Lae Game Fishing Club - A Lesson for Us All

A Lesson for Us All - a Story of Survival

Before you read the following letter please take a few minutes to read this foreword.

The writers, Barry* & Flo Mallett, have, after some traumatic soul searching, agreed to it being published on the internet as a reminder to all who ply the sea, of the potential for disaster that is unique to that environment.

They and their son Justin were plunged in an instant from the comfort and safety of their well maintained boat, which had stood them in good stead for many years fishing around the Huon Gulf, to a place only a heartbeat from death - alone in a hostile environment with no communications. That is a place very few have ever been or can fully comprehend, but like Titanic, it is a place just around the corner for any boat.

The letter was written immediately after the event so if you detect a little passion in the message you will understand. Just re-reading it after so many years was a very traumatic experience for them all. The message however is very real and as pertinent today as it was then, it should not be diluted in any way.

After reading it, if you do nothing else, please spend a few minutes considering your own boat, the safety equipment, it's accessibility, and how you would handle a similar situation. There are many who have never come back from the place Barry, Flo and Justin visited that day.

Ian Bull, Lae Yacht Club SAR Officer

* Barry was President of LGFC from 1992 to 1994.

P.O. Box 1499

Lae, PNG

March 28, 1990

To the Commodore, Duty Officers, Committee and Membership of Lae Yacht Club

Dear Colin,

Many thanks from myself, Flo and Justin for the Club's concern and efforts to find us on Sunday 18th March when our boat overturned. The eventual outcome, although unplanned and unexpected, was nonetheless a very satisfactory conclusion to the very worst day of our lives. Our situation was so desperate we were all privately convinced that we had no chance of living through our ordeal.

I will start with an account of what actually happened and finish with a few thoughts and ideas which are entirely our own. I am sure that some members will not wholly agree with some of the content of this letter. I am not trying to be a smart-ass. As a survivor very grateful to be alive, I think I am qualified to air my views. I am not proud of. having been there and done that, only extremely relieved to have my family still intact.

We set out from LYC at 8am. The sea was only fairly choppy at this time but the north-westerly was getting up. Our plan was to go to Cape Arkona to fish the LGFC competition and get away from the Markham wind effect. All was well at first. The Busu River was fairly placid and we nearly stopped to troll under three frigate birds which were circling low.

We began to cross Singaua Bay some two miles out from shore. There was a lot of dirty water and debris around so our speed was kept down to about 12 to 14 knots. We were travelling with the sea. It was getting up to a big chop about this time but we did not feel in any danger or difficulty .

We were abeam of the first plantation buildings when we hit a fairly big log which pushed us up and caused the motors to lose forward propulsion. As I tried to steer around it our boat seemed to plummet into a huge wave depression and the only thing we can remember is a solid wall of water smashing out our lower cabin windscreen. Justin, as usual, was asleep in the cabin. The boat was immediately full of water and the following waves sent us over. I gave a mayday call for a few seconds before the boat turned turtle.

We all miraculously popped up on the lee side of the hull and managed to drag each other back to it. A lot of our treasured possessions and equipment were drifting out but we ignored the cameras, binoculars, etcetera and grabbed three spliced shark-tailing ropes.

It took about ten minutes of sheer panic to get ourselves fixed to the upturned hull. Flo hung onto the sounder transducer and a propeller. Justin was half on, half off the flat part of the hull. They only had their heads out of water and this was only between the waves, which by now were very big. I took a rope up to the bow ring and tried to keep the bows level. At this stage we didn't know if the boat was going to sink or not. If it had we would all have gone down with it. There was no way we could have survived in that sea without lifejackets.

We were literally clinging to that hull without any sun protection, without water and without any means of signalling our predicament to others We could just see a small white boat (Sea Witch) close in to shore. Later we watched in horror as Naafi went past us a mere 200 metres away. That was a particularly bad time, as Justin had spotted them coming and we were all convinced that we were about to be rescued. Visually, we were probably just another small white blob in a raging sea full of whitecaps.

Much later on we could see a blue and white boat (Aussie Bird) between us and the shore heading back towards the Buso. An aeroplane (Richard Leahy) flew slowly up the coast but we had, at that stage, absolutely no means of signalling to it. The sked times came and went, 0915, 1115, 1315 then 1515. We were trying to imagine what the LYC duty officers were making of our continued radio silence. I kept trying to dive under the gunwhale to search for flares, mirrors, water …. anything at all. We knew that a lot of things were still inside but there was no air pocket and it was hard to get under while still holding on to a rope.

I could feel ropes, lures and fishing lines all around. It was not a nice place to be. The others were worried that I might not come out and were pleading for me not to keep trying. The waves showed no sign of easing off and we were all constantly drenched and submerged. After every wave we would wait until our eyes were clear of salt and look anxiously to see if each other was still clinging on. lt was getting bloody desperate. There was no way we could face the night at different ends of the hull. I was making plans to cut up the anchor rope somehow so that we could all be tied together on the vee-hull. While I was trying desperately to think how to achieve this I spotted a vessel behind us. Shortly after, we also picked out a dot in the sky. It was the plane coming back but this time quite far out to sea. It was then or never. I told Flo and Justin that I was going to make another attempt to enter the boat. On the first dive I found four litres of water. This was something …. at least we were not going to die of thirst. By this time I was out of mind control and went under for a longer period. I found the flare container, tugged on the attached rope and the plastic lugs broke off. Another dive under ... shit or bust ... the air-filled container slipped through my fingers and shot back up into the boat. Somehow I found it again and surfaced. There we were with the means to send signals. Once again it slipped from my grasp and began to drift away. A couple of unorthodox and panicky strokes and we had it again. The top eventually relented and unscrewed and there were all our flares and smokes double heat-sealed and dry. We sent up an orange hand smoke. Actually, it clung to the sea but what a beautiful colour. The big ship signalled to us by making a couple of bow turns. What a magic moment that was. It was the "M.V. Glomaris" coming out of Lae on one of its twice-yearly voyages. The big front loading ramp was gently lowered into the sea and most of the deck crew jumped into the water and pulled us to safety. We were all so exhausted we couldn't even swim the five or six metres. The rest is history, we were saved, Wild Thing ( the unsinkable) was winched up and onto the cargo deck, we were treated like royalty and taken back to Lae. We had gone through absolute hell for eight hours and somehow all three of us had come out of it alive.

Nearly all published articles on safety and survival at sea are written with the assumption that survivors are still inside a craft or life-raft. When a boat rapidly overturns but remains floating the story is very much different.

If you have a chance first make your "mayday" call on channel 95. Hopefully there will be more people listening in and there's not much time to stuff around changing channels. Remember that your radio is immediately non-operative once the battery is under seawater. Never abuse the mayday call system. Only resort to it when it is necessary, and believe me, you will know when that time comes! For those eight hours we were asking ourselves the question "did our mayday call get out?" Apparently it did not but it was better not to know that at the time. The decision for someone to attempt to swim to shore is a serious one. Fortunately, none of us are good swimmers so the possibility did not arise. You would have to be an Olympian to swim several miles through pounding seas which are driving you away from land. It would do the minds of the others no good at all as all visual and sound contact would be lost in a very short time. I am convinced that psychologically it is far best and safer for everyone to stay together. The reserves of strength and determination which can be found in desperate situations is incredible. How long numbed and bruised fingers and toes can hold on is still, mercifully, an unknown factor to us.

I think that exhaustion coupled with the terror of darkness and not being able to see each other would have been the deciding factor. The night would have taken us for sure. Reassuring other family members that all will eventually turn out ok is so important, even if you are convinced yourself that loss of life is a very strong possibility.

Don't expect to be able to see a lot. With your heads at sea level it is all so different. We thought the "M.V. Glomaris was Mach I trolling close to us! Also, don't be devastated if others cannot see you. Earlier in the day Naafi came past us at a range of about 200 metres. We could see their faces but we were just another small area of white in a sea full of large whitecaps. Shouting and screaming is of little use in these conditions.

Try to push shark presence to the back of your mind. There are more urgent things to concentrate on. Their imagined importance diminishes as time passes and the outline of an overturned cabin-cruiser with ropes, rods and debris hanging down must appear quite frightening to our well-fed Noahs.

Our vee-sheet drifted away in the first few minutes. It would have perhaps helped when the plane was spotted in the distance. How we would have fixed it to the hull in those seas would have been a different matter. I really don't think it would have been a possibility in our case. Perhaps boat hulls should have a black vee painted on them.

We were eventually picked up some six miles south of Cape Arkona. The drift took us along the coast but always we were gradually going further out. The cockpit roof and 300 metres of anchor rope were obviously slowing down our drift and we averaged 1 1/2 nautical miles per hour.

When the sea is that rough everything you do has to be done one-handed. You are grimly holding on with the other. Opening and striking a hand smoke flare with one wet and numbed hand, with the remainder of you underwater, sounds impossible …. but it can be done. That little cloud or coloured smoke drifting on the wind means much more than a burnt hand or mouth.

It would have been easier and probably better financially to have left the boat to slowly break up when we were rescued. It would have been a total insurance write-off and would have saved a lot of hard work and hassle. If one of the small boats had found us this would have had to happen. Fortunately for us a coastal vessel with a 12 ton lifting arm found us. We are so pleased to get Wild Thing back. Hopefully, it will soon be cruising again stronger and better. We just hope the rest or you boaties leave a few fish for us in the Huon Gulf in the meantime.

For us, it is time to rethink our boat layout. It's no good saying "it can not happen to us". We had all the listed safety gear (plus more) but it was of no use when the boat turned over in only a few seconds.

The only reason for our boat filling up and overturning after the log collision was a large expanse of 4mm perspex windscreen on our lower cabin which shattered with the sheer weight of water. This windscreen is being replaced by marine plywood and fibreglass Maski the front windows. You don't need them unless you are looking through them to steer.

The only reason we stayed afloat was 8 cubic feet of underdeck flotation which Jeff Tait insisted on when I rebuilt the stringers and decking.

Think strongly on placement of lifejackets and wear them in rough water.

Design some form of waterproof container which is firmly attached to a strong rope fixed to a known point. It should contain a set of mini-flares, a mirror, a folding knife and zinc sun-block as minimum. Each would have a strong cord attached to it for tying to the boat or your bodies There is no place on an upturned hull to stand things so everything has to be roped on. Look at your boat and imagine it upside down with just a fraction of hull above water. How would you hold onto it for hours? Think about placement of thick soft rope loops around the gunwhale, transom and bow areas. We were so lucky in having a lot of spliced loop shark-tailing ropes on board. They were about the first things which drifted out and came to hand when we turned over.

Similarly, a container(s) of fresh water should be roped on and free-standing. Don't worry if is standing in the sun. After a few hours of being covered by waves anything without salt in it would make a lot of difference to the odds of survival. Solid food is of far less importance.

Waterproof torches would be of enormous help if it was dark. At least you could check on each other and flash the SOS signal at any shore fires or ship’s lights. Do we all know the …---… signal?

Always answer the safety skeds. Perhaps the Yacht Club committee could bring up the question of Saturday morning skeds again, or make it compulsory to inform Zulu Base of your Saturday morning movements. It's a long time between 0630 and 1315.

EPIRB's are another way to go. I believe they can be picked up by aircraft (including long-haul commercial planes) up to 200 miles away. Some satellites are also capable of picking up the signals too. Perhaps waterproof handheld radios should also be investigated and priced for our members. The radio channels used by various shipping companies might also be listed.

Our special thanks go to all those who were concerned and active in trying to locate us. To Richard Leahy battling the strong winds in his small plane, to the skippers and crews of Aussie Bird, Naafi and "Sea Witch", to Kerry King, Bob Finall, Col Weeds, Hilmar Wong, Bob Hunter, Peter Lunniss and Mike Verral. I know there are others who we don't yet know about …. a big thankyou to you all.

We have only total praise for Captain John Chris and his crew on the M.V.Glomaris. They were absolutely magnificent in their efforts to save us and our boat. They provided coffee, smokes, clothing, towels and even cooked us a hot meal while they were making the slow trip back to Lae from which they had earlier departed. It is nice to think that after the past LYC efforts to save Papua New Guineans in distress, we were eventually saved by a vessel totally skippered and crewed by PNG seamen. It was a true case of all being brothers on the sea.

My only worry is that the searching club boats consisted of only two or three small craft. I know it was a bad sea but it makes me wonder if the southerly migration of all the Jeff Taits and Don Elliotts has signalled a new uncertain era in search and rescue attitudes amongst us … I hope not.

Anyway, enough said, cheers to you all. It's so nice to see you all again.

Signed

Barry Mallett on behalf of the other ‘Wild Things’ Flo and Justin.