Experience: I was flung overboard

http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/jan/09/i-was-flung-overboard-experience

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It was 6.30am on a cold June morning and my son Danial and I were fishing three miles out at sea when I realised we’d left the tackle in the back of my van. I turned our 16ft dory to head back to Redcar lifeboat station. This 40-minute detour would save our lives.

Once we had gathered our gear, we headed five miles straight out, to fish in about 140ft of water. The boat’s new engine – a recent upgrade from the usual 25 horsepower to 135 – ran well. We were landing cod and mackerel thick and fast, and by midday had a good catch. We headed back, stopping about three miles offshore to clean and gut the fish. I turned off the engine and, as I always did, took off my lifejacket to put on my waders, ready for landing.

I restarted the engine to let it tick over. It struggled slightly, so I put a bit of power on. The boat suddenly shot off, flinging Danial 15ft from the boat. I was thrown to the side of the boat, then out and overboard.

All I could hear was the whoosh of the white water and see the froth of surf as I went under the swell. I surfaced and saw the boat shoot farther off. I must have jammed the steering wheel when I was thrown out, because it started to circle in a 500m loop at 15 miles an hour. Getting back onboard was our only chance: no one knew we were there. And we weren’t wearing lifejackets.

Danial surfaced, shouting for me. Our waders, filling with water, were tightening around our chests and pulling us under. We struggled to get out of them, but both had to submerge ourselves repeatedly to wriggle free. I was exhausted. Danial told me to float on my back, but the swell was about 2m high, so the waves kept breaking over my face. I kept choking on water. This position also meant I couldn’t see Danial or the boat. I really didn’t want to lose sight of either, so I turned over and began to alternate between using my legs and arms to stay afloat. I’m not a very good swimmer.

I realised I couldn’t see land or Danial, just the waves. For 20 minutes, apart from the thrashing of water in my ears, all was quiet. I thought Danial had drowned. I was thinking, “I brought my son for a nice day out and now I have drowned him. And I am going to die, too.”

Then I heard his voice shouting, “Dad!” He thought I’d gone. I told him I was OK and he told me to keep swimming. I told him to stay near the boat, but away from the path of its propellers. Fit, in his late 20s, he was able to keep going. Forty minutes later, the engine started to splutter: it was running out of fuel. When it finally stopped, Danial clambered on. I told him to pull the cord to start the auxiliary motor, but he panicked and flooded the engine.

By now, the current had taken me farther away, and none of the ropes on board could reach me. I heard Danial put out a mayday call over the radio and send up a flare.

A local RNLI volunteer called Cameron was crab fishing with his 16-year-old son Jordan when he responded to the distress signal. He was with Danial within 20 minutes. Danial showed him where I was, just about managing to keep my head above the water a quarter of a mile away. Cameron reached me in his boat, flung a rope to me, then yanked up my arm so he could put a lifejacket over my head. I couldn’t stop thanking him. I couldn’t have carried on much longer – I had begun to let go and was in a world of my own.

He had to drag me on to the boat, because I was too shattered to move. Twelve minutes later, I was back on the shore and in an ambulance. I was shivering violently and felt a six-inch block of ice inside my belly: that was the hypothermia.

I saw the RNLI crew carrying what looked like a body bag to the shore. I was so scared, but then I saw Danial stand up from the stretcher. I thanked god, even though I’m not religious. Danial and I couldn’t believe what had happened. We said nothing, just cuddled and sobbed.

We still haven’t really talked about it. I hate to think what would have happened if I hadn’t made that detour and used up so much petrol. I still love my boat, but I’ve changed to a lower horsepower engine, and now I never ever remove my lifejacket.

• As told to Sarah Smith

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