While living aboard sailboats I had many different roles; from a deck hand on a large vessel, to a mate for boat deliveries. I also did a summer on board a vessel that taught young adults the basics of navigation and live aboard skills. But I never imagined myself rescuing a drowning adult who surely could have died had I not been in the right place at the right time.
SV Sarah G
During the live aboard adventure trips we would snorkel at many of our anchorage locations. There were adult chaperones present on the trip as well, to assist with keeping the kids accounted for and daily routines such as meal preparation. A prerequisite to be an adult chaperone was to be able to swim. At the beginning of the trip we did a swim test for each of the children, but did not swim test the adults. We just took their word for it. This was an oversight that we would never make again. As it turns out one of the adults really really wanted to go on the trip, but didn't know how to swim. So, naturally he lied about his abilities. We will call him Tom.
On the day of his near drowning we set anchor at this amazing little spit of sand in the Abacos and spent a couple hours before dinner snorkeling and treasure hunting around the island. Somehow Tom had made it to the island although I did not witness his swim from the boat to land. Throughout the island visit I had made several swims back and forth from the anchored boat to check on different children and do this and that. I was sitting on board the boat as the sun was fairly low in the sky and debated not returning to the island even though there were still a few kids on the shore. Something told me to go ahead and swim back. The water was so refreshing and kitchen prep was going nicely on the boat so I had a chance to swim again. I do believe this was something you could call divine intervention because had I not returned Tom may have died.
You see, we required the children to wear float vests when swimming and always swim with a buddy. No exceptions. The adults, however, were on their own. They were, after all, adults.
So I made my return swim to the island which was maybe 200 feet in distance from where the boat was anchored. There was a group of 4 kids and at the time I didn't see Tom. I talked with the kids for a moment and encouraged them to swim back since dinner was nearly ready. I sat on the shore and watched the kids swim back to the boat, enjoying a moment of solitude on the strip of white sand. Once I had taken it all in I began my swim back, and again, Tom was not anywhere in sight. Midway through my swim I stopped to tread water for a moment and heard a strange sound. It was a groaning sound in the distance. In the low light of the setting sun I made out a bobbing head drifting away with the current about 100 feet away from me.
It wasn't until I got closer that I realized who it was. With all my years of life guard training I knew exactly what to do. I had been trained how to prevent a drowning victim from hurting you during a rescue. How to flip them on their backs with you underneath and swim to safety. I coached Tom through the experience telling him to calm down relax and breathe. He was not following instructions. He was moaning and flailing his legs. He was about a 200 lb man, and I a 130 lb woman was struggling to make it to the boat. Everyone was below the deck making the final touches on our evening meal. There was no one to notice if I couldn't make it. It was just me and Tom and the battle between water and air. At a certain point I noticed that I wasn't getting any closer to the boat. I remember this vividly. The sight of the boat from down below. The silvery splashes of the setting sunlight on the water. My realization of a choice I would have to make. To let go and save myself. I was getting too weak for the both of us. I don't know how to give up. Somewhere inside of my exhaustion there was enough energy to yell out. HEEEEELLLPPPP!!!!!!!
The captain came to the deck and saw us barely treading water and threw a rope. As if it couldn't get any more melodramatic the rope's end landed right at my fingertips with only an inch to spare. I grabbed a hold and soon we found ourselves at the back of the boat at the ladder. I braced Tom against the smooth white steel hull, and to my amazement he immediately became alert. He was then conversational. As if the simple feeling of a solid surface was all it took to decide to live. He climbed into the boat. The captain examined him for any sign of injury. The whole crew was unsure of what to say but were very thankful to me. The most surprising part was Tom. He didn't speak of it the rest of the trip. He flew away from us with out a word.
I never understood that. I learned later that he was engaged to be married just a week after this trip.
