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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. It's July 1972, somewhere in the Pacific, several hundred miles west of Central America.
Six ragged sailors are squeezed into a nine-foot dinghy, bobbing across the ocean. With one hand trailing in the water, 18-year-old Douglas Robertson stares down into the sea. Beneath the surface, he sees glinting, flashing shapes of fish darting back and forth, tantalizingly out of reach. The teenager's bones protrude from his emaciated, sunburnt body.
It's been over three weeks since Douglas and his family were shipwrecked, their yacht sunk by a pod of killer whales 200 miles west of the Galapagos Islands. They've managed to survive so far by reaching out and grabbing the occasional sea turtle that surfaces nearby. And when they do catch one, they devour every morsel: blood, raw flesh, eyes, and, if they're lucky, eggs. It's kept them going, but it does little to stave off the incessant hunger.
All we ever thought about was food. We just food and water, food and cold drinks, food, food, food. As Douglas tries to ignore the constant rumbling of his stomach, he spots a large shape gliding through the water alongside the dinghy. Then he sees another and another. Then a steel gray fin breaks the waterline.
The sharks started to appear. Because we were in the dinghy and they could smell the meat, they started to swim around us and some of them were quite large, you know. We knew they were waiting for something to happen, probably for our demise. But what might cause terror in any other time or place, right now, is another opportunity. A chance to survive a little longer. If they could just catch one of these creatures, it would provide them with enough meat for days.
But even if they do manage to hook one, they'll have to reel it in and bring it aboard with their bare hands. Even the smaller sharks are two or three meters long, maybe 300 pounds, with row upon row of razor-sharp teeth. It's high risk for them and their rubber raft, but there's no other choice. Here goes nothing. 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 return to 18-year-old Douglas Robertson and the rest of the shipwrecked crew of the Lucette. Douglas' mum and dad, Lynn and Dougal, younger brothers, Neil and Sandy, and unfortunate backpacker, Robin Williams, who's come along for the ride.
After failing to flag down a passing cargo ship, the castaways must now summon their resilience and focus on plan B, navigating over 600 miles back to dry land. The sea took no prisoners. There were no failures in the school of survival because if you fail, you're not a survivor, you're dead. Whenever you had a quiet moment, then that fear would return. I'm John Hopkins from Noisa.
This is Real Survival Stories. June the 21st, 1972. A few weeks before the encounter with the sharks, Douglas clutches the edge of the inflatable life raft and stares at the empty horizon. Behind him he can hear his mother and younger brothers softly crying. Since the moment the Lucette sank six days ago, they had all pinned their hopes on being spotted by a passing ship. But now, those hopes lie in tatters.
the dutch cargo vessel they've tried desperately to flag down has sailed away the fact is this raft and the plastic dinghy it's tethered to is little more than a speck in the vast ocean even if they do chance upon another ship it's highly unlikely they'll be seen the only member of the crew who doesn't seem crushed by the incident is douglas's father
Dougal Robertson looks around at the dejected faces and delivers a rousing pep talk, reasserting that their plan is a good one, that they'll continue to sail for the equator. Specifically, they're aiming for a region known as the Doldrums, a band of low pressure that encircles the globe. There, they hope to find rain. He says, "We have to survive. We have to survive and be responsible for our own survival." He says, "From here, we have to sail,
to the doldrums. That's another 10 days. Then we catch the counter current. That's the current that goes against the trade wind current. We'll catch the counter current back to America. We'll have the wind from the doldrums and we can row. We can row the dinghy and tow the raft and we'll make it back to America. That'll be 75 days. And we looked at him in absolute horror. He said, 75 days? You expect us to survive 75 days in this raft?
I said, "We can't do it, Dad. Look at it. It's falling apart, this rafters." Douglas gestures at the several inches of seawater already filling the bottom of the raft. He wouldn't trust it to stay afloat in a duck pond, never mind weathering storms in the Pacific Ocean. But Dougal insists that if they continue to stockpile food and rainwater and carry out the necessary repairs, they will prevail. He made us swear that that would be our common goal.
and that we bought into the plan. And we bought into the plan by saying a catchphrase: "survival". We would have to say this word every day, out loud, to affirm that we were still on course for the plan. Survival. The simple act of uttering those three short syllables gives the sailors a psychological lift. Soon, Douglas and the others are refocused on the task of self-preservation. We were very robust because we bounced back pretty quickly.
And we had a plan. We had another plan. And so now we were going to catch every turtle that came our way. We were going to harvest their fat and make oil out of it. We knew this from our farming days that we could do that. We were going to catch as much water and save as much water as we could. Our resolve hardened tremendously. The six Britons continue sailing north.
They stick to their daily routine, catching turtles, taking it in turns to row the dinghy to reinflate the raft or bail her out as she takes on seawater. It's backbreaking, lung-busting work. They can't afford to stop for a second. Despite the constant activity, time seems to crawl by, but eventually day seven becomes day eight, and day eight rolls into day nine. By day ten, they're down to their last few pints of stagnant water and are waiting anxiously for clouds to appear.
but everywhere they look, they're faced with brilliant blue skies. "The doldrums were clearly more to the north than we thought, so we didn't hit the doldrums after ten days." The sailors squeeze beneath the raft's canopy, seeking refuge from the blazing sun. But even in the shade, the heat is suffocating. The stench of unwashed bodies, burnt skin, and dried turtle blood hangs in the air. It's getting harder to keep the inside of the raft dry,
Whenever they patch up a leak, another one appears somewhere else. Warm seawater sloshes about in the bottom of the inflatable. At night, when the temperature drops, that poses a different kind of problem. The most concerning and overriding problem was the raft was now leaking very badly. And what happened was we were sitting up to our chests in water and the water was robbing us of our heat, our body heat.
Life on the raft is becoming an alternating torment of sweltering days and freezing nights. All our clothes rotted away and fell off us. And we were covered in boils from wearing the clothes anyway. It was retaining the salt and the salt was causing a reaction. Apparently it's a common reaction among survivors is that salt water boils. You get covered up. I would maybe have 200 of these little boils all over me.
Covered in angry pustules, they shed their clothes and sit cross-legged, naked, except for their life jackets. To begin with, it's a relief to bathe their blistered skin in cool seawater, but staying submerged for hours on end in salty brine leads to more problems.
The second effect we had was from emersion foot. When you sit in the bath for a long while, you get a cross on hands and feet. You know, they sort of, they get white and the skin gets crossly. We had a major effect of that, which is it cuts the blood supply off to your hands and feet and makes them extremely sore and painful to touch. So we all had emersion foot and saltwater boils also in the raft. This is after just two weeks.
Even if everything goes to plan, they've still got over 60 days to go. One of them will occasionally clamber from the raft over to the dinghy to row or mend the makeshift sail. But they can't all move across for risk of sinking the dinghy. And in any case, their only shade is provided by the raft's canopy. Soon, the only dry place anywhere aboard is the central thwart, the horizontal seat that runs across the middle of the inflatable.
It's not much, but it affords each sailor a moment to escape the water. We would take turns. We were allowed to have an hour on the central thwart and then you had to get back into the water. And you couldn't sleep in the water because when you fell asleep your head dropped into the water and that woke you up again. It wasn't easy to get any sleep other than on that central thwart. And you'd have to wake somebody up and rotate.
My mother would often let us take her turn because we were rotated those turns. She would often let us take her turn on the central thwart. Only a mother would make that sacrifice. And it wasn't until years later I realized what a sacrifice it was that she was making as she sat in that water up to her chest in water for another, yet another hour. After 16 days, there's still no sign of rain. The heat and the clear skies persist.
That night, Douglas spots the North Star glinting in the heavens. Relied upon by explorers for centuries, it only becomes visible once you pass five degrees north of the equator. The Lucette sank at two degrees south, which means they have already sailed 240 miles. If the Robertsons' calculations are correct, they really should have reached the doldrums by now. But when morning arrives, it brings yet another day of perfect sunny weather. Something's seriously wrong.
It's July the 2nd, 1972. 17 days since the Lucette sank. To preserve their dwindling water reserves, the sailors have been rationing themselves to just a few meager droplets a day. Serious dehydration has set in. It's now difficult to process simple tasks. The reduced supply of oxygen to their brains is causing lightheadedness and delirium. Pretty soon, they'll be facing severe cognitive impairment, organ shutdown, heart failure. With still no sign of rain,
They need another source of water, fast. We had rainwater that had collected in the dinghy that Dougal didn't want to throw away. That was from that rainstorm on the sixth day. But it was full of turtle offal and turtle blood and fat, turtle fat and things like that, you know, it wasn't safe to drink. If only there was a way to safely ingest this liquid. Fortunately, there's a former nurse among the crew, Douglas' mother, Lynne.
My mum came up with this idea that we could absorb it with an enema, if only she could figure out a way of making it. But I figured out a way. I made an enema tube out of the ladder rung, made a funnel around the top of it, which I tied on with string, and we all had enemas each with this dirty water. It's an ingenious moment of improvisation, but although it should stave off death, it does little to quench their thirst.
By the afternoon of day 17, their raft is on its last legs, bulging with seawater and covered in patches like an old quilt. It's literally coming apart at the seams. For the time being, all they can do is plough on and try to keep their spirits up. They sing songs and tell stories. This is where their crewmate, Robin Williams, really proves his worth. He's a constant source of anecdotes and jokes. Robin was a chirpy chit-chat and sometimes
it'd be too much for us, but we didn't dare complain about it because we like to listen to him, you know what I mean? It's a bit like having a radio with that you can't switch off, you know what I mean? You have to listen to everything that's on it. And it was a bit like that with Robin. But even Robin's running commentary can't distract the crew from the deteriorating condition of the raft. Later that day, the moment they've all been dreading finally arrives. Unable to withstand the weight any longer, the stitching connecting the bottom to the sides gives way.
Panicking, the sailors scramble to the rear end of the inflatable to escape the rush of cold water. They need to abandon ship again. One by one, they jump across the gap to the small fiberglass dinghy. The Robertsons have named this nine-foot tender Edna Mare. She's barely large enough for them to sit down in, which is all they've got now. The crew moves carefully as their new vessel sinks lower and lower into the water.
Dougal grabs his knife and cuts off the stricken raft's flotation collar. He tethers it to the Edna mare as a buoyancy aid. Thankfully, her bow lifts slightly up. Dougal also cuts out sheets from the raft's plastic lining to be adapted into waterproof capes. Once every last useful item has been removed, he severs the rope and the crew watches in silence as the deflated raft drifts away. We were very sad. Yeah, we were very sad to see the raft go.
It had saved our lives and kept us safe during those first two weeks. We felt that we owed the raft homage at least, you know. And we thanked it for looking after us and for saving our lives during the sinking. Without that, we would never have got away from the Lucette. And now it was done. And we had little bits of it on the dinghy. And now we were sitting on the dinghy. And it was dangerous because if the dinghy sank, we'd never get back on board it.
And so we entered a new phase of the trip. Douglas sits hunched on one of the dinghy's narrow wooden seats, listening to her fiberglass hull creaking with the strain. The Edna mare doesn't offer any shelter from the sun. They're completely exposed to the elements. But they've already made it this far against unbelievable odds. Who's to say they can't make it just a little bit further?
Well, we kept on looking at each other thinking, bloody hell, we're still alive. We're still going. We were amazed. It sort of seemed to be against all expectation that we were still going, you know, and we were still, we were aware we were losing weight. And so I think our spirits were okay. We were okay. We were still on the plan and we were still working towards that plan. But they still haven't reached the doldrums.
With only the position of the sun and stars to aid their navigation, it's no surprise that their calculations might be off. But how far off course they are could be the difference between life and death. As the sun sets on their 18th day adrift, once again they check the evening sky and adjust their heading. On a clear night like this, Douglas can't help being awed by the incredible beauty of his surroundings. The vast starscape mirrored on the ocean surface
Rippling constellations of shimmering light. It's like they're drifting through space. In the dinghy we were open to the sky. We were open to the beautiful beauty of nature, you know, the wondrous sight of the sky, the inverted bowl of the hemisphere, the sea, the reflection of the stars in the sea, the sight of animals swimming underneath, you know, fish swimming underneath us.
I mean, we felt like we belonged in this great cosmos, you know? But while the crew may be humbled by nature's grace and beauty, all of that can change in the blink of an eye. It's the morning of July 5th, 1972, nearly 18 months since the Robertsons set out on their grand adventure, 20 days since their yacht, the Lucette, sank. Douglas is on watch. His movements are lethargic, sluggish. His eyelids droop as he scans the sky for clouds. Then suddenly...
He sits bolt upright. He blinks to confirm he's not imagining it. He sees clouds gathering on the horizon. This is the moment they've been praying for. They start prepping containers and flasks, anything they can fill with water. But as the dinghy draws nearer, the skies grow darker. The wind whips up. The chop of the water increases into large, surging waves, and a flash of lightning reveals the dense bank of blacker clouds ahead. By the time the first raindrop falls,
Excitement has turned to dread. A storm is building, and they're sailing straight into it. We saw it approaching, and we knew it was a bad one. You could see the wind whipping the waves at the base of the clouds, you know. We knew it was going to be a very bad storm. And Dougal did give us a pep talk, you know, about how dangerous it was going to be, because there were going to be waves, and the waves would come onto the... into the dinghy, and we would have to bail, and we would have to be fastidious bailers.
the crew hastily removed their makeshift sail and spread it flat above their heads the idea is that the canopy will collect rainwater which will then be funneled into a plastic bag we knew that this was going to save our lives so we wanted to get the rain but it did rain very very heavily there were heavily heavy thunderstorms lightning landing in the water around us honest to god it was it was a
A very, very bad situation. It was a hell on earth sort of situation. Douglas wrestles with the canopy to direct the water into the container. It only takes a few minutes to replenish their supply, but the savage weather only intensifies. Huge white caps slam against the Edna mare's fragile bow. Each one brings gallons of seawater spilling into the little boat. The sailors frantically bail out, but every time another wave crashes over them, they find themselves up to their knees.
As the Edna Mare crests yet another monster wave. For a moment it seems that this, finally, would be the end. But gradually, the rain subsides. The wind dies down. Then a beam of sunlight appears through the clouds. The storm has passed, gone almost as abruptly as it appeared. The Edna Mare and her crew limp out the other side. At least the downpour has confirmed that they have, finally, reached the doldrums.
We were full of optimism. We had survived that storm, which said that in anything less than that storm, we could survive. We had topped up everything with water and we were on our way to America, basically. It was part two of the plan, you know. Now they are propelled by the easterly current. For the next few days, it rains steadily. Not torrential like before, just a consistent drizzle. Rain that keeps their reserves topped up.
but also leaves the sailors drenched to their bones. Initially, it's a blessed relief after weeks under the baking sun, but it's not long before they're shivering, huddling together for warmth. We found that if we sang, it kept us warm. So we sang out loud.
And we just thought how funny that is, that a group of human beings are singing out here in the Pacific Ocean, you know. We sang lots of songs. God Save the Queen we sang quite a few times because that's a boisterous sort of song, isn't it, that you can fill your lungs with, you know. And I think I sang Beethoven's Ninth.
And singing something like that fills your lungs, that makes you move and keeps you warm, you know? For the first time since the Lucette sank, the shipwrecked sailors aren't overwhelmed with problems. They're almost getting used to life on the ocean. They're still managing to catch turtles, giving them enough food to survive. But then a new visitor gives them cause for alarm.
The sharks started to appear. Just because we were in the dinghy and they could smell the meat. They were catching turtles nearly every day. They started to swim around us and were always... And some of them were quite large, you know. We knew they were waiting for something to happen, probably for our demise, you know. The Pacific Ocean is home to at least 34 native shark species. Among those are great whites, hammerheads, tiger sharks and makos.
Some are aggressive towards humans. Most, however, will only attack if provoked or enticed by the smell of food. Looking at the dry turtle blood smeared across the hull, Douglas shudders at the thought of powerful jaws and deadly rows of teeth. But then again, the crew can't help but see the sudden appearance of large, edible sea creatures as an opportunity. Armed with only a few fishhooks and their bare hands, it's an incredibly dangerous thing to attempt.
But the sailors aren't listening to their heads. They're listening to their growling stomachs. And I said to my dad, the only way you can kill it, like, I'm a teenager, I know everything, okay? I said, the only way you can kill it is to cut its head clean off. If you cut its head clean off, it can't bite us, right? So this was the plan, right? So my mother moved into the stern. I moved into the bow section with Neil and Sandy, right?
and it was my job to catch the tail and bring it over the bow. That was my job. And they in the aft end were going to deal with the business end. My mother had a paddle. She was to shove that straight into its mouth as far as she could so it would bite on that. Dougal had the knife. He was going to stab it in the eye several times and cut its head off. That was the plan. They wait until a shark swims up alongside the boat. Then...
Douglas plunges his arms into the water and yanks the shark's tail fin, hauling the thrashing beast onto the dinghy. To everyone's relief and amazement, it falls still. I didn't know that sharks can't struggle. When you get a shark out of the water, they're so heavy that they can't move.
And the shark came over the side and it just lay limp. But it was snapping away. My mother shoved the paddle in its mouth and Dougal started to stab it. But really, it was quite inert, you know. And then its head came off. Dougal passed me the head. He said, here's your head, Douglas. And the damn thing bit me right across my fingers like that.
But of course it was like a nervous reaction. I mean, it was dead because it was just the head I was holding. But it bit down hard and I've still got a couple of little bite marks on my fingers. Douglas impales the shark's head on the mast, a grisly trophy from a successful hunt. With ample water to wash it down, they hungrily devour the butchered meat. Then it's on with the voyage east. Morale on board remains high.
Every crew member has their own role to play in keeping optimism alive. Dougal insisted that we stay upbeat and Robin with his chirpy chit-chat kept us entertained and our morale high. My mother caring for us, you know, then I don't doubt that there was myself with all my sort of energy and strength and then the twins from the other point of view keeping us honest and giving us a reason to survive, you know.
Still, Team Spirit would count for nothing without a full water container. That, above all, is what provides the crew with the confidence to keep going. More than anything, we had water and our plan was, with that water, we could get to the American coast. We felt that we were on our way, that we could actually survive the predicament. But as they should all know by now, the sea is treacherous and what was so hard to gain can be very easily lost.
Douglas is scanning the water when he spots a familiar sight: a turtle swimming just below the surface. The crew assume their positions. By now they all know what to do. Douglas reaches out and grabs it. Then, with the turtle on its back in the middle of the dinghy, Dougal comes forward with his knife. But as he does, the flailing creature catches the plastic bag that contains the water supply. The serrated flipper rips through the plastic.
and sends its precious contents gushing across the deck. The water they had waited so long to collect is gone. So all that water we'd collected, we're now lost. And that was so depressing. Such a depressing... How could we have done that? How could we have let that happen? They're left with just a few tins of liquid to share between them. It's a devastating blow. But at least they're still in the doldrums, where it's been raining pretty much constantly since they arrived.
It shouldn't take long before they can collect more. But of course it didn't rain. The days went day after day, the days turned into a week and we had very little water left. You know the rain used to taunt us. It would rain but it would rain over there and rain over there and taunt us, you know, nothing would rain on us. We were back insecure again. We were amazingly insecure without water and we knew we didn't have enough water in the tins to get us to the American coast.
Dehydration soon returns. By day 27, they feel exhausted and dizzy. By day 28, their tongues are swollen. They struggle onward, steering the dinghy on an easterly course, taking it in turns to row when the wind drops. You can't move. You're stuck. You're listless. You can't move. You can't. You want to, but you can't.
because you're so thirsty. You feel incapacitated, listless, dry mouth, blisters in your eyes, blisters around the inside of my mouth there, you know. The lips are cracking and your eyes are deep inside your sockets, you know, you've had no sleep. You look awful. I said to my dad, I don't feel I can carry on and
I felt like I was ready to die, to be honest with you. It's easy. It's the easy bit that is dying. And my dad had a sort of talk with me. My dad wasn't a very emotional man, but he said, "Douglas, we need you. We need your arms to row the boat. When we start rowing, only you can do that. We need your arms."
"Don't give up." He said to me, his exact words were, "Don't let your bright light go out, son. Don't let your bright light go out." As the Edna mare drifts slowly with the current, her crew lies slumped across one another, too weak to row. The tropical sun sparkles on the surface of the ocean. Hopes are at their lowest ebb when Douglas feels something on his parched skin, a tiny water droplet. At first, he assumes it's just ocean spray,
But then he feels another drop, and another. A moment later, the heavens open. It's another astonishing reversal of fortune in the nick of time. The sailors rehydrate, restoring their physical strength as well as their critical faculties. Now they can assess next steps. Based on the lack of wind, they're able to pinpoint roughly their location and the remaining distance to dry land.
The trade winds weren't blowing anymore. The trade winds were... and why weren't they blowing? Because land was blocking them. The Americas, the American continent was stopping the trade winds from blowing. We thought we were 400 miles off the coast. That's how far we thought we were. And you know, 400 miles is not a lot when you're talking about global systems. Without a tailwind, they will have to rely on their own strength to row and maintain a steady course.
Nearly 40 days into this epic ordeal, the crew is running on fumes. But at least they have a plan. Through the rest of the morning, they alternate shifts with the oars. To pass the time, they fantasize about what they're going to do when they return home to England. They decide they're going to open a cafe, Dougal's Kitchen, and they discuss in detail the food they will serve there. But at the back of their minds, they still know it's not a question of when they return home, but if. Suddenly, Dougal gestures at something on the horizon.
Dougal looks over into the distance and he says, there's a ship over there. And he carried on talking about Dougal's kitchen. And I said to him, Dad, did you just say there's a ship over there? He said, yes, there's a ship, a fishing boat. I said, well, a fish ship, a fishing boat? Yes, he said, yes. Douglas looks out to sea. There, shimmering like a mirage in the middle distance, is a fishing trawler. For a moment, disbelief hangs silently over the dinghy.
Since missing the cargo ship back on day six, they've buried any hope of rescue, focusing on what they can do to save themselves. But now that hope comes surging back to the surface. Snapping into action, Dougal grabs one of their two remaining hand flares and stands up on the central thwart. The boat's getting closer now, only about two miles away. In a matter of minutes, it will have passed them by completely. It's now or never.
Dougal pulls the cap from the flare and holds the burning beacon aloft. But the ship doesn't alter its course. It's going to miss them, and they only have one more flare left. Dougal picks it up. He looks around at the imploring faces of his family. Their eyes are telling him to do it. Fire the last flare. Dougal strikes the flare, and it starts to burn.
And the molten flux of the flare is falling onto his hands, you know, and he's holding it like this, waving and waving, and we're shouting, and, you know, we're whistling, and we want to be picked up, you know. And Dougal holds the flare, and he throws it. He throws it away as high as he could. And he altered course. The ship altered course 20 degrees.
And I looked at it and thought, no, it can't have. It hasn't altered course, you know. It's just this rolling in the seaway. And then it altered course again. It had altered course maybe 40 degrees now. There's no way that you roll that much in the seaway. This ship is coming over to see us. You know, this is our chance. And the ship came alongside. It's unbelievable.
You know, it's just unbelievable. And I've said this so many times and, you know, and I've lived through this so many times, but still you can never quite get over something like this, you know, a moment when your life's been handed back to you. Douglas reads the name painted across her bow, the Tokamaru II, a Japanese fishing boat. A heaving cable comes looping down from the trawler's deck, a literal lifeline. Douglas reaches out and grabs it.
his hand clamping tightly round the wet, oily rope. And I think to myself, this is from another world. This is somebody reaching down to save our lives on the end of this rope. And I pulled it and pulled it. I couldn't make it fast to anything. I pulled it. They pulled it. We pulled it. Soon we were alongside the Tokamaru and eager hands reached down and pulled us on board. A moment later, all six shipwrecked sailors are on the trawler's sturdy metal deck.
The Japanese fishermen stare in amazement at the sight. This huddle of emaciated humans, naked except for their plastic orange capes and sun-faded life jackets. Douglas is totally dazed. He simply cannot compute. Their ordeal is at an end.
It was like so difficult to let yourself believe that you were being rescued. You had to have some kind of physical verification of it, even though you were living through it in real time. And suddenly I had a cup of coffee in my hand and I took a sip of the coffee and I thought, my God, this is coffee. That means we've been rescued. We must have been rescued because we can't make coffee.
That's a kind of odd deja vu type feeling that you have when you have been so focused on survival, survive the savage sea, the beating the elements. You can't let your guard down for a second. You know, you've got to be on top of everything all the time. And now, suddenly, it was true. We'd been rescued. Dougal wanted to secure the dinghy.
You know, we wanted the dinghy. The captain said, "Why do you want the dinghy?" He says, "Our food is on the dinghy." Dougal hadn't quite grasped that we'd been rescued, you know, and that they had food. He said that. The captain said, "We've got food on board." He says, "Well, I'd still like to have the dinghy if we can." The captain heeds Dougal's request. It seems like the least they can do for the plucky little boat that saved their lives. Now it's time for a wash.
filthy and stinking from their 38 days adrift. The prospect of getting clean is sheer bliss. They had a bath on that ship. They had this big bath full of warm water from the engine and they put us in there with special soap they had that lathered in salt water. Of course, this was fantastic. The Robertsons and Robin are fed and watered and given fresh clothes.
The cool cotton, a balm on their blistered skin. As the fishing boat steams towards Panama City, the six Brits gaze out across the vast blue ocean they have come to know only too well. The realization that their nightmare is over stirs up mixed emotions, joy and overwhelming relief, but also a peculiar and unexpected melancholy. And you know, this is an irony, right? But we missed it.
We missed that simple values of the sea. If you try hard, you'll survive. And if you don't, you're going to die. The reward for today is that you're still alive. And there's no higher prize than that. And now that didn't count anymore. We'd lost that. And that gives your life a certain jazz, a certain sparkle, a certain magic that you only get
if you think you're going to die every day. And now those tough days were over and that sparkle wasn't there anymore. We landed at 10 o'clock at night in Panama City and the press, the world press were there all over the jetty to meet us. And now we were going to say goodbye to our saviors. And we were very sad. We were very sad.
And we knew we would probably never see them again. But for those kind-hearted souls who had stopped and picked us up and given us our lives back, you can't say enough, can you? They bid a tearful farewell to the Japanese fishermen. Then the survivors are taken to a local hotel where they gorge themselves in the restaurant. They did all-day breakfast. And all-day breakfast was steak and eggs, pancakes, grits,
And I said, I'll have three of those, please. After flying back to the UK, there's an initial frenzy of press interviews and book deals. And then the clamor dies down. Gradually, normal life resumes. In the years to come, Douglas did go on to serve at sea for a time, just as he told his parents he would. Later, seeking a calmer, more normal life, he became an accountant, though perhaps not your average one.
Over 50 years on, he still reflects on how his life and personality were fundamentally changed by those 38 days on the ocean and by the adventure that went before. I never ever forgot my time in the Pacific and I still haven't forgotten my time in the Pacific. The blue ocean, the things we went through, the time on the Lusat, I still haven't forgotten. It was a great adventure. My dad died in 1992.
And I say to Dougal every day, thank you for what you did for us, Dan, because it was a fantastic adventure. And even though it went wrong, you stood by your words and got us on a steamer home. You know, he fought every day for the people on that raft. And his undying resolve was paramount in our survival. Where there's life, there's hope.
and never say die, no matter how desperate it looks, never say die. So I think that that is the aces that were passed on from that experience that are still with me today. In the next episode, we meet 25-year-old Florida native Jeffrey Heim, a personal trainer by day. Jeffrey spends every minute of his free time pursuing his real passion, scouring the state's waterways for fossilized shark teeth.
But on one river-diving expedition, he'll encroach on the territory of a living, thriving predator. We've barely time to think, let alone react. His survival will hinge on decisions made in the blink of an eye. That's next time on Real Survival Stories. Listen to Jeffrey's story today as a subscriber to Noisa Plus. Hit the link in the description or head to noisa.com to claim your seven-day free trial.
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