HOW TO ... get MOB ready
Handling emergencies begins with good preparation.
A crew member falls overboard: the universal sailor’s nightmare.
Here’s mine:
The chaos of leaving the dock, hoisting sails and getting underway is a distant memory. Land and the sense of safety that the coastline provides has disappeared over the horizon. It’s dusk. The first night at sea is drawing in.
There is something about the time of day where light transitions to dark. In the higher latitudes, it can span an hour. On the tropics, it’s faster. But, in this in between zone time feels like it slows down. It’s like nature gives us a gift of a pause; a chance to take a breathe and reacclimatize to our new version of existence.
It’s easy to find yourself in a meditative moment at dusk and dawn. Deeply connected with the turning of our planet in its vast solar system. Intensely relaxed by the reminder that whatever happens - the world keeps spinning. And most days, that moment between light and dark, dark and light, is so beautiful. Yes. Our planet offers us wonderous shows. Colours, rainbows, firey reds on one side and blues and purples on the other; we work so hard to create electricity and make these on demand. And yet, they are there for us to enjoy - for free - every day, if we just take the time to look up.
I often find myself contemplating the universe and the way in which humanity interacts with it, at dusk, at sea.
With a light dinner warming our bellies, and lifejackets on it’s time to settle into watches. As the skipper, I climb down the companionway for a few more layers. I like to make sure I’m on the first watch of the night to set up the routines right for the oncoming passage. Because of that, I try to get my head down for an hour earlier in the day. With the adrenalin drop after the departure, it’s a natural break. And in my nightmare, I made that good choice.
Now down below, with one arm in my midlayer, my life-jacket on the bench, night has almost entirely closed in. Bliss. And then… BANG. A bomb goes off. I hear it again. No it wasn’t in my head.
“CHARLIE IS OVERBOARD! SKIPPER! WE HAVE A CREW OVERBOARD!”
My heart drops to my stomach, and regurgitates up in my mouth. Now what…
The lack of control that we have at sea is a double edged sword. At dusk and dawn, it feels like an embrace from nature. There is a regularity to our powerlessness. Every day will be 24 hours long, and the sun will drop below (or close) to the horizon at some point. There is nothing we can do to change it. It’s nurturing in its routine. The predictability of days following nights that follow days.
But those same powers that bring beauty, bring storms, and disasters and threaten our lives. As the wind howls, the seastate builds, and we can merely react to forces greater than ourselves - we are just as connected to our lack of power as we were in the serenity of the sunset. This time, though, it’s terrifying. It’s unhinging. And it takes all our might to not become swamped by stress.
The difference between a lack of control being calming or chaotic - is the element of ‘unknown’. The world spins and that - we understand. The slow arrival of night feels reassuring. Like the world is playing out ‘like it should’. But then night falls, and you can’t see and you don’t ‘know’ exactly what is out there. Fear builds. Storms blow in and you don’t know how big they will get. The ‘what-ifs’ can drive you mad. And something really bed then happens that you didn’t expect at all? The greatest risk at sea is panic. Perhaps the greatest fear of the unknown, is the unknown side of ourselves…
So, to best handle emergencies - like a crew member falling overboard or a sudden storm setting - the trick, is to make them feel as ‘routine’ and as ‘reassuringly expected’ as you can. We know there are unknowns in the wilderness. And we know they will strike. If we prepare for the unexpected, we can keep ourselves calm and effective by following processes.
Someone falling into the water is a nightmare. A known unknown with the risk of death. It will never be calm. But, there is some preparation we can do to reduce some of the unknowns of our behaviour.
Preparing our boats with the right kit is probably one of the only things within our control in the event of a crew falling overboard. With this equipment, we can follow a thought out plan during our moment of powerlessness. And, in doing so, we will make it less likely that the emergency will become a tragedy.
Here are some of the things I’ve learned to check or set up on any boat I go to sea.
1. Lifejacket
One for everyone. Each one properly fitted and tight enough to be comfortable and effective when inflated. And all to have:
An AIS PLB fitted to automatically activate when the lifejacket inflates.
A light that is water activated.
A spray hood.
Crotch straps.
If I’m racing, I take several spare re-arming kits. If the inflators have hydrostatic valves, I take at least 2 spare inflators and correctly sized CO2 bottles for a crew under 10 people. If the inflators are water activated, I take 1 spare rearming kit for every lifejacket onboard.
2. Trigger release Dan buoy
The purpose of the Dan Buoy is to mark the approximate location of the MOB. It should be activated immediately on a crew member falling in the water. It’s a tall pole with retroreflective tape, a drogue, and a water activated light. Some are inflatable and some are a fixed pole.
I like to add to an AIS PLB unit to the Dan Buoy. This creates redundancy if the person overboard does not have a functioning AIS PLB.
How? If it’s an inflatable Dan Buoy you can set up the AIS unit similarly to how you would on lifejackets where it will detonate when the life jacket inflates. For a fixed pole, you can set up the AIS unit to detonate when you throw the Dan Buoy over the side.