crash. It’s transporting 15 of us out into the strait for some sea survival training. We’ve already spent most of the week in the classroom attending lectures and watching training videos (mostly from the Royal Navy) and so it’s a welcome break from the boredom of the classroom.

It doesn’t seem very welcome to the two that are about to puke up their guts, however. We elect to kick them out into the sea first to put them out of their misery (or at least if they do start to blow chunks they won’t land on us). We are each wearing a dry-suit and aircrew helmet and each of us has a survival pack comprising a water-tight food container with some basic rations and lots of jellies, about 100 feet of light nylon line, a powerful strobe- light, whistle, a pint bottle of water and, of course, a small inflatable one-man life raft.

The instructors have a cruel glint in their eyes as they see the apprehension in ours. They know what’s coming but they haven’t given us much of a clue at all. All we know is that we are about to simulate having ejected or bailed out of an aircraft into the sea. We have no idea how long we will be out here. They slow down to about ten knots and then Tony gets the heave-ho over the side with his kit. We can see him struggling to inflate his raft as we cruise away. I wonder if he’s still feeling sick. When he disappears out of view, Kevin gets a dunk. The distorted look of terror on his face is hilarious but few of us are laughing – mostly just me and Mike. Mike and I have managed to find the funny side in just about everything all summer, even during the harsh deprivation of our bush survival course in the previous weeks. The hilarity started with the two-man survival phase where Mike and I had shared a lean-to made of a parachute and pine boughs. It was Mike spitting toothpaste into the bushes which brought the visit from the bear the next morning. The sheer terror and exhilaration of being face to face with a bear in the wild set us up for the rest of the summer.

Several jettisoned people later, it’s my turn. The water feels freezing even in the dry-suit and the shock makes everything appear to take a lot longer. The raft inflates okay but it turns out to be a bastard to try and wriggle into. Once inside I set about ensuring that I have all my kit in order and I drop the sea-anchor which should prevent the raft from capsizing in all but the very worst weather. I wonder if I will see any of the others out here, knowing that the chances of that are practically zero. The instructors ensured that we were spread out pretty far apart and the currents would conspire to make a convergence of the little rafts virtually impossible. So I’m stuck out here in a tiny life raft for as long as they decide to leave me.

I survey my surroundings…what’s out here? Well, a whole lot of water, that’s what. The swells appear huge in such a small raft and, whilst you can see long distances at the top of a swell, the troughs have a claustrophobic feel because then you can only see a few feet. If there was anyone near, we would both have to be at the top of a swell at the same time to be visible to each other. At least the weather is okay – only slightly overcast. I sit in my raft and wait, contemplating what to do next. The training videos were full of activities and preparation, but now that I’ve set myself up in my raft, I find that there is very little to do at all. Each fleeting glimpse at the top of each swell reveals a very big sea with nothing to see except water. I wonder how long the instructors will leave us out here. I check my watch. One hour feels like ten. Sadists! I remember their amused faces.

A distant flash of yellow appears in my peripheral vision but then is instantly gone again. What was that? Another raft? Several trips to the top of swells and no sign of yellow again. Must be my imagination. But then it appears again! No mistake this time. There is another raft a couple hundred yards away. I start to paddle the raft in the direction of the other raft and I blow the whistle. The sea anchor keeps the raft stable but it hampers my progress. I can’t make out who’s in the other raft but I can tell he sees me. He’s waving back and paddling. Paddling is exhausting and when we’re about 100 feet away from each other, I swim out with my nylon line attached to my raft. Mario has a wide smile on his face like he hasn’t seen another human in days. It’s only been about two hours in reality. When I get to Mario’s raft, I haul in my raft and we lash them together with the line, just like in the training video. I climb back in my raft and we spend the next half-hour chatting like long-lost friends. I always liked Mario. A quiet sort and usually very reserved but he has the Quebecois spirit and verve which I admire.

We see a speck on the horizon. It’s the crash boat! It must be coming to pick us up already. Only three hours? What a cake-walk! The crash-boat throttles down as it comes to us and we prepare ourselves to board.

“What do youse two think you are doin’?!”

“What do you mean, Sergeant? We’re just sitting in our rafts.”

“You’re not supposed to be together!”

He sounds like a parent scolding a child.

“But we just drifted together and so I swam out with a line like in the video”, I protest. The sergeant reaches down.

“Give me your life raft. Youse two are meant to be practicing boredom and loneliness, not chattin’ like a couple wimmin hangin’ laundry!”

“But the video!…” He scoops up my raft with a large hook, and the crash boat disappears out of sight in less than a minute. WTF?! Mario and I take turns being either in the remaining raft or clinging onto it for the next three hours, chatting like a couple of women hanging laundry. WTF?!