Busyish

Blog silence for the last few days, as things have been quite busy down at the lifeboat station.

We were on helicopter training Tuesday night, with the same Navy squadron as before, with the same great diver, but a rather gung-ho pilot, who caused a couple of lads on deck to duck involuntarily. After debriefing, it was nearly midnight when we finished. Not possible for us to take pictures of ourselves from outside the boat, so here is one taken on an earlier exercise, by the lifeboat photographer, Choupette...


Having just gone to bed, or so it seemed, the alarm went off just before five in the morning, as the perfect storm hit Antibes. The sky exploded in a Krakatoa-style eruption of continuous thunder and lightning, then the wind and the hailstones hit simultaneously. Within seconds, the palm trees were nearly horizontal, and our street was under a foot of fast flowing water. No time to take photographs, but here is the sky the next morning, a veritable eiderdown of superheated water vapour just looking for a violent change of temperature...


The cox, Laurent Desmare, who lives up in the suburbs, risked his life to get down to the boat through the flooding, thinking all the time that his motorbike, with him on it, was going to be carried away by the terrifying force of the flood water. A brave man, even before stepping onto the lifeboat.

I myself waded through knee deep water/hailstones, now raging like a river in spate, freezing to boot, in order to get to the port. The others have similar stories to tell. We managed to get together a comically bedraggled crew, soaked before even sailing, who prepared the boat for sea, lit up by end-of-the-world style thunder and lightning. By this time, the wind had dropped sufficiently to get the boat out of the narrow berth and through the congested port.

Out to sea, then, at full speed, with the best cosmic fireworks I have seen in years. Our flashing blue police lights were completely outclassed. Strangely, by this time, the sea had almost been scraped calm by the wind.

We were being called in turn by CROSSMED to give assistance to five boats in difficulty (mostly dragging anchors, adrift, and subsequent collisions with major damage), including a fantastic sailing yacht (56 metres) which had been blown into the fish farm off Juan les Pins, causing havoc and a fair bit of Free Willy happiness amongst the liberated fish. Lots of herons were in on the story, and there might be some good line-fishing for once in the bay. Here is the yacht, now in calm waters, with divers disentangling the fish farm nets from the propellers and rudder.


We towed several variously shaped and sized boats to safety in ports (none of which - being privately run for profit - were happy to take on emergencies), reanchored another two which were drifting, and stood by on safety watch whilst the big yacht was extricated from the fish farm.




We were stood down five hours after setting out, and it took another hour to get back and tied up in port, this time punching through quite a swell. Nobody had eaten or had a pee, and the fresh coffee and the illicit relieving of bladders into the waters of the port were equal bliss. Writing up the official reports afterwards, and cleaning and preparing the boat for the next call, was less fun.

Then it was off, unshaven and pongy, to another crew member's house to do the graphics on a flier we are producing to try to get the English speaking community to support the lifeboat. Agreeably fed and watered by his charming wife, but struggling by now to stay awake.

Getting home at the back of three, I had just had a shower and was preparing for a bit of shut-eye when the alarm went again. So off to the boat, another engine room routine, etc. This time it turned out to be a false alarm, but it was an hour before we were stood down.

Then another helicopter winch exercise the following morning, with seas just beginning to be seriously ruffled by the mistral. With every bump and crash into the next wave, the spray went right over the wheelhouse. Everybody tired, and taking turns at the wheel (including yours truly), to save the cox for the hairy bit when the helicopter hovers over us. The bearing chosen by the helicopter pilot for our run was perfectly calculated for a nice corkscrew pitch and yaw, which brought one of our crew to the verge of barfing onto the descending Navy diver as he dropped onto the deck.

The way back was enlivened by the alarms going off in the starboard engine, so we nursed the boat back at a wallowing 12 knots instead of the usual jolting 25. Sure enough, when I did the engine shut down routine, starboard side there was a smell of burning - the insulating lagging in the ventilator had melted, and was dripping like hot chocolate down onto the massive exhaust pipes. I kopped a few drops nicely pre-heated, on the nape of the neck, which caused untold mirth amongst those who were by this time scrubbing the seagull dung off the wheelhouse.

Then, at 6pm, we had to get togged out in uniform for the arrival of a delegation from Paris. Good chance to get to know the lifeboatmen from the other stations, including the skipper from Menton, who used to pilot the barges with Airbus wings from Mostyn to Bordeaux, so very familiar with the charms of Denbighshire and the vagaries of the North Wales coast.

This morning, the planned scattering of ashes at sea has been cancelled, which is both a good thing in itself, to allow the crew to rest, and a means of giving me time to write this blog...