Falling overboard, I discovered that what they don’t tell you on the sailing courses is that a safety harness is great until you fall in, and then you become a waterskier.

I was dragged across the waves and then under the bottom of the boat for about half a minute, where I hit my head on the propeller.

Then the stanchion eye, which I had clipped onto, was ripped from the boat.

It was quite a lightweight 27ft yacht, and the weight of me in all my sailing gear being dragged through the water, pulled it clean out.

I ended up swimming in the Atlantic with the metal weight between my legs. I released it and kicked it off, along with my boots, and watched the boat sail away.

My crewmate, Paul, was chucked out of his bunk and realised we were in trouble because the boat was full of water.

He came up on deck, saw I wasn’t there and the stanchion eye was missing and set off an emergency position indicating radio beacon (EPIRB) alert.

The newspapers all reported at the time that I had been wearing an EPIRB, but 18 years ago, personal locator beacons didn’t exist; I just had a lifejacket with a hole in it.

The little light had been ripped off, I had to keep blowing air into the hole to keep the lifejacket inflated.

Paul also let off a distress flare and turned the yacht back. He came close to picking me up but couldn’t quite manage it.

I shouted for him to throw me a lifeline, anything to pull me in, but by the time he got a line out of the locker, I was too far away.

I’ve done lots of courses with different organisations, and I remember that if you want to stay alive in these situations, the thing is to will yourself to stay alive. I said, “I’m not going to die like this.”

All the yacht electrics were down, but Paul knew I always carried an emergency radio and handheld GPS as a standby, and I didn’t rely on electrics.

I’m an astronavigator and still look at the stars now. So Paul was able to call for help, and that’s what saved me really.

I think I was in the water for five and a half hours.

When you’re doing survival courses in a pool, it’s hard to imagine being in a choppy sea.

Keeping my mouth and nose out of the water was a huge problem; I had to keep swimming on my back.

Long wait until rescue after falling overboard

The waves were getting higher. I’m told that 44 ships were looking for me. One thing that went through my mind is I’d always wanted to go in a helicopter and this was my big chance.

When I worked on the big ships, I volunteered for helicopter rescue training three or four times, but each time something occurred or the weather was unsuitable, it didn’t happen.

But I’d trained to be prepared. I could see the lights of Vigo and thought perhaps I could swim ashore.

At 15 or 16 miles out, with a current, that was completely unrealistic, but it shows my determination not to die in this situation.

I could see the three stars on the belt of Orion as a guide, and I still look at Orion now, and it brings back memories.

I usually try to put this to the back of my mind. I was 48 years old at the time, and now I’m 67. I haven’t spoken about this rescue for 12 years. It happened in late October 2006.

I used to deliver yachts to people, and as my experience grew I got more choosy about who I worked for and where I went.

This delivery was for a guy I’d worked for before. He was a Yachtmaster instructor and wanted to get a Kelt 8.5 brought from Portugal to Cardiff or Swansea, where he intended to teach racing techniques.

It was getting late in the year, and I agreed to do it, providing we had bolt-hole options. He trusted me to be the skipper, with his friend, Paul, as my crew.

While I’m the traditionalist sailor, Paul prefers to plug the computer in and do everything electronically.

The events before falling overboard

Paul and I sat in a Porto marina, in good shelter, waiting for a storm to blow over.

I used to be a meteorologist when I was on the big ships, and I reckoned that if we followed this storm up the coast of Portugal into the Bay of Biscay, when the wind started to go south-west, we’d have three days of good sailing.

The plan was to keep sailing north, and if things started to get rough, turn right and hide in La Rochelle where we could also fly home, or Brest, which is a place I’d stopped at so often one of the local bar owners knew my name.

And if all went well, we could cross the English Channel, get to the Bristol Channel, and then to Cardiff or Swansea.

I was keen to get the job over quickly since it was my last sailing job of the year, and I had other work lined up.

Getting out of the marina was awkward because the wind was blowing in, and Paul and I looked at each other quite often, thinking, ‘Should we do this or not?’

Out at sea, the water flattened down, and we had a beautiful run up the coast. The winds were at Force 6 or 7, and we were doing really well.

After a sleep, I woke about 2100 ahead of my watch and took over the helm at 2200.

We were doing a Danish watch system of six hours on and off during the night.

I’m a bit of a toughie. I like sailing at night; staying up for six hours in rough weather is nothing to me.

We were patting ourselves on the back; it looked like we might get across to the English Channel in two-and-a-half days.

Getting pooped

Shortly after I took the helm and Paul retired to his bunk, it became evident that the steering gear we were using wasn’t coping with the waves.

The boat weighed less than three and a half tons. I decided to hand steer and it was as I was taking out the self-steering gear that we got ‘pooped’ – a wave broke into the cockpit, filled the boat full of water and spun it round.

The next wave hit me in the back – like someone coming up behind you and pushing you into a swimming pool.

The boat went over and filled up with water. All the electronic gear in the boat failed except for the bilge pump. And I went over the side.

The first thought that hit me was, “This water’s nice and warm” – we were off the coast of Portugal, after all.

After Paul’s near-miss attempt to recover me, I was lost from sight, so that was it.

Rescue hopes

The waves got higher. At one point, a helicopter flew over me, and I was sure it had seen me, but it flew on.

I also saw a row of lights. These were the ships, and they were coming towards me, and maybe got half a mile away.

I was getting cold, and I knew I had to stop swallowing the water. I was wasting energy trying to swim, but just lying there waiting to die didn’t seem like a good option either.

Then a boat did come close, and I got very, very excited, shouting and screaming. I saw a man run along the deck and up to the bridge, and they turned the spotlight on me.

That was the boat that picked me up. And the most frightening thing about the whole episode was being rescued.

It was one of those big tunny boats for catching tuna, with a Spanish crew. The sides were about 15 to 20ft tall.

They threw a rescue ring. I caught that, and they dragged me to the side of the boat. But before they could lower the ladder, I got swept underneath the boat. I’ve still got the oilskins with a blue paint stain as a reminder.

I managed to get out from under the tunny, but the biggest problem was getting up the chain link pilot ladder.

I used to work on the trading boats, square riggers, mostly. I knew that if I was clever, I could wait for a wave, then as the ship dived, if I caught the ladder I’d already have climbed 10ft.

But I didn’t have the strength to go any further. So in the end, I had to wait for these people to pull me up, and I just hung on.

It took them a long time.

Now I was out of the water, and I was really starting to feel the cold. My fingers had gone to sleep, my toes didn’t seem to have any blood in them.

The crew didn’t know how to treat me. They left me in wet clothes and gave me scalding cups of coffee laced with rum.

They left me to get my clothes off and into the shower; there was no one there to check I didn’t collapse or fall over, then
I was left in a bunk.

They didn’t supervise me aside from providing lots of rum-filled hot drinks.

I’m very much indebted to these people, but this is where the story gets comical.

The captain, who fortunately spoke pigeon English as I didn’t speak Spanish, asked who I was.

I replied, “I’m the one who fell in”, and his response was, “You’re dead.”

It was like the Monty Python dead parrot sketch. I was very confused, and for a moment, I did wonder if heaven was a fishing boat.

When the first mate was later dragged out of his bed, he explained that the Spanish Navy co-ordinating the rescue had declared that no one can survive in the water for more than two hours at this time of the year on the Atlantic coast.

He told me, “The Spanish coast guard declared you dead about four hours ago.” I said, “Well, I don’t think I am”. He said, “No, you’re not”.

So he got hold of the radio and told the operation authority, “We’ve got him, and he’s alive”. They said, “No, he’s dead.”

So he had much the same conversation that I’d had with the captain. I had my passport in my coat pocket, which proved to the Spanish I was still alive.

The ship’s chef, a lovely guy who didn’t speak any English, dried my passport, page by page, by putting it in the toaster. I was then transferred to another boat, by now wearing a new lifejacket, and then onto a big Spanish coast guard boat.

It had a flight deck on the back, and I thought, “Oh, I’m going to get to ride a helicopter”. But no, the ship transferred me into its 20ft rigid inflatable boat, and I was taken into a little harbour called Cangas.

I was dropped off on the quayside where a television crew filmed me as I had an awkward wait while the ambulance made its way from the other side of the harbour to pick me up.

I was in some borrowed clothes, 10 sizes bigger than me, and I had a little bag with my clothes in it.

They took me to a hospital, checked me over, and after making sure I had money – I still had my wallet on me, with a credit card and euros – they put me in a hotel where I saw a news programme about my rescue.

I woke up feeling like I had two important things to do.

First, I had to find out where I was, as I didn’t know if I was in Spain or Portugal. Secondly, I knew the boat had been towed into the harbour, so I needed to find out how Paul was.

I went down to the reception desk and asked if they spoke English.

They said no but disappeared and came back with a smart-looking Spanish girl. She said, “My name is Marina, and I’m
a journalist.”

Before I could say “My name is Roger, and I might have a story for you,” I looked up to find three television cameras pointing at me.

The local TV crews had been waiting in the hotel cafeteria for me to get up.

They accompanied me to the harbour to meet Paul. The Spanish media were a little upset when we shook hands as they wanted more emotion.

But Paul said, “Well, we’re English, we don’t do the hugging.”

It became a really big story in Spain as there are a lot of Catholics, and I’d mentioned that while I was in the water, I asked God to get me out of there; I promised myself that if God did, I’d take religion more seriously, look after my girlfriend and stop delivering yachts.

I regret saying that.

For days afterwards, I had to sign all the newspapers, even coming back on the ferry.

Back in England, a local newspaper caught wind of the tale, and I became known in Bristol, where I lived then, as the man who didn’t die.

I didn’t swim after that for eight or nine years, and I don’t like waves.

Sailing my wooden boat is still my joy, but I don’t go out in anything more than a Force 5 or 6, or for more than 12 hours or overnight anymore.

So it did affect me. I also always have a PLB on my lifejacket.

Lessons learned from falling overboard

1. Wear a personal locator beacon (PLB) on your lifejacket – improvements to technology have been made based on people like me who come back after falling overboard and say this isn’t right. To find out about the latest PLB and AIS units, read Yachting World‘s guide.
2. Carry an emergency handheld VHF radio and handheld GPS onboard; don’t rely on working boat electrics.
3. I think that having a bit of a belly at the time meant I could remain in the water longer after falling overboard.
4. A positive mental attitude helped me to stay calm.
5. When you have recovered a man overboard casualty from the water, take off their cold, wet clothes, dry them off and get them warm again with a warm shower and clothing.
6. Stay with the casualty; don’t leave them unattended as there’s a risk of dizziness or collapse associated with overheating.
7. As a MOB, keeping your chin out of the water is essential in choppy waves. Lifejacket developments such as the DAME-award winning TeamO High-Lift Offshore Lifejacket take this into account.
8. I am not against electronics, but I do not rely on them solely; they are just a tool. I have the training, and I enjoy plots on charts. Sometimes, electronics are lifesaving – as in Paul’s activation of the EPIRB, without which I may not be here today.
9. The yacht’s rudder had become twisted, which is why Paul couldn’t manoeuvre back to me.
10. Don’t board a ferry carrying a liferaft, EPIRB and flares – expensive kit you don’t want to leave on a yacht left on the hard for repair – unless you want a telling off by ferry staff about how their vessels are perfectly well equipped and there is no need to bring personal safety gear!

Expert response for Roger Cottle’s experience

Matt Pavitt, coastal operations area commander for HM Coastguard, responds: “Both EPIRBs and PLBs are essential pieces of lifesaving equipment that broadcast a distress signal on the same 406Mhz frequency. While EPIRBs are larger beacons designed for use aboard a vessel, PLBs are designed for individual use. Once activated, the alert is picked up by search and rescue COSPAS-SARSAT satellites and relayed to search and rescue centres.

“While many sensible seafarers and watersports enthusiasts will aim to plan for every possible scenario, there’s always a risk that things could go wrong, like falling overboard. In these situations, the items that you have with you will have a considerable impact on your chance of survival.

“Since Roger’s falling overboard incident, there have been technological advances in the field of emergency location beacons, which can be widely found online. It takes around 15 minutes to register your beacon with the Maritime and Coastguard Agency, which can then use the supplied information for a rescue response.

“Roger’s lifejacket almost certainly helped to save his life. Wearing his lifejacket, Roger was able to remain alert and call out for help, which greatly aided his rescuers in locating him. Falling overboard is rarely controlled and well-managed – casualties are either leaving the vessel through necessity or have been ejected from it. In either case, a casualty could be entering cold water or a choppy sea-state, with debris potentially falling from a vessel or presenting a hazard in the water.

“If a casualty becomes unconscious, a life-saving appliance (LSA) code-compliant adult lifejacket should have sufficient buoyancy and stability in calm waters to lift the mouth of a person at least 12cm clear of the water. To ensure these are up to standard, we recommend that LSAs are serviced regularly and kept in good condition.”

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