More to do at SNS 148

Saturday morning was spent at sea, as usual, practicing the same old manoeuvres: man overboard, passing towlines, getting everybody used to all the elements of the operations. Throwing a towline is really hard, as a previous blog indicates, but I am now learning to drive the boat, mostly by varying the thrust on the massive engines. The throttles are like those on an aircraft...

Afterwards, we cleaned up and refuelled (my job is to squeeze between the superheated exhaust pipes and the fuel tanks, and take readings every minute until the tanks are full, about twenty minutes in well over 55° air temperature). Great for testing deodorants, but not good for whoever has to wash the clothes afterwards.

Then the usual handshakes or kisses or both (delicate, mathematically, when dealing with a crew containing both Normans and Bretons, just like my family), and everybody separated for lunch.

Hardly had I arrived at home when the alarm goes off. Back to the station, at a smart trot. Start the engine room routine, whilst being filled in on what is going on. Apparently a ferry between France and Corsica had picked up a faint radar signature, and had gone to investigate a sighting of a boat without way. They observed a Marie Celeste style yacht with ragged sails, and seemingly only ravenous dogs aboard.

We were sent to check it out, a good sixty miles offshore, much nearer Corsica than to Antibes. Off we went, roaring into the empty quarter, which was bizarrely filled with hundreds of brightly coloured footballs lazily bobbing on the swell (container overboard?). What we were really keeping a watch for, however, was the presence of submerged logs, of which there were plenty.

After a bumpy ride, during which everybody either slept or was on watch or at the helm, we found the boat; the good ship Tapenade, almost spot on, which was down to the seamanship both of the ferry watch-keeper and of the lifeboat skipper, Laurent Desmare. Yours Truly was supposedly navigating, but really just acting as scribe for latitudes and longitudes, every fifteen minutes, and noting all radio traffic, whilst keeping radar watch.

We started to think what we should be wearing if we had to scrape long rotted human remains up from the deck. All weather suits, boots, gloves, etc.. Not a joyous prospect.

The boat, when we got to it, pretty close to Corsica, was a rubbish-strewn wreck, which we smelled even before we saw. It was a floating midden of the foulest excrement imaginable - three dogs, with full rectal freedom, and a bloke, still alive but off his head: apparently 'at the height of his powers' and living off a diet of powerfully emetic figs. Barmy and barfy, to put it short. There was a brief conference with the military and the navy doctors who give us our orders. "Board, take control, bring back the boat and its occupants!"

But we were not police, we were not armed or even insured for that kind of work, and had no desire to take on either dogs or a madman; let alone any corpses he might have had below deck as a surprise.

Still, one of our crew, Laurent N° 2, had spent ten years in the Navy, in the special forces, perhaps, though one is reluctant to ask. He went on board the boat, which was totally unseaworthy, just as the guy himself was, being completely off his head. Lolo2, somehow, (though secretly armed with the sharpest knife I have ever seen), got both guy and dogs to cooperate willingly. Indeed, both crazyman and dogs smiled or wagged tails furiously whenever our chap was near. Frightening, really.

We tied up alongside, passed essential provisions and a VHF radio, and began the tow. The tow took about six and a half hours, during time which we kept in constant radio contact, in case either dogs or loony decided to have a go. Luckily I had passed Lolo2 some supplies of water, and a fleece -because the water quality aboard, and the sanitary conditions of the blankets, were not ones to play around with. He deserves the Olfactory Medal, first class, with WC and nasal bar.

On the way back, we were surrounded by pods of dolphins, tucking into mackerel in a fantastic display of feeding frenzy. The idea that dolphins are some kind of sweet, cuddly creature is far off the mark. They are like killer dogs. Impressive to watch, though.

As night fell, we had to train a searchlight on our tow, which had no navigation lights. We were in the middle of the shipping lanes, with high speed ferries from Corsica passing close by at a rate of knots. Training the searchlight on a moving target, to keep it illuminated, as both it and us constantly changed position, is a tiring business, and we set up half hour stints. Half an hour feels like a long time, I can tell you. Still, seeing the sun set over Porquerolles, whilst still in full view of the mountains of Corsica, is an experience I wouldn't have missed for anything.

We got into port well past ten thirty at night, and were greeted by some very big guys from the firemen's ambulance service, escorted by a patrol of cops, one of whom, in the background, had undone the restraining strap on his revolver holster. In the end, the chap went quietly, leaving us with the problem of the dogs. Their first act was to crap, all over the place, and then they lapped up prodigious amounts of water, whilst a kind woman fetched some dog food. They attacked it, and each other with abandon. They were destined for the police dog pound, just as their owner was destined for a check up at the funny farm.

Then it was casting off time from the quay, to go around to our berth. Putting the boat to bed when that tired is the last straw, particularly the engine shut down routine, when the engine room has been in pretty well continuous operation for the best part of fourteen hours. We had used over 700 litres of diesel fuel.

We filled in the rescue chit. Nothing to pay for the man or his dogs, but the tow, at the admiralty rate, came to a modestly impressive set of euros with zeros. Not that the guy has any money to pay it with.

Next evening, the chappie turns up at the lifeboat station, pre-announced by the same unforgettable reek, having been released from hospital. He wanted to find his new friend, Lolo2 and offer him a drink on his yacht Tapenade, apparently in the same state he had left it. Luckily Lolo2 was indisposed, and in bed: who knows what drink he might have been offered, and with what consequences for his health?