Isabella 2, Survival of Bass Strait. (standard:non fiction, 2760 words)
Author: Andre Linnell	Added: May 13 2001	Views/Reads: 4017/2972	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
True story about a yatching holiday turned into a survival test in the most dangerous strait of water Known.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

yacht into the larger breaking waves to take them head on and then 
turning back on course again and keeping their eyes open for the next 
breaker. 

I was eyeing Alan's double bed at the front of the boat and grabbed my
sleeping bag out from my hutch and jumped onto the double.  I put my 
head to the front and lay on my back, arms outstretched.  Heaven!  I 
was just dozing off when I felt the boat come around and start its 
climb up a wave.  I held on as my head went up higher and higher.  We 
were at our apex just as the esky pivoted on its tiedowns and emptied 
Pike and iced water all over my head and down into my sleeping bag. 

Exhaustion aside, I got out of there so fast, wrapping up the cold,
slimey, fishy mess and throwing it onto the galley floor.  I washed and 
dried myself and got another pair of jocks, then jumped in Mike's 
sleeping bag.  I lay down in the bunk that runs underneath the seat 
that the boys were sitting on outside in the cockpit.  I could hear 
every word they said and I could see through the back of the tachometer 
how fast we were going. We hit 11 knots going down the back of one 
wave. (One knot is equal to about 1.6k.m.h.)  The boat has a hull speed 
of six knots, and although exceeding this is by no means dangerous, it 
makes a hell of a noise and shudders as it pushes water aside. 

I overheard them talk about bringing down some sail to decrease speed
and Mike said it'd be fine so long as we don't get caught side on.  By 
now I could hear the occassional boom of a big one breaking and the 
boys turning her up into it, to meet it head on. 

From below I could tell it was getting more intense.  The boat was now
taking 3 seconds to reach the top of the largest waves.  The wind is at 
full strength at the top and I could hear all the stainless steel wires 
hum and howl like devils each time the rigging was stressed. 

Alan and Mike were talking in between big waves when, out of nowhere, I
heard Kaboom.  I was wondering why we hadn't turned up the wave.  I 
watched the needle go from 8 knots to zero as the water left the bottom 
of the boat.  In one second I went from laying on my back to laying on 
my face on the roof.  All I could think was there was 60 feet of sail 
and mast sticking down towards the ocean floor.  I looked out into the 
galley and it was a green - black color from being submerged.  I could 
still see pots and pans, cups and utensils pouring out of cupboards all 
over the roof.  I thought about the mess up on deck and the men tied 
onto lifelines dangling out from the boat like baits on a line.  I knew 
the yacht would self right soon as we had talked through this scenario 
a number of times. 

It started to roll around the other way, and as one side's windows were
under my feet, light broke in through the others.  Stuff was raining 
down on my head as the cupboards on the Port side opened.  Just as it 
was about to stand upright another wave hit us side on.  I was placed 
on the floor with all the rubbish, and as the boat was on an angle, I 
was walking on the face of the doors.  Something resembling the timber 
top of the chart table shot past my head and smashed through the rear 
portside window.  Water gushed in all over our radio equipment and 
started filling up the boat. 

I felt as white as a sheet and sick, like when you are hungry sick.  I
yelled out" You guys alright?"  No reply for 30 seconds as a fleeting 
vision of dying alone on a sinking boat went through my head.  I heard 
a clambering sound and Alan yelled "How's it down there?"  He said to 
get the bilge pumps working, which I did.  We headed into the waves 
while I cleaned up downstairs.  I was up to my knees in water as I 
stood on the floor and thought this is probably THE END.  The pumps 
emptied her out within a few minutes and Alan said start the motor, 
which started, thank God.  Water started to come back up around my 
ankles again and I screamed out I think we're hulled get the lifeboat 
ready! 

I was told to get the hatch off the motor compartment to see if I could
see anything.  I saw two batteries upside down in the water and got 
them back into their housings, then pushed all the caps back on. 
Apparently battery acid and salt water makes cyanide; no wonder I felt 
like I was going to die. 

The pumps had stopped working and we were filling up fast as the cockpit
was draining down and water was coming in the broken window.  Alan 
yelled to get on the radio - I thought I've already been on the radio 
and it didn't hold my weight.  It was dead, full of water.  I felt sick 
and angry, a very unusual mixture that equals, vulnerable.  Knee deep 
again now and I got my face under and looked at the pumps.  They had 
the paper from canned food stuck against the inlet.  I pulled it all 
away and water rushed through the mechanism again. The motor started 
first try and we motored into the storm facing the direction of New 
Zealand. 

It took ages to cram everything into the cupboards, get my wet gear back
on, block the window with two bits of timber and a Spanish windlass 
that Alan tied from the outside. 

My shock deepened when I stepped out of the rear doors into the cockpit.
 Alan had tied Mike to the rear of the boat next to the life raft bag.  
The emergency position indicating radio beacon was tied to the life 
raft, EPIRB for short.  Mike had been catapulted out of his seat and 
was knocked out on the mast.  Alan found him floating with eyes closed 
at the end of his rope and had used the momentum of the boat 
self-righting, to pull them both aboard.  Mike didn't look real perky 
and was mumbling incoherently. 

I turned around and looked forward.  Christ almighty I couldn't even
remember why we were out here let alone sailing into Hawaiian waters.  
There were waves as high as lampposts scattered among ones as high as 
houses.  The mess on deck was incredible - it looked as though a giant 
spider had gone about tangling up all the sheets and sails.  There were 
ropes and cloth everywhere. 

Every now and then Alan would yell for us to hold on and we would plunge
the boat through the middle of a giant wave and we had to hold our 
breath, as we were completely submerged.  Coming out the back of these 
waves like a cork was an interesting point.  One has to put both feet 
on the opposite side of the cockpit and use full leg and arm strength 
to pull the boat around sideways so as to stop the nose going down and 
snapping her in half.  Things were getting worse by the minute and it 
was 7.30 a.m.  What a day!  Alan and I discussed what could happen to 
us if the motor gave out and we decided as the wind was gusting at 65 
knots; we should set off the EPIRB.  A Jumbo Jet noted our signal, 
reported it to the authorities in Canberra and they radioed all 
shipping in our area to check us out. 

We saw a shape in the distance and sent up a flare.  Two hours later a
large ship of foreign origin came up behind us.  We had no way of 
contacting them and lit a red flare and held it aloft.  I was relieved 
that we'd be winched aboard.  We'd had enough. 

The ship turned around and powered off towards the East.  It disappeared
over the horizon! 

Poor Mike was concussed and he was the one who had the knowledge to get
us out of it.  Alan turned around and said, "We've got to tackle it 
side on and head for home."  He turned her North and we headed for the 
mainland.  We wore a couple of medium waves on the Starboard side and 
nearly got flattened.  I caught a glimpse of Alan's eyes and instead of 
being blue-grey as usual they were lime green!  I asked how many waves 
away from the boat he could see and he answered one.  He was suffering 
salt blindness if there is such a thing.  I could see from the top of a 
wave, up to sets of six waves coming at us. 

I took over the helm and headed for home at six knots.  It was about
11.30a.m. on April the 1st.  So, God does have a sense of humour.  
Maybe it was all a joke, whatever, I started to laugh.  The bigger the 
waves sent, the funnier it seemed to me, to the extent that I wanted it 
to give me it's best shot.  It got extremely rough near the Devil's 
Peak.  My 20 years of surfing came in handy as I could read when a 
swell was about to break on us and would turn the boat up it, punch her 
through the top section, and then slide her down the back of the wave, 
sideways to soften the blow.  We would then race along, 'side on' to 
the storm heading North towards Australia.  By 8p.m. it was dark and I 
had to pick out a star in-between the clouds to keep our heading. 

There are plenty of islands and rocks out from Wilsons Promontory and we
only had a small torchlight and the ocean map folded down to the local 
area to go by.  We were all scared; to make it this far and run up on 
rocks or reef just out from the mainland would probably finish us. 

The weather was still too bad to see any light house lights.  We could
see some huge supertankers barely moving along in the dark and I got a 
lump in my throat, that big business would slow to a creep because they 
all knew we were out there somewhere. 

Another star appeared in a direct line between Tidal River and us.  A
quick flash of the torch and we decided it was the safest line to take. 
 Everytime I started to panic through zero vision the clouds would 
break just enough to glimpse the star. 

At 11.38p.m. We motored into Tidal River, dropped anchor, dropped our
guard and slept until dawn. 

On that morning of April the first at 9.30 am the National Safety
Council locked its doors for the final time. The N.S.C. had the 
equipment required to contend with any emergency situation that Bass 
Straight can throw up. 

Strange things happen on April the first; the high-pressure system that
we were sailing through had actually got squashed to the extent that 
the isobar lines compacted together bent and pointed to exactly the 
position we were sailing through.  A cyclone in Queensland had pushed a 
low-pressure system into our High. 

The ship that turned and left us had reportedly had to answer for its
actions.  In hindsight, I am sure we would have died if a rescue 
attempt was made by a large vessel as we could see right underneath the 
ship as waves crashed into it. 

The Police Airwing were grounded for the morning due to the winds in our
area. 

Owner A Moffat, Crew Ml Crosgriff and A Linnell. 


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