They have always been there, somewhere, lurking not so much in my mind as so many things seem to lurk, but more generally in the bottom of a cockpit locker. The white plastic canister, the yellow or orange industrial carrier bag, doesn’t recycle it just yet. Yes, it’s the life raft. When skippers of old used to give me briefings before setting off for parts foreign they were generally covered with the cursory wave of a knarled weather worn hand, having first exposed the package from beneath a couple of old warps, buckets, oars, fenders, you know the sort of thing. Or, in the case of the more fastidious of owners, neatly wrapped in heavy duty polyethylene and bound in gaffa tape, followed by a sage “You need to look after these things my boy, they cost a fortune”.

In which ever way the life raft may be stowed, even if in an easily accessible and secure position, the deployment of such will be explained with something along the lines of; “If you do need to chuck it over the side, dear boy, just make sure its tethered to the boat first, ho, ho. Oh, and by the way, “”we””, ( in another sage, obviously experienced voice) tend to only use the life raft if we have to step up into it, ok”.

For over thirty years now, I have been sailing around totally oblivious to the real significance of the life raft and what might happen should I ever need to use one.
A ten second scan on Google and a phone call later, I was booked on a RYA Sea Survival Course with “On Deck”. Far too early on a Saturday morning, I was driving south to “On Decks’” comfortable training rooms in Gosport. The rest of my class of six consisted of five serious racers all preparing for “Fastnet's” and “ARC’s”. All terribly young, terribly fit, and obviously a lot more agile than the fat bloke in the corner. On Deck

Having kicked the body into action with a strong coffee and a “gasper”, outside of course, Ian Jinks kicked off our first classroom session. The facts and figures of this generally unspoken area of our chosen pastime start to sink in. The harsh reality of it is that none of this sort of training was in place until after the 1979 Fastnet disaster and more recently the 1998 Sidney Hobart. Any one who has read “Fastnet Force Ten” could not fail to be overawed by the exploits and misfortunes of the many that got caught in those terrible seas. And yet I am sitting in this classroom today realising with an ever increasing speed that I, after over thirty years on the water have not got a clue about how to preserve the lives of my crew, or myself, in the event of the unthinkable.

Another even stronger coffee and another gasper had me realising that this was not just ignorance on my part, but gross stupidity to the point of gross dereliction of duty as a skipper.

Much as though it is nice and cosy to be able to push these matters to the back of ones mind, there was to be no avoiding the pool session, a quaint Victorian edifice, five minutes from our classroom. All decked out in our foul weather kit, the sweat was already pouring before Ian had even inflated the life raft. Once in the water, one became slightly refreshed and comforted by just how much support a correctly adjusted life-jacket can give. Be warned though dear reader, don’t do it up too tightly, because believe me, not many minutes from now, your chest is going to feel like it is going to explode, and having it restrained with a taut webbing strap is no fun.

Every time you get out of the water, you are reminded just how heavy your waterproofs have become and this is without three layers of under garments and your sea boots. Getting into a life raft in a swimming pool is not easy. Sitting in a four man life raft with seven of you is extremely uncomfortable and very hot and claustrophobic.

Were I on my own, I would think I might have one good chance at launching myself into the raft before needing to recover, it is exhausting. With the other guys around, a team effort soon got things moving and organised in a random sort of way, thank you chaps.

For some reason, as I was being aided by my team-mates to nimbly alight our waiting craft, I had this picture in my mind of a whale being dragged up the back of a Japanese factory ship. Not a pretty sight, but then I now certainly don’t expect survival to be pretty; it is, after all survival. The final exercise after nearly two hours in the water involved a team of three swimming in a crocodile to the deep end of the pool, getting into the life raft, cutting the painter, deploying the drogue and then paddling to the shallow end, whilst baling out the huge amount of water that our classmates had dumped on us via hosepipe and bucket, the little treasures.

Believe me; you will be rushing out to buy yourselves a spray hood, because the chances are, that all but the most expensive life-jackets don’t have them included.
This was a completely exhausting experience for me, I was knackered and this was in the comfortable confines of a swimming pool at some 20 degrees, flat calm and in bright sunshine. Even the remotest thought of having to do any of this at night in The Channel, in March, with a 3 meter swell and a gale blowing is incomprehensible, but not impossible.

As the ordeal ended, just peeling my oilies off in the shower, was again a reminder of just how heavy they have become, all designed to sap your strength and resolve.

We returned to base for a quick bite of lunch, with every one I think having taken a slightly more serious stance after the pool session. An afternoon classroom period followed with far more coffee breaks as I don’t think the fat bloke in the corner was the only one who was tired. Discussions followed over the types and costs of different types of life raft. It struck me that the same arguments applied when I used to buy new crash helmets for motorcycle racing years ago. It’s your life.

I am sorry if this has been a sobering read for some of you, but this course really hit home to me. I cannot believe that it is not a prerequisite for a Yachtmaster ticket, not just for a commercial endorsement. With the undisclosed numbers, but potentially millions, of lost containers bobbing around our oceans, and even closer to home. Don’t forget the ~~~~~~. Why is this course just a requirement for a percentage of racing crews, and not all? What about all us cruisers? I sincerely hope that none of you ever have the misfortune to have abandon ship and take to your life raft, but should the unthinkable happen, don’t you think it would be a good idea if you, a responsible and experienced person, actually knew what the contents of that valise at the bottom of the cockpit locker actually looked like, and that you actually had received some extremely good training in how to use them.
Boatshed Hayling Island
Boatshed Chichester