Today, surprisingly late in the season, we had our first shout. I had been at the station, trying to repair the ravages of a diesel spill on all our ropes and hawsers (and we have a lot of them). Meanwhile, the cox was on the roof, seeing to the replacement of the navigation lights. The lifeboat secretary had come round, too, with his daughter and her family, and was dealing with the usual headaches of running a station.

Suddenly, the radio and the telephone hotted up. Problem off the Lérins, as usual. Boat had spent the day in paradise, then the motor wouldnt start, and they had drifted into the channel. Not a good place to be, especially once the mad traffic of the return to Cannes had started. We were ordered to intervene, as we had sufficient oomph (or maybe here "va va vroom") to give the tub a decent tow.

So, for the first time since the engine overhaul, the turbochargers really kicked in, and at 1,900 rpm, we sped at 25 knots into the sunset. The tow was without drama, except for the beautiful people gaping at us from the decks of the superyachts. On the way back, we had one or two underwater moments, as we passed through the wake of some pretty big, and certainly very fast, superyachts. I think Charlie is going to be on hosepipe duty pretty soon. We've shipped a fair poundage of salt crystals.

Beepable

In the old days, the lifeboatmen used to be summoned to the station by the firing of maroons. Here in Antibes, they used to sound the air raid sirens... until the good citizens thought that their sleep was worth more than lives at peril at sea. Now they use pagers, called 'beepers' with rather ambiguous affection by the crew.

I've just been issued with one, which rather alarmingly went off five minutes after I got it. Luckily, old hands were near, who told me just to replace the battery. In the past, a number of people have arrived breathless at the lifeboat station, only to find that their beeper had gone on the blink with low juice, and had been beeping to itself.

I was at the station this morning as part of a polishing detail, as a kind and public-spirited sponsor (Mitsubishi Electric) had provided air-conditioning equipment for the crew room (no luxury in this climate, especially for crew who have to go directly from the 'shout' back to work). The publicity photos would have to show a gleaming boat, and for once it sparkled.

Busy day out

Yesterday was a pretty busy day. Not just because we have family with us, but because I was all day out with the lifeboat. The morning was spent stocking supplies, water and fuel in anticipation of the silly season of 'shouts'. Then it was out to sea, taking water samples, doing a census of both marine mammals and jellyfish (we saw neither), and recording the nature and density of floating rubbish (mostly plastic, but a surprising amount of sodden baguettes). During this work, we were called up and sent to Villeneuve Loubet to rescue three people whose scooter had started sinking. We took the three people on board, our diver Guillaume secured flotation to the scooter, and we towed it into port.



Then an instruction trip to the Abeille Flandre, a hefty salvage tug. Lessons on towing, on emergency procedures, manoeuvres. Trips into the gigantic bowels of the winch compartments and the engine room. Finally we got up to the towering bridge. About five minutes into the spiel on the towing controls (think spacecraft, but all in massive steel), our emergency radio went off again.



Eight people on an inflatable, engine conked out, heading for the rocks. It was like one of those corny war films when action stations is sounded. A human avalanche slid down the companion-ways, seven stories down to the well deck and the access to our lifeboat.




Cast-off drill double quick, so quick that we nearly kidnapped the watch keeping officer of the tug, who happened to be on the boat looking around.

Off towards the islands, at 25kts, blue lights flashing, radio squawking, tow ropes being prepared, hats flying off astern in the wind. Pure adrenaline. Then lookout stations, trying to spot a brownish cream inflatable against brownish cream rocks.

Then we spotted it, in water too shallow to take the lifeboat. So it was launch stations for our inflatable, as our diver put on diving gear for the second time in three hours. By this time, luckily, I had been partially trained in towing, so I knew which bits to get out and tie on to which.

It turned out the people needing rescue were Italians. We were two Italian speakers on the lifeboat. Useful when you need to get legal acceptance for the tow, and when you need to explain to landlubbers that if they continue to put their hands between their boat and ours, there might be a shortfall of fingers by the time they landed. We towed them very slowly back to Mandelieu, where they were taken under the wing of the harbourmaster, but only after they had signed the form promising to pay us back for the fuel we had used (690 euros). Yours truly acted as the go-between, accepting an Italian cheque later that evening, in a large 4x4 with darkened windows.