on the skis slipped over the side.
Derek motored round me perfectly, just as I had told him. The rope closed in on me and as it came past me I grabbed hold of it and he slowly took up the slack. I flipped the rope over one ski and got myself into the start position - skis upright, arms outstretched and rope between the skis.
Once I was ready I looked up and saw Derek standing up at the stern of the boat looking at me, waiting until I was ready. He had one hand on the tiller throttle of the engine. I looked at my skis and shouted out “Hit it”. I heard the engine roar and I was pulled forward, but not with enough torque to get up. I was dragged through the water in a mass of white water for a second or two. My arms felt as though they were being pulled right out of their sockets - I realised I wasn’t going to get up on this occasion. I let go of the ski rope handle and sank down into the water.
Once the motion subsided I looked up to see what had happened and saw the boat careering off to one side – there was no sign of Derek. My God, I thought, what has happened? Where is Derek? Has he slipped and fallen?
I stared fixedly at my boat, which had now started going round in circles, seemingly flat out. It was going so fast that it was bouncing off small waves almost to the point of getting airborne.
I watched, as the boat seemed to come round in a full circle and start coming towards me. As it came to its closest point I could clearly see that the boat was empty. The tiller was hard over – which was what was causing it to go round in circles. The throttle on my Johnston 35hp outboard stayed open at the point you throttled up to – it was intended to do that to avoid having to hold the throttle open on long journeys the whole time.
As the boat came past me, there was at first a feeling of disbelief – denial even – that this was really happening to me. As the boat bounced and sped past me I suddenly saw Derek in the water, head up and gesticulating at me. I couldn’t hear his cries for the noise of the outboard.
We started swimming over towards each other. In my full wet suit with wet suit boots on, it was hard to make any way at all on my front. I flopped over on my back and sculled over to him. As I did so I looked towards the distant shore – we were an awful long way offshore and I felt that there was no way I could swim it in the restrictive 7mm wet suit.
As I reached Derek, I was relieved to learn that he was not hurt. He told me that he had been standing at the engine and when I shouted, “Hit it!” he had opened the throttle fully. The engine had been more powerful than he had expected and quite simply as the boat had surged forward he had been flung over the top of the engine and into the water.
As he talked to me I became aware that he was not wearing his wet suit top and had only the long johns on. His upper chest and arms were bare. Whilst I was in the water getting ready to waterski he had taken off his wet suit jacket as he was hot. Although this was the middle of the summer, it was still the North Sea - and the water was still icy cold to the touch.
“I’m getting cold.” he said. “I’m going to have to swim for the shore” With his arms unencumbered by a wet suit he would be able to crawl on his front.
“I can’t swim it in this wet suit, Derek.” I replied. “I’ll have to wait here - when you get ashore get help as quickly as you can.”
Derek thankfully, was a very strong swimmer and he struck off in a crawl towards the shore. Later he would recount that as he headed towards the shore a wind surfer had come up to him. He had asked for help but the surfer said he couldn’t help and just sped off into the distance.
With Derek a receding figure I looked around me. In the distance I could see another white speedboat. I tried yelling as hard as I could and tried splashing and throwing white water high into the air. But my cries and efforts were futile. They were simply too far off and my blue wetsuit blended in too well with the surrounding water. The speedboat soon disappeared off towards the harbour. I was left completely alone far offshore trying to come to terms with my predicament.
I started to think what I could do to resolve my predicament. The boat was continuing to career round and round in circles not far from me. As I floated there upright in the water I watched the boat – every now and then it would strike a wave at an awkward angle as it circled and this would change its direction slightly – so the area it was circling was changing over time.
As I watched the boat it took a big hit on a wave that altered its direction significantly. It suddenly dawned on me that the boat may well now circle fairly close to me. Sure enough, the bow of the boat started to turn towards me - and soon the bow was heading right at me. But the boat was continuing to turn and it wasn’t going to hit me – this time.
The boat rushed round in its eternal circle and as it did so I saw the water-ski rope still trailing out behind it. The rope wasn’t particularly long, perhaps about 20-25 feet. The Off switch for the outboard was mounted very close to where the rope was attached to the water ski hook – if I could pull myself up the rope I could perhaps get my hand up and switch off the engine.
I know now never to react in the first flush of emotion – it usually isn’t wise and can lead to more trouble. If I did nothing I would float out here not coming to any harm until either Derek got ashore and raised help – or the girls ashore realised that we were overdue and called for help. Either way, in my 7mm full diving wet suit I wasn’t going to come to any harm – I could float out there in relative warmth and comfort for 24 hours if need be. The Coastguard would know the currents and which way I would be swept. They would know where to look for me.
But, that’s not how the brain works in moments of crisis. I reached out my hand and grabbed hold of the water ski rope as it whisked past – I thought this might be my one and only chance to get myself out of this situation under my own steam.
As soon as I grabbed the rope I realised this was a seriously bad move. The boat was probably only doing 10-15 knots but it was still a big speed to move instantly to - from a water logged standing start. My arm seemed to stretch out cartoon style as it tried to remove itself from its socket. I had to let go quickly or risk injury.
The boat sped away in another circle, bouncing off waves before turning round and starting to head towards me. This time I knew the boat was going to hit me.
In my full wet suit I wasn’t able to move with any speed and couldn’t get out of its way. With no weight belt on I was hugely buoyant and couldn’t duck dive beneath the boat. Remorselessly the bow of the boat got closer and closer – and as it approached the bow was turning towards me all the time. The boat sped past me – so close that I could almost touch it. With each circle the boat had come closer to me and I was now hugely concerned about the next circle.
I kicked my feet and tried to propel myself away from what I guessed would be the next circle of the boat. As I did so I looked up to see the boat moving away into the distance engine roaring but all the time starting to wheel round towards my direction. In my full wet suit, no matter how hard I kicked my legs I just didn’t seem to move with any speed through the water. I looked up again and was horrified to see the bow of my own boat bearing right down onto me.
In a slightly surreal moment I was fixed on the big square orange section of tubing at the front of the boat, never having seen the boat in this way. But it wasn’t the bow I was worried about – it was the stern and thrashing propeller that could do me an awful lot of harm.
The bow came at me - closer and closer - and as it did, it turned slightly to my left-hand side. I flung my arms up, crossed in front of my face, hands well out of the water before the port side tube whacked me. I was swept down the port side of the tube - luckily the boat didn’t ride up over
