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This episode is brought to you by Honda. When you test drive the all-new Prologue EV, there's a lot that can impress you about it. There's the class-leading passenger space, the clean, thoughtful design, and the intuitive technology. But out of everything, what you'll really love most is that it's a Honda. Visit Honda.com slash EV to see offers. August the 14th, 1979. It's early morning somewhere out in the Celtic Sea off the south coast of Ireland.
24-year-old Nick Ward stands aboard the 30-foot racing yacht Grimalkin, one of a crew of six. He's been battling gale force winds for hours. He is soaked and frozen to the bone. Monstrous waves rear up on all sides, vertical slabs of water. They smash down, drenching the crew and tossing the yacht about like a children's toy. Nick has never seen anything like it.
The conditions which were becoming intolerable, I'd not experienced ever before. And so for me, it was unknown territory. And I was scared, scared of what was happening. It was so difficult to control the boat. So difficult. The exhausted sailors huddle together. They desperately need a plan, but there is a difference of opinion. Some want to deploy the life raft to set themselves adrift and trust help will come. But Nick is dead against the idea.
The advice of his father keeps coming back to him. One of his first rules was, "Do not leave the boat, even if she capsizes." So that was just in my head all the time. The life raft is the last resort. The best life raft you have is what's beneath you, and that's the boat. Tempers begin to flare as the yacht sways this way and that. But then, something silences the discussion. A terrible, trembling roar.
Nick turns to see a sheer wall of water towering maybe 70 feet directly above them. Ever wondered what you would do when disaster strikes? If your life depended on your next decision, could you make the right choice? Welcome to Real Survival Stories. These are the astonishing tales of ordinary people thrown into extraordinary situations. People suddenly forced to fight for their lives. In this episode, we meet Nick Ward.
The young English sailor is chasing a lifetime ambition as he competes in one of the world's elite yacht races. But out at sea, he and his crewmates find themselves caught in a once-in-a-generation storm. For hours, they'll fight together side by side. But after one wave too many, Nick will be left to face this life-or-death struggle alone. It had turned from a race into a race for survival, and I've never been so petrified in my life.
I'm John Hopkins from Noisa This is Real Survival Stories. It's the morning of Saturday, August 11th, 1979, in the English Channel, just off Cowes on the Isle of Wight. It's a beautiful day, clear sky, light breeze. All week the weather has been good. There are over 300 boats bobbing in the calm waters close to the clubhouse of the Royal Yacht Squadron.
This is the starting point of the legendary Fastnet Race, held every other year since 1925. It's a six-day, 600-mile sprint along the south coast of England, past the Scilly Isles, out into the Celtic Sea, then round the Fastnet Rock off the southern tip of Ireland, and back again. 24-year-old Nick Ward is buzzing with excitement. He's long dreamt of tackling the Fastnet. Sailing is in his blood. He was born in the seaside village of Hamble,
a boating paradise on the Hampshire coast. My father built a dinghy, an eight-foot long pram dinghy in which he taught me to sail. And as I got older, we progressed into different classes of boats. I was out and about all over the country, sailing with some wonderful people. You're there with the sea, the sky. That sounds too corny, I know. But it's just you and the elements.
I was willing to do anything and everything as far as sailing was concerned. Not so long ago, Nick thought his sailing career might be over before it really began. Aged 15, he suffered a brain hemorrhage, leaving him with epilepsy and partial paralysis on his left-hand side. He worked hard to regain his physical abilities. Now, while he must carefully manage his condition with medication, he's able to sail with the best of them.
When he's not out on the water, Nick works for a company supplying boat parts. That's how he came to meet an accountant in his 40s, David Sheehan. David is the owner of the yacht Grimalkin, and in June, he invited Nick to join his crew for a stab at the fastnet. David was my customer, and a very good one too. And he stopped at nothing to make his boat secure and safe, which is why I liked sailing with him.
David's son Matthew, who was then 17 years of age, was the main staunch crew member. He was a strong, muscular young man who I was acquainted with but didn't know well. But we became friends, particularly during the run-up races. There was a chap called Mike Doyle and another one, David Wheeler, who I didn't know, but David had known from his sailing club and they became part of the crew also.
There was one change of crew member in that Jerry Winx came aboard and replaced another guy whose name I cannot recall. But we all got on very well, particularly Matthew and myself. The Grimalkin crew has a great blend of youth and experience. After the Captain David, Jerry is the oldest in his mid-thirties. Mike and Nick are in their twenties, while the younger Dave and Matthew, the skipper's son, are both still teenagers. All of them are talented yachtsmen.
Since coming together, they recently placed well in a race from Caos to Saint-Marlé in France. And so, on Saturday, August 11th, Nick finds himself on the Fastnet start line. As they make a few final checks, spirits on board are high. So, we made sure that everything was tickety-boo for the start of the race. And David was meticulous. For instance, back in those days, in 1979,
The regulations were not quite so tight as they are now, nor was the technology so high-tech. But David managed to make sure that he had three radios on board. You weren't required by the regulations to take one. We had a VHF, we had an FMAM radio, we also had an emergency beacon called a Callboy, which floats and is waterproof.
The crew starts maneuvering on the sun-dappled water, checking the tides and jockeying with their rivals for best position. And the cacophony was amazing.
The noise of winches being ratcheted, the sound of sails being changed, of practicing, everything. Even the smell of Goulwar. We came upon some boats, French boats, which we'd met in, I think it was St. Marlow. And they came so close that I could smell the guy's Goulwar. But it was that sort of closeness to your competition. Wonderful sight. Magic is the word.
Bold, monochrome sails stretch as far as the eye can see, above a rainbow of freshly painted hulls, each daubed with a name. Moonduster, Ragamuffin, Crazy Horse, and each with its own story. With her light blue decks and elegant white hull, Grimalkin is named after a witch's cat in Shakespeare's Macbeth. A tragic omen, or just a bit of fun? Time will tell. By 1.20pm the race is at last underway.
Grimalkin is one of the smallest yachts, and she cuts a fine figure gliding over the water. The crew check the shipping forecast. Every six hours it gives the latest on sailing conditions. The wind in each zone is given a numerical value. A force zero is barely detectable, a force one is the lightest of breezes, and so on. And it's not until you get to force eight that it becomes a gale.
But beyond Force 8, it becomes exponential. So in other words, it's not just one jump in miles per hour or knots per hour. It becomes ludicrously strong. Force 10, that's a full-blown gale. The wind blows the seas flat and can create extraordinary conditions. Beyond Force 10 becomes a hurricane. But the prediction was no more than Force 8.
in the Fastnet region when we left Cowes. On Grimalkin, the helm sits in an exposed open-air cockpit at the rear of the vessel. The captain operates a rotation system with each crew member on watch for four hours and then off for the next four. At any time of day or night, there will be at least two men on deck, working the sails and checking the lines. While one crewman navigates, one works below deck and two are resting.
Down below things are cramped. The cabin houses a tiny galley, a chart table and a sleeping area, fitted with two bunks and a basic toilet. Safe to say no one's here for comfort. They get off to a steady start and sail without issue through the first night. If there's any concern, it's that the wind is too weak. The first evening was just windless, but it was manageable and comfortable.
On one of my watch periods, we made, that was during a four-hour period, we'd made a progress of 19 miles. On another watch period, we made progress of 26 miles. Now that's not good. You want to do twice that at least. So we were slow. So we knew that we were in for a long race if the wind persisted. It's the same story on Sunday. They make slow progress, plodding through the coastal haze.
The crew keep an eye out for friends and competitors as other vessels occasionally loom out of the mist before vanishing again. By Monday morning Grimalkin has finally made it past Land's End, the most westerly point of mainland England, and is heading into the Celtic Sea. There's now a fair wind, but they hope it'll pick up further. It was still relatively light. The BBC shipping forecast which David relayed to us and we heard from the speaker
again gave nothing untoward, nothing we couldn't deal with at that time. Afternoon brings what's called a fresh breeze. 21 knots or a wind speed of about 30 miles per hour. To the crew's relief, the forecast now predicts winds of up to force 7 in the fastened area. There are a few larger yachts half a mile ahead, but Gromalkin sits in an armada of smaller, similar class vessels.
Nick spends the afternoon helping to trim or adjust the spinnaker, a three-cornered sail that sits forward of the mainsail. When it fills with wind, it can draw the boat along at twice its regular speed. By 4:00 PM, as his watch comes to an end, conditions are about as good as can be. The yacht streaks along like a racehorse. Off duty, Nick retires to his bunk for some sleep. 90 minutes later, he reemerges, woken by the heavy rocking of the boat.
The sea is choppy now, waves rising to 20 feet. The crew are changing the sails and the yacht is gaining speed. Before heading back down, Nick glances at the early evening sky. It's like nothing he's seen before. There was a peculiar sunset on the Monday, something of the like of which I've never seen or seen since. Really peculiar. Like a painting, like a painting of slabs of colour. Extraordinary.
And none of us had seen anything like it before. And all these sayings that my father used to tell me, like, you know, red sky at night, shepherd's delight, red sky in the morning, shepherd's war, whatever, they came to mind. And I described it, I think, as a sheaf in wolf's clothing. It didn't augur well.
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Reporting live from under my blanket, I'm Susan Curtis with Dunkin' at Home. Breaking news, pumpkin spice iced and hot coffees are back. I'll pass it to Mr. Curtis with his blanket for the full story. That is so right, Susan. You know, it's never too early to get in a spicy mood. I'm talking cinnamony goodness that's so tasty, people don't want to leave their blankets either. Back to you. No, back to you. All you. The home with Dunkin' Pumpkin Spice is where you want to be.
It's approaching 8pm when Nick wakes again. This time he hears Matt, Jerry and Dave on duty up above, shouting instructions to prepare for bad weather. I heard people say, "It's getting pretty rough out here, Nick. Full oilskins, so I put on another oilskin top. A jacket this time to go over my normal oilskins." When he steps back out on deck, Nick sees for himself how conditions have changed.
And the sea, although it had rolling waves, it looked as if there was a press on it, as if something, a pressure was on it and something was going to happen. I have tinnitus. My tinnitus got worse, for instance. And I guess that's an oncoming sign of weather to come. The next shipping forecast isn't due until after midnight. David, the captain, wants an update before then. He sits at the radio set, tuning in and out of frequencies.
At last, he hits on a broadcast from a French station. The French weather forecast in those days relied more upon weather buoys than shore stations. So they were predicting force 10. And we all knew the difference between a force 8 and a force 10. It's exponential. And so we knew that if the French were right, then we were in for a hell of a night.
A force 10 means winds of 60 miles per hour and waves 40 feet high. The absolute limit of what Grimalkin can handle. David scans the airwaves again. Who to believe? The consoling words of the British forecast or this latest bulletin? After a few minutes, he hooks onto the frequency of a nearby French yacht. Its captain has managed to make contact with one of the British lighthouses. "Is the UK forecast correct?" the French skipper asks anxiously.
After a pause, the lighthouse confirms that it is. On Grimalkin, there is a collective sigh of relief. We were just happy to get on with our race and trust in David and the weather forecast to get it right because we were soon going beyond the point of no return. By which I mean it would be very difficult for us to turn around in bad weather and come back to port. The last sunlight disappears and clouds block out the moon and stars.
David orders the crew to clip on, to secure their safety harnesses to the guardrails. Should a wave knock them overboard, they won't be swept away. Earlier, Grimalkin surged over the waves. But now her bow plunges headfirst into the increasing swell. Staring into the darkness, Nick blinks through the explosions of spray. As his eyes adjust, they widen as he makes out the size of the oncoming waves.
He glances at the anemometer, the device for measuring wind speed. Its needle dances between 30 and 35 knots, equivalent to a top-end Force 6 approaching a Force 7. If this keeps up, they'll be around Fastnet and heading for home much sooner than they thought. But the wind increases further and further. The captain orders a change of sail to the smallest they possess, the storm jib. Nick can only just make out the navigation lights of other boats nearby.
Now the anemometer shows Force 9 touching 10. The order is given to inflate life jackets. Clearly, the French forecast was correct after all. The decision is made to heave to. To slow the vessel's forward progress, the sail positions and tiller are fixed, so that the Grimalkian doesn't have to be manually steered. Something which is already proving near impossible. The seas were just so massive by that time, she wouldn't stay where she was put.
The traditional method of heaving-to is to lash the tiller, go below and wait till the storm subsides. But this was a different kind of storm. It was bigger than anyone had ever seen. It's approaching midnight now, on Monday, August the 13th, somewhere in the Celtic Sea. The storm shows no signs of subsiding. With waves now coming from all sides, to continue heaving-to would be madness. Instead, the crew must give up their planned course and run with the wind.
Jerry is at the helm, straining every sinew to keep them upright. I've described it as being like on a water ski, because when we did turn with the waves, rather than heaving to, it was a phenomenal experience, one I shall never forget. Because the waves were then behind us, they were more noisy, and we could see them behind us over the stern, hissing like trains coming out of a waterloo station.
I took a trick at the helm after Jerry had become too tired and it was so difficult to control the boat. So difficult. I was petrified because I began to see what the previous helmsman had seen. Waves which were indescribable in front of us and indescribable behind us. They ride up the oncoming waves before racing down the other side. Anything that isn't tied down becomes a potential missile.
In the cabin, tins and pans fly around at head height with such force that they embed themselves in the wooden beams. It's all hands on deck as the crew take shelter in the cockpit at the aft of the yacht. It's a tiny space and they're exposed to the elements, but at least there are no projectiles to dodge. At the helm, Nick fights to keep Grimalkin on track. Suddenly, he feels his grip on the tiller ripped away. With an almighty jolt, the six crewmen are flung across the cockpit.
A mass of bodies collides with wood, metal and fiberglass. There are no serious injuries this time. But how on earth did conditions deteriorate so quickly? And how much worse is this going to get? What none of them realize is that they are caught directly in the path of what meteorologists call a weather bomb or an explosive cyclogenesis. It's a freak phenomenon where a low pressure system suddenly intensifies.
It was a low pressure which had already killed one person over the wheat fields of America and was travelling at 35 miles an hour across the Atlantic to join the low pressure that we were now in. As it approached Ireland, the weather system grew into a tempest, set on a collision course with the fastnet yachts in the Celtic Sea. The system has since broken up into a series of individual storms, each with the strength of a hurricane.
each with their own wind speeds and directions. It just so happens that Grimalkin sits at the very point where opposing storm fronts are colliding. Seventy-foot waves form and break, coming from all directions. Winds blast them at nearly 90 miles per hour. There is no safe way through. At 1:30 on Tuesday morning, Nick glances at the anemometer. They are now in a force 12. Suddenly, he loses his grip on the tiller again.
The straps of his harness tighten as the yacht leans over at a 45 degree angle. Nick reaches to grab hold of something, anything, but there's nothing there. Then he crashes into a stanchion, a post in the deck's railings. The boat capsizes so that the mast is almost touching the water and all the crew are thrown into the water over the stanchions, through the stanchions, which was horrendous. We didn't know what to do.
but we were so glad that we had our life jackets inflated and that we had our lifelines attached otherwise we would have been swept away. Winded, Nick fights for breath but instead swallows mouthfuls of icy seawater. Spluttering, he grips onto the stanchion for dear life. He hears the voices of his crewmates. They're all hanging on. A few minutes later, mercifully, Grimalkin rights herself and they can clamber back aboard. This is what sailors call a knockdown and it's just the first of many.
Through the night, they are thrown overboard repeatedly. And the worst is still to come. Absolutely freezing. I mean, after two or three of these things, we were all exhausted. You're thinking about survival. And David did his very best as a skipper to hold us all together and to say, you know, in a very British way, we'll get through this. But the storm just was overwhelming. At 6am on Tuesday, David, as captain, has no other option but to put out a mayday call.
Maydays are a last resort reserved for genuine life and death situations. Until now, they have managed as best they can, but no longer. Jerry is slumped in the cockpit. Hypothermia has set in. For all of them, the cold makes it difficult to think straight. Simple jobs like adjusting a zip or tightening a line now feel impossibly hard. But making a mayday call means venturing down into the cabin, dodging the loose items and flying equipment.
It's David and his son Matthew that go below. They manage to transmit the call, but the response they get is chilling. "Nothing we can do for you at the moment. Good luck." It seems flippant, at least it's clear. The blunt answer is simply testament to the sheer carnage of conditions at sea. What's worse, their foray below deck comes at a cost. Before they can climb back up, David receives a blow to the head. "It was a can of food which flew across the boat at a horrendous speed.
and his son Matthew was down below with him, propped him up against the companionway and the crew and Matthew and myself helped put on some protective lint across the gash on his head, pulled up his balaclava and his hood and then we helped him back up into the cockpit. They manage to staunch the bleeding but their captain is badly injured and slipping in and out of consciousness. Things are looking desperate.
But just then, they hear something over the raging elements. High above them, the roar of an engine. Squinting up, they see a burst of bright green light, like a falling star. Then another. Flares from a rescue plane. They must fight their fatigue and break out their own distress signals. After David's Mayday call, we'd heard the noise of jet engines above us. And that was one of the RAF's Nimrod planes.
which were circling generally, but not specifically looking for us. Apparently, Grimalkin isn't the only vessel that has called for help. Nick loads up their signal gun with an emergency flare, points it upwards, and fires. But with the violent lurching of the boat, the terrible visibility, and the size of the waves, it's impossible to shoot straight. Nick watches as the flare fizzes directly into the grey wall of water looming over them.
because of the conditions, it was impossible to get them vertical. So everything had been done as far as the pyrotechnics were concerned. It had turned from a race into a race for survival and I've never been so petrified in my life. The plane disappears into the rain and the clouds. What they spotted? How long might a rescue take? Their captain lies semi-conscious and the next most experienced mariner, Jerry, is out of action too. How will they cope with yet more knockdowns?
Mike is the first to suggest that they should launch the life raft and abandon ship. But Nick immediately recalls his father's advice. The life raft is the last resort. The best life raft you have is what's beneath you, and that's the boat. I was against the launching of the life raft because David was incapacitated and couldn't make a decision himself. But in those conditions, where we were, it was very difficult to be rational. Very difficult.
because your mind is numb, it's cold, your extremities are cold, you're cold right the way through, you've got boots full of water. It's ridiculous. And so the decision was made to launch the life raft. But before anyone can react, nature intervenes. As they are lifted high on the swell, a monumental wave smacks into them from behind.
All I saw was a huge wave over the pulpit, the stern of the boat, coming towards us. And the next I knew, I must have lost consciousness because I just faded. My vision faded to black. And that was it. When Nick comes to, he's in the sea. He's being dragged alongside Grimalkin by his safety harness. His head is spinning. He has no idea how long he's been overboard. My eyes shut.
and things were going on around me and I vaguely recall things bumping into me. Otherwise, I was semi-conscious or unconscious. The next thing I was aware of was bobbing alongside the boat being banged into the side of the boat. The yacht seems to be upright, but debris and collapsed rigging cover the deck and she's lost her mast. She must have rolled over and thrown him out.
Nick's legs are tangled in something, but his inflated life jacket has kept him from going under, just. Salt water fills his mouth again. He tries to swim, but he can't make his limbs move. They're totally numb with cold. He calls for help, but there's no response. His eyes close. He could just let the sea claim him, but then he feels a sudden, desperate burst of energy.
In a momentary lull in the swell, he reaches up and grabs the base of a broken stanchion. With his other hand, he untangles the ropes around his legs. And I managed somehow, and to this day I still don't know how, I managed to hook my elbow around a stanchion and make my way back up onto the side deck and into the cockpit, not knowing what had happened to the others at that time, because I was still coming to. It was my fight for survival, getting back onto the boat.
Nick calls out the names of his crewmates, but no one replies. I hope you can imagine the sense of bewilderment. I mean, I was hurting. My left leg was hurting. One of the knockdowns during the night, both Matthew and David had helped me back aboard, and I thought at one stage that my left leg had broken because I felt pain in my leg. That was still there, but obviously I was on my own now in the cockpit. Where is everyone? Then he sees that the life raft is missing. His mind races.
of his crewmates launched it? Has he been abandoned? Or was it dislodged during the capsize? If so, is he the sole survivor? Nick stumbles around the yacht, searching for any signs of life. "I did things like removing the whistle from my life jacket, blowing the whistle, calling their names down below. 'Where are you? Where are you? Have you left me?'
I was swearing a bit. I was angry to say the least, but I knew that I had to concentrate on my survival. I could only assume that they had either been swept away or had gone in the life raft. And I just prayed that they'd gone in the raft and had survived. Just then, he spots something in the water, a mop of red hair. It's Jerry. I saw someone bobbing in the water alongside the boat.
and the lifeline was actually still attached to the boat and that was Jerry. And God knows how I did it, but I was able to wrap that lifeline around the starboard primary winch and pull him aboard. He came in over the broken stanchions and then fell into the cockpit on top of me. I was in total shock. I didn't know what was going on at that point. Jerry's in a bad way. He has a gash on his head and he's motionless. He's not breathing.
Nick immediately tries to resuscitate him. I was able to start CPR and the kiss of life, which I started to do and continued to do until I could do no longer. And his mouth was moving eventually. And when I got him into a little bit more shelter, and when I say shelter, it was relatively little, I could hear his last breath and he passed away in my arms. Tough, very tough.
But what Gerry had been able to do is give me the last words to say to his wife. "If ever you see Margaret again, tell her I love her." And then he died in my arms. It's like it happened yesterday. It's so visceral. The smells, the tastes, everything. To bring any rationale to the situation was extremely difficult because I was so cold.
Because I was hurting, my leg was hurting, I just had a friend die in my arms. But eventually I knew that I had to try and keep the boat afloat and she was the best form of lifeboat that I had to stick with the boat. She was still moving at incredible angles and I had to tie Gerry off around a cleat to keep him in position otherwise he could have fallen overboard again.
And I then tried to see what it was like below the boat. Nick looks through the hatch into the interior. The yacht is half flooded. Three feet of water sloshes back and forth, littered with detritus. I managed to get into the interior of the boat. I was swearing, I was shouting, and I was blaspheming. I was just hoping my mother couldn't hear me. And I was angry because there was nobody there apart from Jerry. And I had no idea where they were.
Returning to the deck, Nick tries to make a mayday call with the callboy emergency radio, but it's waterlogged, as are the other radio sets down in the cabin. Besides, the antenna on top of the mast collapsed when the boat last rolled over. He grabs a bucket and starts to bail out the cockpit. It's all he can do at this point. Half delirious and despairing, he talks to Jerry throughout. Not that I've ever used it, but I guess it's like being on LSD and having a trip.
and you almost become existential and look down upon yourself, you know? I don't know how I survived, but I survived by using Jerry as a sounding board. Nick has no idea what time it is. Back on deck now. He scans the horizon for any sign of rescue. Nothing. Eventually, the seas started to abate, and although they're horrendously big and still large, I could see the crests of them, but they weren't curling crests.
And I just waited, using Jerry as a sounding board for my madness. What am I going to do? How am I going to get out of this? As he stands there, he hears a voice in his head. Just saying, pull yourself together. Pull yourself together. And I knew that it was the voice of my father because he was the only one that called me by the name Nicholas rather than Nick. Pull yourself together, Nicholas. Pull yourself together. And so that drove me on, gave me another spur.
Crazy things going on in my head. I just wanted to survive. I just wanted to get back to Hamble, back to my family. So I had to wait and be patient, wait for the seas to abate further. Soon, the last of his energy is spent. He collapses on the deck next to Jerry. Morning turns to afternoon, afternoon into evening. At one point, Nick thinks he spots two other vessels in the distance, but he can't be sure. Even if there is someone out there, he has no way to communicate with them.
severely hypothermic now, elapses in and out of consciousness. I was hearing rock music in my head, Pink Floyd, particularly money, you know, where there's that particular noise of cash in a drawer going in and out. And I was hearing that metronomic beat and it turned into the beat of a seeking helicopter. Nick struggles to focus, but he is aware of the whir of rotor blades getting closer and closer. He looks skywards.
Hovering above him is a green Royal Navy Sea King helicopter. Its thrum is now a deafening roar. You can see the pilot's face, and another man in overalls waving down to him. He begins to descend, swinging wildly in the crosswinds. Before I knew it, a guy in a one-piece overall thumped on the deck, and he took Jerry off first, and then came back down for me.
Realising that I was totally comatose, apparently the first thing I asked him for was my passport and so I was totally out of it. I must get my passport. I must get my passport. The rescuer squeezes his arm gently and explains there's no time. He secures Nick's harness and carries him up and away. I found out later on that this chap's name was Peter, Peter Harrison, Midshipman Harrison.
and they had flown down from Scotland and this was the first rescue he'd ever done. So he came back down for me and pulled me up, winched me to him. His face, his helmet face was in mine and before I knew it I was sitting in the belly of a sea king. From up here, the sea looks almost inviting, bathed in the last of the sun's rays. Nick watches Grimalkin, ravaged and strewn with wreckage as she recedes into the distance.
Soon, he'll be back on the ground in the care of medical staff at a Royal Naval Air Service base. I remember being put on the trolley, taken into the hospital bay, and all of my clothes were torn off me, well, not ripped off me, but they were taken quite violently from me. And I was immersed in what I thought was a boiling hot bath full of boiling hot water. But I later found out that it was at normal temperature. It's just that I was so cold.
but I was just glad to be there. And that's my survival. After that, they dried me off, put me in a dressing gown, and I sat up in bed and had a place of scrambled egg. And that's never been so welcome in my life. Nick is reunited with his family, and he is able to pass on Jerry's final words to his wife. As he recovers, Nick learns of the true extent of the Fastnet race disaster, a tragedy unparalleled in UK sailing.
Of the 303 yachts that started, only 85 finished. 24 either sank or were abandoned. Nick was one of 136 sailors plucked from the sea that day, but the last to be found alive. In total, there were 15 fatalities among the competitors, with another six perishing elsewhere in the storm. It was the largest peacetime air-sea rescue operation in British history. Nick also begins to understand just what happened on Grimalkin.
The yacht was caught between two gigantic waves coming from different directions. This caused the vessel to somersault end over end. He was demasted and all hands went overboard. Exactly what happened next is harder to piece together, with confused, hypothermic minds having to make split-second decisions. It seems that after escaping the overturned Grimalkin, Dave, Mike, and Matthew managed to deploy the life raft.
but their captain david sheehan did not make it he'd gotten trapped underneath the capsized yacht the crew had tried to free him but it was too late the crew were they took to the life raft i subsequently found out that they were in a horrendous situation with the boat inverted they had to get on top of the boat to write her
And one of the crew actually freed David Sheehan by cutting his tether. But sadly, David apparently had drifted away from the boat and none of the three who were in the raft were able to save him. And he was lost at sea. And they were picked up an hour later by a helicopter after spending an horrendous time being tossed around in the life raft. But they survived. That's the main thing.
Accounts vary amid the confusion, but Matthew Sheehan has since described the torment of that decision. After righting the yacht and the trauma of watching his father float away, Matthew recalls that Jerry and Nick were both still on board, but they were lying motionless in the cockpit, tangled up in the rigging. In that instant they were presumed dead. A moment later, the three crewmen were in the raft, locked in a new battle with the ocean. How Jerry and Nick ended up back in the water is unclear.
They were perhaps washed overboard again as the storm continued. And this is difficult for me, but I've never held a grudge at all. I've never thought about it really until I started writing. People say, well, surely you talked about it as a crew. We haven't. We did initially. Matthew's mother asked me to accompany him to Ireland to secure the boat, which we did.
And after that time, having been to the memorial service for David Sheehan, I haven't had anything to do with the rest of the crew. He does, however, remain in touch with his rescuer, Peter Harrison, who went on to become a commander in the Royal Navy. Nick also discovers that it's not just Peter to whom he owes a debt of thanks. It turns out he did see two boats while he was alone on deck. One of these mystery vessels was his guardian angel.
And I saw two boats and I subsequently discovered one was Ty Phat, who's watch keeper. Christian Schoenleffel, who's an American, German-American guy, lives out in Virginia Beach. They'd gone through similar situation, but were a bigger boat. And he was the guy that made the VHF Corps that brought the seeking to my rescue. So I owe my life to Christian in many ways.
So the first time I heard his voice, it was very emotional. And we still talk now and again. In the years to come, Nick returns to the boat supply business. He vows to provide his customers with only the very safest equipment available. The Fastnet disaster changes yachting forever. Regulations are tightened and boat and equipment design improved. Advances in technology also make forecasting more accurate. The hope is that another 1979 can never happen again.
But for those who survived, the scars never entirely fade. I've just got on with my life. I don't think I've even digested it now. It's still going on. I wake up with it and I've spoken to other survivors who have the same, not nightmare, but they wake up or if they hear a certain noise, they wake up or they have a smell or they have a taste. And so that happens to me on a regular basis.
In early 2009, Nick decides he has unfinished business with Fastnet. It feels like the time is right to finish the race. This time he chooses a bigger boat with a larger crew. I would do the race in 2009, the 30th Memorial Race. And so in a bleak February in 2009, I started training with the crew of 12 to go on 2009 Fastnet race, which I did.
So that was a very emotional trip for me. But everybody was so supportive. It was an ambition and also cathartic, but very emotional. And I think the crew began to realize why I was so emotional. So yes, I'm so glad I've done the race. In the next episode, we meet Scott Johnson, carpenter, musician, and holistic energy healer. He and his wife Mary Beth have an idyllic life in rural Oregon.
Surrounded by ancient woodland, forest fires are a common occurrence, something you learn to exist with. When the couple go to bed one September night, they have no idea what lies in store. Soon, they'll be trapped in the heart of the most ferocious wildfire seen in these parts for 30 years. Out of options and out of time, together they must leap into the unknown. That's next time on Real Survival Stories. Listen to Scott and Marybeth's story right now as a Noisa Plus subscriber.
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