Survival at Sea

FOR SOME OF US, THE NOTION OF LIVING AS FARMERS IN THE ENGLISH COUNTRYSIDE WITH NO PHONE OR ELECTRICITY IS ADVENTURE ENOUGH. IT WASN ’T FOR THE ROBERTSON FAMILY. AFTER THEIR YOUNG SON NEIL SUGGESTED ONE MORNING THAT THEY BUY A BOAT AND SAIL AROUND THE WORLD, THE FAMILY SPONTANEOUSLY AGREED. TWO YEARS LATER, HAVING SOLD ALL THEIR EARTHLY BELONGINGS, THEY HAD ENOUGH MONEY TO MAKE THE DREAM A REALITY. THEY NEVER ANTICIPATED THE NIGHTMARE THEIR VOYAGE WOULD BECOME.

The Robertsons’ home for the next seventeen months would be the Lucette, a forty-three-foot schooner purchased in Malta and sailed back to England by Dougal, the family patriarch, who ruled his house with an iron fist. After two months of acclimatizing to the boat in the English port town of Falmouth, the Robertsons set off on their circumnavigation of the world. It was January 27, 1971.

The voyage took them first to Spain, then Portugal, after which they spent some time in the Canary Islands, where they took on two young Americans hitching a lift across the Atlantic. From there, the journey continued to the Windward Islands of the West Indies, up through the Bahamas, and on into Miami, where they stayed for a while so the kids could catch up on schoolwork. During their time in Florida, Dougal and his wife, Linda (Lyn for short), bought a fiberglass dinghy in Fort Lauderdale. Lyn remarked on how the dinghy—named Ednamair after her two sisters, Edna and Mary—might save their lives one day. She couldn’t have known just how prophetic her musings were.

They sailed to the island of Nassau, where the Robertsons’ eldest daughter, Anne, decided to stay and pursue her own fate. Saddened, the family continued on to Jamaica, where eldest son Douglas celebrated his eighteenth birthday.

Next stop was the archipelago of the San Blas Islands, then Panama, where they picked up a new crew member: a twenty-two-year-old graduate student in economics and statistics. Robin Williams was cheerful and adventurous, and Dougal and Lyn hoped that his mathematical prowess would rub off on the children, especially the twelve-year-old twin boys, Neil and Sandy. Robin’s plan was to stay with the family for the seven-thousand-mile voyage across the Pacific to New Zealand. He got more than he bargained for—much more.

The first stop in the Pacific was the Galapagos Islands. After an idyllic time spent island-hopping and reveling in what may still be the purest wildlife refuge on earth, the Robertsons set sail for the Marquesas Islands, a group of volcanic islands that forms part of French Polynesia, more than four thousand miles away. Two days out of the Galapagos, on June 15, 1972, disaster struck. Early that morning, while most of the family was in bed, sleeping or reading, the Lucette was struck by a blow of unthinkable proportions. Instantly, the sound of rushing water filled the cabin, as the cry of “Whales!” hurtled from the cockpit. Dougal rushed to the hole to find the blue Pacific pouring into the now-fragile craft. The desperate efforts he and Lyn made to stop the onslaught of water were futile. The Lucette was sinking—fast. It had been their home for the previous year and a half, but it wouldn’t take long before the schooner was at the bottom of the Pacific.

There was little time to think. Dougal called, “Abandon ship!” and the others sprung to life. Life jackets were tied on, and a few odd tools were grabbed during the mayhem. The ropes holding the dinghy to the mainmast and foremast were cut and an inflatable life raft was sent into the water. With the Lucette rapidly disappearing into the shark-inhabited waters of the Pacific, the Robertsons had no choice but to make for their two small boats. The dinghy was half full of water, so they began to swim to the life raft, now fully inflated. The last thing Dougal did before abandoning the Lucette was toss a bag of onions, a bag of oranges, and a bag of lemons into the water. He also grabbed a vegetable knife and threw it into the dinghy.

With everyone safe in the raft, Dougal swam for the dinghy, where he gathered up as many oranges and lemons as he could reach and tossed them back to the life raft. The Lucette’s water containers had either floated away or sunk, as had a box of flares. He swam back to the life raft, grabbing a floating tin of gasoline on the way. As he swam toward the rubber craft that now held everything precious to him in the world, he caught one last glimpse of the Lucette as the tops of her sails disappeared into the ocean.

The Robertsons and Robin were all on board, shaken but very much alive. And while they all made it, their folly was that they didn’t have a preset plan (an ultra-efficient way of jumping into action without thinking) of what to do if something went wrong. It is surprising that they didn’t have a survival kit at the ready that they could grab in emergency situations. Luckily, though, they had the raft, which was stocked with its own survival kit.

As the shock of their new reality washed over them, the details of what had just happened started to become clear. Douglas, who had been on watch at the time of the accident, saw a pod of about twenty killer whales (orcas) approach the Lucette at top speed. Three of them rammed the ship’s six-thousand-pound lead keel, shattering the elm strakes of the keel on impact.

I was once on a boat during a Survivorman shoot in the high Arctic, when we came across nineteen orcas as they chased a few hundred narwhal, which, in turn, were chasing arctic char. In similar fashion to the Robertsons’ experience, three orcas broke off from the pod and sped straight for the side of our twenty-foot steel boat. They came within inches of ramming our craft, but suddenly dove, made a sharp right turn, and resurfaced in front of the boat. It was terrifying, yet exhilarating, and fortunately, I didn’t meet the same fate the Robertsons did that day in 1971.

In those early moments after the disaster, Dougal wrestled with an emotion that affects so many people in survival situations: guilt. He had sold all their belongings and brought the family on this voyage. He had failed to anticipate this type of disaster. He was ultimately responsible for their well-being.

Yet like many who had come before him, Dougal channeled his guilt into motivation to survive. He began almost immediately, first by taking stock of their minimal supplies, beginning with the raft’s survival kit, which was encased in a three-foot-long plastic cylinder. The survival kit contained the following:

vitamin-fortified bread and glucose for 10 people for 2 days

water (18 pints)

flares (8)

bailer (1)

fish hooks (2 large and 2 small)

spinner and trace (1), along with 25-pound test fishing line

patent knife

signal mirror

flashlight

first aid kit

sea anchors (2)

instruction book

bellows

paddles (3)

They also had the bag of onions, a one-pound tin of cookies, a jar containing about half a pound of candies, ten oranges, and six lemons. There were six people—four adults and the twins—in the middle of a rarely traveled section of the Pacific. Things were looking grim, indeed.

I understand the fear they must have been experiencing. It’s one thing to go without food, but the prospect of dehydration must have risen to the front of their collective consciousness very quickly. That’s why it must have been very difficult to sit and watch one of the Lucette’s water containers float away on the sea. But these were shark-inhabited waters, and a pod of killer whales had just sunk their forty-three-foot boat. It would have taken a real act of heroism to jump into the water and retrieve the container. Nobody did.

Lyn and Dougal immediately set to the task at hand: surviving. Whether they knew it or not, they jumped to activity with the most important first step in any survival situation: assessment. Lyn wanted to know, brutally and exactly, what their chance of survival was and how they might get back to safety. But first, she provided all the motivation she and Dougal would need in the many weeks to come. She put her hand in Dougal’s and said quietly, “We must get these boys to land. If we do nothing else with our lives, we must get them to land.”

Sea Survival Kit

According to Essentials of Sea Survival by Frank Golden and Michael Tipton, in addition to the standard kit that comes with a life raft, you should have

buoyant smoke signals (2)

extra anti-seasickness pills

extra first aid kit

heliograph (signaling mirror)

parachute flares (2)

radar reflector

red handheld flares (3)

second (spare) sea anchor

sunscreen and lip salve

thermal protective aids

Also consider adding these items:

antiseptic cream or petroleum

jelly (small container)

balaclava with waterproof outer

shell

batteries

book on survival

Cyalume sticks

diary (logbook) and pencils

flashlight, waterproof with

attachment clip

fracture straps (2)

garden-pool repair kit (with

adhesives that can be

applied to wet surfaces)

gloves, warm and waterproof

GPS unit

handheld VHF transceiver,

waterproof

hard candy (several packages)

matches, waterproof

multi-tool or Swiss Army–style

knife

nylon string

personal location beacon

plastic bags (medium-sized)

and ties

plastic food wrap (1 small roll)

plastic garbage bags (1 small

roll)

safety pins (1 package)

scissors, blunt-ended, heavy-duty

SPOT personal tracker

The grab bag should be waterproof and buoyant, with a handle that is easy to grab with cold hands. There should be some means of securing it to your body, such as a lanyard, should you need both hands to do something else. It should be stowed safely in a place where you can easily get it at the last minute before abandoning a sinking vessel. Check it regularly to make sure that items are not deteriorating, expiry dates have not passed, and things like batteries are still fresh.

If time permits, try to salvage the following useful items from the sinking boat and load them onto the raft. Bulky items that are buoyant may be floated alongside the raft and attached to it.

camera (with flash)

empty boxes

fenders

fishing equipment or a spear gun (take care to avoid puncturing the raft!)

knife and sharpening tool

portable bilge pump (easier to use and more effective than a bailer)

seat cushions (to preserve body heat)

sunglasses

towels and spare clothing

Tupperware-style food containers, filled with carbohydrate-rich

foodstuffs: chocolate, condensed milk, cookies, dried fruit, fruit juices,

hard candy, jams or jellies, sugar, etc.

additional items from the medical kit: antibiotics, antiseptic solution,

clear adhesive tape (for wound suturing), eye drops, inflatable splints,

skin creams (including Sudocrem and Flamazine for burns), spare

bandages and dressings

The bottom line: anything you take could prove useful, so take as much as you can, depending on how much time and space you have.

Lyn was very brave (and smart) in asking Dougal for the truth about their situation. It would have been far easier to sugarcoat reality, especially with children on board and the pain of losing the Lucette so acute, but there is no room for fantasy in a survival situation. The truth should almost always be told. The only exception would perhaps be when you are dealing with an extremely panicky person who is on the verge of losing control.

Dougal considered the situation as thoroughly and realistically as his seafaring mind would allow. They were more than two hundred miles downwind and down current from the Galapagos. Rowing back was impossible, even if the two strongest took to the dinghy to seek help while the others stayed behind in the raft. The Marquesas lay thousands of miles in the other direction; reaching them would be a physical and navigational impossibility, especially since all their navigational tools had gone down with the Lucette. The coast of Central America, more than a thousand miles to the northeast and on the other side of the Doldrums (also known as the “equatorial calms”), a low-pressure area around the equator renowned for its calm winds, seemed equally unreachable.

Of course, the other option was to stay put and wait for rescue, an important consideration in any survival situation. Yet Dougal knew that it could be as long as five weeks before a search was even initiated. Even then, the chance of being found—a virtual speck in thousands of miles of open ocean—was slim. The chance of being rescued by a passing vessel was equally remote, as the closest shipping routes lay hundreds of miles away. Rain was scarce and wouldn’t come to the region with any kind of regularity for another six months. Their hope of survival beyond ten days was faint, at best.

With the faces of his wife and children staring eagerly back at him for insight, Dougal’s decision became clear. Their only hope of rescue would be to sail with the trade winds to the Doldrums, four hundred miles north. Not only did the closest possible shipping route lie in that direction, but if they were going to harvest sufficient rainwater to keep alive, they first had to reach a place where rain might actually fall. The Doldrums were the closest possibility. The only question was: Did they have enough water to keep themselves alive until they reached the Doldrums? And even if they made it to the Doldrums alive, their journey was just beginning. Once there, they would have to float or paddle back to the coast of Central America.

Dougal must certainly have been dismayed by the stark reality of their situation, but he never gave anyone false hope. He never deluded Lyn or the children with silly thoughts of something that wasn’t possible. Instead, he kept it real, assessed, and made a firm—and intelligent—decision.

Rather than becoming disheartened by their slim chances of survival, the Robertsons rose to the occasion. They now knew their task, had a goal. They would wait at the scene of the accident for twenty-four hours to see if any wreckage from the Lucette surfaced. After that, their destination lay to the north. Dougal was invigorated and felt the hopelessness lift from his shoulders. His reaction is a testament to the power of decisiveness in a survival situation. With the decision made, they now had a purpose, a common goal. The Robertsons and Robin settled in for whatever this ordeal would throw at them next.

The first task was to deal with the mound of debris in the center of the life raft. In addition to the raft’s survival kit, there was a huge sail and two hundred feet of fishing line that Douglas had pulled from the Lucette as she sank, as well as three gallons of gasoline, two oars, and two empty boxes. Lyn had also managed to rescue her sewing basket, which proved to be a treasure trove of useful devices. They were delighted to find that it not only contained the usual stores of needles and thread, but also two scalpel blades, four knitting needles, a blanket pin and hat pin, three plastic bags, a ball of string, buttons, tinfoil, a shoehorn, two small plastic cups, two plastic boxes, two small envelopes of dried yeast, a one-foot piece of copper wire, rubber bands, a bottle of aspirin, a pencil, and a pen. They also had a half pint of varnish, a West Indies pilotage book, and Dougal’s watch.

They set to work right away, stripping a wire from the sail and using it to attach the raft to the dinghy. Robin and Neil got seasick and started vomiting as the little raft pitched and bobbed in the rolling seas of the Pacific. It was an alarming start to their adventure. Each time they vomited, they lost precious fluids, which would be difficult to replace in the weeks to come. Luckily, the first aid kit came with antinausea pills.

While stowing and organizing all their gear, the Robertsons found an instruction book in one of the side pockets of the life raft. Unfortunately, it offered little in the way of useful information on how to survive in the middle of the ocean. Instead, it contained lots of fairly useless information on morale and leadership. Dougal thought the best part of the pamphlet was its last two words: good luck!!

The rationing began that first evening, as each person was afforded a biscuit and a sip of water, one-sixth of an orange, and a hard candy. Lyn, who was a very spiritual person, drew comfort in those darkening hours by praying and singing religious hymns. Ever the pragmatist and atheist, Dougal spent the quiet time by trying to pinpoint their location. It was difficult to concentrate, though, as they were surprised to find that their raft had become a bit of an attraction for the many sea creatures that called those waters home. Throughout the night, dorados—also known as dolphin fish or mahi mahi—bumped the underside of the raft continuously. Sea turtles also bit at the bottom of the raft, though never hard enough to penetrate its thick double skin.

How to Cure Seasickness

Little can be done to stop seasickness once it hits, but you may be able to prevent it, at least for a while. These tips may come in handy:

Try to look at the horizon as much as possible.

Shift your body with the waves so that you stay upright most of the time (impossible on a raft).

Use acupressure points (on the pulse-taking side of the wrist, for example).

Get in the water for a swim, if it’s safe to do so.

They took turns keeping watch in two-hour shifts throughout the night, a ritual they brought with them from the Lucette. The person on watch not only helped keep the raft pointing into the heavy swells of the ocean, but also served as lookout for ships in the distance.

As day two of their ordeal dawned, the Robertsons were surprised to find that the pressure in the raft’s flotation chambers had dropped dramatically during the night, largely due to cooling of the air. When they found that the bellows would not sufficiently pump up the chambers, they resorted to cutting the rubber tube from the bellows and blowing up the raft by themselves. After a few minutes of blowing, the raft was back to normal. It was an action they would repeat continuously until they finally had to abandon the sinking raft.

Dougal spent most of the morning bailing out the Ednamair and rigging a sail to the dinghy. The plan was to set the dinghy out front, acting as a tugboat and towing the raft during the trip north to the Doldrums. Later that afternoon, they set off, and it was now that Dougal began to realize just how fortunate he and his family had been to even have the raft, which now stood between them and a watery death.

As it turns out, the raft had been a gift from Captain Siggi Thosteinsson, a friend who had become dismayed at the sad state of the Robertsons’ raft in Miami and gave them one of the two he was carrying at the time. It was a bulky but comprehensive craft—fully enclosed, like a floating dome tent. It even had a double canopy roof, which prevented the Robertsons from becoming dehydrated in the blazing South Pacific sun.

Why did the Robertsons, who were clearly knowledgeable and well-prepared sailors, ignore such a vital element of survival by not having one of their own to begin with? I have no idea, but they’re certainly not the first, and won’t be the last, to make that mistake. It sounds crazy, but so many sailors do not pay attention to their rafts. Most don’t check and repack their rafts regularly. Unbelievably, some don’t even take one!

When I spent a week surviving in a raft in the waters off Belize, I started with two rafts, which I purchased from two different sailboats. The first raft sank in just a few minutes. Luckily, I was only ten feet from shore when I found this out. The second, which I ended up spending four days in, leaked constantly, just like the Robertsons’. I hate to think how long they would have lasted had they been stuck in their original raft.

In that second day on the raft, the Robertsons and Robin spent some time writing farewell notes to the friends and family members they would leave behind should they not make it to safety. The ever-ingenious Lyn had cut small pieces of sailcloth to serve as paper. When finished, the letters were secured in waterproof wrapping and stowed in one of the raft’s pockets.

Although I understand why they did it, I can’t help but feel that this kind of action—focusing on death rather than the task at hand—is the wrong one to take. Dougal noted that they thought it a better idea to do it sooner, when they were strong and fit and the prospects for survival good, rather than later, when they might not have had the mental, emotional, or physical strength to face the truth. But I still say it’s the wrong mentality altogether, much too sad and forlorn for a time when you’re trying to be upbeat and positive. For me, the goodbye note is the last thing that should be done in a survival situation, and only when it is very apparent that you are doomed. Frankly, I’m surprised the Robertsons did this at all, because until then they had been so proactive.

It is not surprising, given the morose task they had just set to, that Lyn told Dougal that if Neil—who had clearly suffered the most during those early days and was not looking at all well—died, she would go with him. Ever the pragmatist, Dougal said she’d be much more useful alive than dead.

Sleeping on the raft was a cramped and uncomfortable affair. Even with one person on watch, the five bodies were wrapped around and on top of one another. Seawater seeped through the floor of the craft and collected in pools under them. It makes me wonder why they didn’t have one or two people sleep in the nine-foot dinghy to make more room. In addition, their bodies would fare much better than they did sitting in salt water all day and night. I imagine it was because the floor of the dinghy was hard and uncomfortable, but they would find that out soon enough, anyway.

The next morning—day three—the Robertsons awoke to find an eight-inch flying fish had launched itself into the dinghy overnight, a gift from the sea and an early indication of the kind of luck these castaways would experience. After Dougal cleaned the fish, Lyn again demonstrated her resourcefulness by marinating, and therefore effectively cooking, the fish in a squeeze of lemon juice. This is a great way of preserving fish if you have no way to cook it. You can even do it in your home in an urban disaster situation.

Treating Fish with Lemon Juice

Chefs know this trick already. Simply submerging raw fish in pure lemon juice for a short period of time actually “cooks” the fish. It does not preserve the fish as long as drying does, but makes it palatable and will increase the length of time before it begins to rot.

The clouds thickened as day three advanced, and soon a shower passed overhead. Luckily, the canopy roof of the raft was equipped with a water catchment area, along with a rubber hose that led down into the main compartment of the raft. By pulling down on the hose, a depression was formed in the roof, where water could be collected.

But the stuff the Robertsons collected bore slim resemblance to drinking water. It started out as bright yellow, and saltier than the sea itself. Soon, the water was running clearer through the tube, though it was hardly refreshing. They managed to collect half a pint of yellowish, rubbery-tasting stuff before the shower passed. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, and an important lesson in survival.

Catching rain off any kind of roof is generally considered a great way to collect water. And it is. But what is often overlooked is that the first part of the rainfall really only serves to wash the roof. So if you’re on land and have a tin roof overhead, that first bit of stuff running down is probably full of animal feces—mice, squirrels, bats, and birds. If, as in the case of the Robertsons, it’s the roof of a life raft, then you’ll be ingesting bits of chemical paint, latex, rubber, and so forth. It’s something raft companies would do well to consider when constructing rain catchment areas on their boats.

Even with this newfound “bounty” from the sky, the family wisely continued to stingily ration its water. Rather than drink a larger amount only once during the day, they partook of very small sips throughout their waking hours. It was a smart move. In the end, you’re putting the same amount of water into your body, but the Robertsons’ method gives you something to look forward to, even if it’s just a sip of rubbery gunk.

Yet, unlike in most group survival situations, the Robertsons were not rigid or mechanical about the amount each person got to drink. Instead, they employed a “ration by trust” system whereby each person took what they felt was the right amount. That said, I’m sure Dougal kept an eye on things, and it’s unlikely that anybody exceeded their rightful amount while he was just a few feet away. This method is truly unique among survival stories, and the only time I’ve ever heard of such a thing. But I’m not sure where I stand on this strategy. I can see it being a great morale booster, since it shows the group’s collective faith in one another. But there’s also great risk, if someone loses perspective and finishes the entire group’s stores in a moment of weakness.

By day four, Dougal had decided that he would try his hand at fishing. Indeed, the only way they were going to survive was by taking advantage of the bounty of sea creatures that swam in the waters around the raft, even if another flying fish had offered itself to the dinghy overnight. A few initial casts seemed to catch the attention of the dorado, so Dougal cast the spinner and lure well out ahead of them. He was shocked to see the spinner arc gracefully through the air, land in the water, then disappear below the surface. Apparently, he had not tied it on correctly, and their only spinner and lure had sunk into the depths of the Pacific. It was a foolish mistake, and Dougal cursed himself mightily for the error of his ways.

This mistake helps illustrate that you must always be cautious and meticulous in any survival situation. You can’t rush things. You have to think everything through. In general, Dougal was a fastidious man, a characteristic no doubt honed during his years on the farm and their year and a half on the Lucette. He was particularly precise when it came to navigation. He spent hours poring over his charts, estimating how long they would be at sea, their chance of rescue, and the possible route they might take.

Where I think he fell short, though, is in failing to tell the others about a couple of tiny islands that lay between them and the mainland. Dougal realized the only way they would hit the islands was by sheer luck, not navigation, and he didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. But even though the chances of stumbling upon these islands might have been ridiculously slim, the others deserved to know about the possibility. If you believe in the power of positive thinking, or even visualizing, having everyone hope for the islands might have created enough positive energy to actually lead the raft to one.

As the days went on, the group entertained itself as best it could, with games like Twenty Questions and I Spy. The raft was losing air more rapidly than ever, and they had to dedicate more time to blowing it up. Food was scarce, and they were clearly losing weight, though the occasional gift of the flying fish helped bolster their meager food stores.

On day six, they received a far more generous gift from the sea. The family awoke to a tremendous noise coming from the Ednamair, and when they pulled the dinghy over, they were amazed to see a thirty-five-pound dorado flapping in the bottom. The fish would frequently leap out of the water in pursuit of flying fish; this one apparently miscalculated its flight path. It was a stroke of sheer luck, but when you’re floating on a life raft in the middle of the South Pacific, luck may well be the most important of the four additive elements necessary for survival.

Worried that the madly flopping fish would propel itself back into the sea, Dougal leapt into the dinghy, grabbed the fish, and rammed a knife into its head, sawing furiously. When he had decapitated it, he cut the tail off for good measure.

After Dougal had cleaned and gutted the fish, the Robertsons enjoyed more food than they had had in one sitting since the sinking of the Lucette. They ate fish flavored with lemon juice and onion, along with a concoction of dorado liver and heart and small pieces of yet another flying fish that had landed in the dinghy overnight. When they had eaten their fill, Lyn was wise enough to split open the dorado vertebrae. They found the spinal cavity to be full of fresh, nutritious water.

It’s amazing that, after what otherwise would be considered a very small meal—the Robertsons were diligent about rationing—most felt quite full. In fact, Dougal was surprised that he was not crippled by hunger pains. I don’t find it all that surprising, though. Too often, those of us in Western society figure we are starving if we go about three hours without food. True hunger pain takes much longer to kick in, especially when the adrenaline of a survival experience is involved. I don’t really get hunger problems until day four of my survival experiences, and sometimes not even for a week.

Encouraged by the bounty of the dorado, Dougal continued his fishing attempts. He started with the large hooks, baiting them with the heads of the flying fish or guts from the dorado. But Dougal was thinking too big by going after dorado from the get-go. He would have been much better off fashioning a very tiny hook and catching the numerous small fish that also swam around the raft rather than trying so hard for big ones. Small fish are not only easier to catch, they’re much safer, too. Large fish are powerful creatures, and many unsuspecting fisherman have been injured by their wildly flapping bodies. Their sharp teeth can rip a hole in a rubber raft. Catching, cleaning, and eating small fish would kill much more time, which not only offers a psychological benefit, but would give the kids the chance to try, too. Going for the big fish is not really survival thinking, it’s recreational thinking.

The seventh day on the raft was a momentous one, in several ways. The day began with an outburst of rain. Soon, the water running down the pipe from the catchment area on the roof was clear, and everyone drank until they were bursting. They also filled up as many spare jars, cans, and plastic bags as they could. With such an increase in their water supply, spirits were high.

They soared to even greater heights later that day, when Douglas cried out that he had seen a ship. Everyone crowded to the door of the raft, and sure enough, a huge cargo vessel was approaching on a course that Dougal estimated would bring them within three miles of one another. Although three miles is a long way to see a flare during the day, they were encouraged that gray skies would help their cause. Dougal climbed into the dinghy and set off one of the rocket flares. Thankfully, it fired, cutting a long, pink arc in the sky. They were about to be rescued! When the ship didn’t change its course in the direction of the raft, Dougal lit a hand flare, waving it high over his head until the heat made it unbearable. Still, the ship did not alter course. He struck another hand flare and waved it frantically, to no avail.

With the eager faces of his family and Robin glancing back and forth from Dougal to the ship, he struggled to make a decision. Realizing that such a chance might never come again, he knew what he had to do. He would use their last rocket flare and one more hand flare, which he did. Still the ship did not turn. They had not been seen.

I don’t disagree with Dougal using most of their flares. Indeed, it might have been weeks—or months—before they were seen again by a passing ship. What surprises me is that they didn’t seem to have planned for what they would do in that event. In desperation, Lyn urged Dougal to set fire to the sail in a last-ditch effort to be seen. It was an irrational, and potentially disastrous, suggestion. Sure, it might have increased their chance of being rescued, but given the lack of response to the five flares they set off, chances were still slim. And without a sail, getting to the Doldrums alive would have been nearly impossible.

In those desperate moments as the ship sailed away, something snapped in Dougal. But it wasn’t what you might think. With the prospect of rescue looking less and less like a reality—when would they have another chance like that?—Dougal did not sink into depression or self-pity. Quite the opposite. With all hope seemingly lost, Dougal decided that he would no longer think of rescue as a viable outcome. From now on, their survival was their own responsibility. They would make it to safety under their own power and by the strength of their collective ingenuity. Dougal vowed not to use the words rescue or help anymore, a surprisingly common occurrence in survival situations, particularly when it becomes obvious that the rescue you have hoped for is not going to come. The same thing happened to Nando Parrado and some of the more steel-hearted of his teammates after their plane crashed high in the Andes and they learned via transistor radio that the search had been called off.

It is, without a doubt, this kind of thinking that will enable someone to survive. As Dougal so rightly said, it was no longer a question of if they made it to land, but when.

Later that afternoon, they were disturbed by an unusually hard bump on the bottom of the raft. They had become accustomed to the many sharks filling the waters around them, but this felt different. When they looked out over the side, they were amazed to see the scaly head of a sea turtle looking back at them. The old Dougal Robertson might have let the beast swim away, but with his newfound mantra of survival at all costs still ringing in his ears, Dougal leapt to the dinghy and pulled the eighty-pound turtle aboard by its flippers, careful to avoid its sharp beak, which was now snapping wildly.

Skin Afflictions When Adrift at Sea

Anybody who has spent time in the bottom of a water-filled boat under the burning sun knows all too well that there is nothing romantic about drifting helplessly across the open sea. From sunburn to boils, there are several ways your skin can turn on you in these situations.

Sunburn is the most obvious risk. Dougal and his family were fortunate enough to be covered by canopies, which minimized their exposure to the sun. Others haven’t been so lucky. As we all know, prolonged and extensive sunburns increase the risk of skin cancer.

The risk of sunburn on the open sea is magnified even further by the fact that salt water drains away skin’s natural moisture, making it more susceptible to dryness and cracking. Constant contact with salt water also chafes the skin and makes it prone to the formation of boils, those tender, red, pus-filled lumps that make the simple act of sitting a painful undertaking.

Slaughtering and butchering the turtle would be no easy trick, but Dougal used his combined experiences as a sailor and farmer and set to the task. He set his feet on each of the front flippers, held the beak in his left hand, and plunged the knife deep into the turtle’s neck, quickly killing it. Unfortunately, they had not learned yet that the blood of the turtle, which was spilled during the quick killing, was an extremely valuable food source.

The next days found them happy and motivated. They had food drying in strips all over the boats, water was plentiful for the moment, and they were driven by their collective will to live. Their mantra—“Survival!”—was repeated often, as a daily watchword. Their focus was clear and intense.

While Dougal played the role of hunter, Lyn’s days were full to overflowing as she tended to everyone’s well-being in one way or another. She worked hard to keep the twins, Neil and Sandy, active and moving to the extent that she could on the cramped raft. Her daily exercise regimen was a stroke of genius, but it should have extended to all the people on the raft, not just the twins. When you’re in cramped quarters and have little room to move, you need to do anything you can to prevent your muscles from atrophying. One of my favorite ways of doing this is by employing the yoga-like method I described in Chapter 3 (see “Curing the Nighttime Chills, page 50). Not only does it help generate heat in cold, cramped places, but it keeps the muscles active, too.

Lyn’s involvement did not end with exercise. She also looked after everyone’s skin, which was becoming peppered with various boils and sores, the result of exposure to the sun as well as the constant sitting in salt water. She also took care every day to dry out the bedsheets, which became soaked each night as water seeped into the raft. They didn’t stay dry for long, but it was comforting for everyone to at least lie down on something dry.

Lyn’s attention to the small details was brilliant. She not only occupied her time—and that of the others—with a series of small tasks, but her meticulous devotion to tidiness likely kept everyone as healthy as possible. Hygiene and cleanliness are often overlooked in survival situations, but they are important considerations, especially in the long term. Yet the one thing Lyn could not reconcile was the weakening condition of the twins, especially Neil, who had been so seasick when they first boarded the raft. She and Dougal discussed it at length, and finally decided that as long as they could harvest food from the sea, the raft’s emergency rations would be kept as supplemental rations for the twins only.

As a parent of two children, I certainly understand why they put the rations aside exclusively for the twins, but don’t necessarily agree with it. Their primary rationale was that the kids’ digestive systems might not be able to handle raw food, but the brutal fact is that if Lyn and Dougal didn’t survive, the chances of the rest of them surviving was greatly diminished. It seems they were doting on the twelve-year-olds quite a bit. In fact, the twins were quite capable of pitching in and helping out. But Lyn would have none of that. She focused on them constantly, often denying herself to give them more. She gave them “little dinners”—a bit of extra food beyond what the adults were eating. She even went so far as to pretend to drink her share of water when the jar was passed around, but only pressed the glass to her lips so there would be more for the twins. While seemingly noble, these were risky and unproductive steps to take. You can’t help anyone if you yourself are incapacitated. The caregiver must keep himself or herself as strong as, if not stronger than, those they are looking after. In a survival situation, selflessness can be stupidity.

I don’t mean to seem heartless here. I’ve never been in a survival situation with my kids, so don’t really know how I would react. And I recognize that children are weaker than adults, with less maturity and less resolve. If babying the twins gave Lyn and Dougal a focus that also helped keep themselves strong, it may have been the right thing to do. But the pampering seemed a bit much and possibly counterproductive to the survival of all. These were twelve-year-olds, not helpless toddlers.

The hours and days passed, yet the Robertsons were doing surprisingly well. They had food and water, and nobody had fallen ill. Yet the ordeal was beginning to take a gradual toll on their physical frames. The skin eruptions and boils that made sitting and sleeping so difficult were worsening. This was primarily due to the salt water, which was now leaking into the raft with alarming regularity. The life raft had sprung quite a few small leaks, and it looked as though the dinghy might soon become their home at sea. Dougal worried about whether the Ednamair was big enough to hold them all without capsizing on the ocean swells.

With so much time on his hands, Dougal obsessed over the idea of catching fish. I have been in many situations where a problem at hand has been solved by someone “obsessing” over it, as was the case when the plane crash victims needed a better water supply in the Andes mountains tragedy. In the right circumstances, obsessing can be useful; in this case, the waters were literally teeming with fish, yet the Robertsons could find no way of getting them out of the sea and into the boat. Dougal’s next idea was to impale them as they swam by, so he began carving a fish spear from an extra paddle handle.

This kind of innovation is a testimony to the Robertsons’ collective ingenuity and resilience. They were great at fixing problems when they arose. But the family—and Dougal in particular—never seemed to devote much energy to anticipating what might lie around the corner. Time and again, Dougal simply accepted the first solution to a problem that presented itself, apparently without taking the time to ask himself what else might go wrong and how he might deal with that. In reality, he would have been wise to look for two to three solutions to each problem.

For example, near the end of their second week adrift, Dougal tugged on the rope that secured the raft to the dinghy and found that it came slack in his hand. The pin that held the rope to the dinghy had worked itself loose with time, and nobody had bothered to check it. I would guess that Dougal assumed the rope was safe enough, but he really should have devised a backup method of securing the dinghy to the raft. He’s lucky they didn’t come apart in rough water, or they would have lost the dinghy completely and come to a very different end.

Similarly, they seemed content to use the roof of the raft as their primary method of collecting rain. Given the infrequency of rain and the critical importance of water to their survival, they would have been wise to use the extra sailcloth as a secondary catch. Again, though, they had one answer to a problem, and it was good enough. The Robertsons didn’t investigate other possibilities, even if it would have meant more water for them. Had I been in their situation, I would have at least considered the possibility of a solar still, a device that makes seawater drinkable and could have made their lives a heck of a lot easier.

Although the days were long and monotonous, there was the occasional spate of excitement. One morning, Dougal entertained the idea of catching a dorado by hand, and held his hand just under the surface of the water, hoping to grab one by the tail as it swam by. When the raft shuddered from a collision with what seemed like a particularly large fish, he slid his hand into the water, waiting. He was surprised to find the fish swimming perfectly between his arm and the raft, and he instantly hauled it out of the water. To his surprise, he held in his arms a five-foot mako shark, which could sink the fragile craft with one slash of its razor-sharp teeth. Dougal hurriedly threw the shark back into the water, relieved that it hadn’t done any damage Using a Box Solar Still

The basic premise of a solar still is that the sun’s rays are used to evaporate the water, leaving the solid matter (the salt) behind.

Many solar stills are built by digging a hole in the ground, but you can also construct what’s called a box solar still, which uses any kind of rigid structure to hold its components. Into the box goes a container of salt water (if the box is plastic and doesn’t have any holes in it, you can pour the seawater directly into the box). Place a small container such as a cup or jar in the middle of the box, then cover the box with plastic sheeting.

Weigh down the sheeting with an object such as a rock. The weight should form a small depression in the middle of the plastic sheet, directly over the container, that will catch the pure water. Make sure the plastic sheeting is sealed as tightly as possible around the perimeter of the box.

Place the still in a spot where it will be exposed to as much direct sunlight as possible. As the sun beats down on the box, the salt water will evaporate, leaving the salt behind. The pure evaporated water will condense on the plastic sheeting, run down to the point formed by the weight, and drip into the container. It’s not the most efficient way to collect fresh water, but it’s better than nothing.

One of the only people ever known to successfully drink salt water was Dr. Alain Bombard, a French biologist who sailed a small boat across the Atlantic in the 1950s. Bombard claims to have survived the trip by fishing, harvesting surface plankton, and drinking a limited amount of seawater for long periods. His claims were contested by some scientists, who believed Bombard had been secretly provided supplies during his voyage.

Of course, the alternative is to drink seawater, a practice overwhelmingly regarded as incompatible with life. Seawater is usually about three times saltier than blood, which makes it impossible to be safely metabolized by the human body. When you drink salt water, water flows out of your cells as your body tries to dilute the salt and cleanse the body. So the cells become more dehydrated, not less. If the process continues, it can result in seizures, unconsciousness, brain damage, and, ultimately, death.

Day fourteen came with another gift from the sea. A second turtle bumped into the raft, and soon it was struggling in the bottom of the dinghy. Dougal was about to execute it when he heard Lyn tell him to save the blood for drinking. He gathered some in a plastic cup, set it to his lips, and was surprised that it was not salty at all. They passed the cup around, happy to have something—anything—to drink in the blazing South Pacific heat as their stores of water again reached dangerously low levels. It was a brilliant, lifesaving move on Lyn’s part, especially after the blood of the first turtle had been wasted.

Good luck came to them again, just as the situation was getting desperate. Day fifteen dawned cloudy and threatening, and soon rain was falling from the sky in copious amounts. They not only filled all their containers, but drank their fill of the glorious gift from the sky. It was yet another in a litany of smart moves by the Robertsons. In situations where dehydration is a real risk, it’s not enough to fill your containers. It’s as important—if not more so—to drink as much as you possibly can in that moment.

The bad weather was not all good news for the Robertsons. In the rough waters, the dinghy broke away from the raft and began drifting into the distance. When Dougal caught sight of the boat, it was already sixty yards away. Paying little heed to the danger posed by sharks, Dougal—who knew that losing the Ednamair meant losing a chance at survival—jumped in the water and started swimming for his life—literally.

Under normal circumstances, the Robertsons stayed out of the water at all costs, a wise decision. But these were not normal circumstances, and Dougal made the right choice. He could see two sharks circling below him as he swam, but they never attacked. I’ve had similar experiences. During my time in the water with a variety of sharks, I’ve found that they won’t lunge at you right away, but will take a few minutes to assess and make sure they want to mess with you. I have even jumped right into large schools of sharks after they have been baited in, and they still leave me alone. Sharks are not the bloodthirsty attacking machines that documentary television shows might have you believe. Another good strategy I’ve employed is to always keep them in my sight, since sharks don’t usually attack their prey head on. So, if you can get in the water wearing goggles and face the predator, you stand a good chance of not being attacked.

In the end, Dougal made it to the raft unharmed, then paddled it back, where it was reattached to the dinghy. He collapsed in the raft, ashen and drained from the monumental effort. It was one of those dire moments that are defined by adrenalin-driven superhuman effort, and Dougal was up to the task.

Dealing with Sharks

If your survival situation finds you in a body of salt water, don’t create a lot of turbulence by thrashing around—sharks are attracted to this type of behavior. Never enter the water if you are actively bleeding, as a shark can detect even the smallest amount of blood in the water. Finally, do not throw entrails or garbage into the water, as this, too, may attract sharks. Look behind any cruise ship that throws its food refuse overboard, and you will see hundreds of sharks in the ship’s wake.

If you do have an encounter with a shark, your only option is to defend yourself—not an encouraging place to be. A shark’s most sensitive place is its nose; try to direct your blows there, if possible. Remember that sharks like to attack from behind, so try to face the shark at all times. Keep your back against a coral reef, or wreckage if there is any. Go back to back with your dive buddy and put any object you have between yourself and the shark, like your underwater video camera. Oh . . . and get out of the water!

Although their water stores were again in reasonable shape, they decided to conserve as much as possible, this time without wasting a drop. With that in mind, they realized that the bottom of the dinghy had caught lots of rainwater, which was now mixed with turtle blood. Rather than drink what would otherwise be unpalatable, Lyn brilliantly suggested that the only other way to introduce the much-needed liquid to their bodies was with an enema. Now they needed some way to administer it. It wasn’t long before a device was rigged up with two pieces of rubber tubing and a plastic-bag funnel. Everyone (except Robin, who demurred) received one to two pints of water, much more than they would have been able to drink, given the shrunken state of their stomachs.

By day seventeen, the condition of the raft had worsened to the point where they could no longer put off the inevitable: they had to move to the dinghy. The walls of the raft had been eroded on the inside from the wear and tear of their bodies, and on the outside from the constant contact with salt water. It was leaking constantly and barely holding air; full-time effort was required to bail out the ever-increasing infiltration of seawater and keep the air chambers inflated. Thinking like true survivors, though, they did not simply set the raft adrift and wave a fond farewell. To the contrary, they used much of the raft to modify the dinghy. But not before casting aside much of what they now deemed superfluous, since the dinghy was much smaller than the raft. Dougal reluctantly threw away the two turtle shells he had meticulously cleaned, because they took up too much precious space. I wonder if he might have been able to find a way to strap the turtle shells to the side of the dinghy. They seem like little boats in their own right, and might have helped shed water and increase the dinghy’s buoyancy. Of course, they might have failed miserably in this regard, but in survival you should consider every option before tossing anything aside.

Yet for all the salvage of the raft and modifications to the dinghy, there was still quite a bit of raft material left when all was said and done. Rather than somehow finding a way to hold on to that valuable material, which could have been stripped into lashings or used as friction protection inside the dinghy, Dougal cast it away and let it sink—a foolish decision. Again, I don’t think the eldest Robertson was thinking of Plan B. He had one idea in his head, and that was it. There was no other way to go, no other scenario to anticipate—dangerous thinking in a survival situation.

Despite their fear that the dinghy would prove mercilessly uncomfortable, the group was happy to find quite the opposite, which comes as no surprise to me. The dinghy was smaller, yes, but it was also dry (so their boils could heal) and didn’t require constant inflating to stay afloat. The dinghy’s buoyancy was certainly helped by the flotation collar they made from the raft’s flotation chambers, but they would have been wise to have checked the comfort of the dinghy well before this third week at sea.

They weren’t on the Ednamair long before they caught their third turtle. Butchering it in the cramped quarters of the dinghy was tricky, but they managed without incident. With a new store of food on hand, they were able to discard some of the rotting meat from the previous turtle, which they threw to the storm petrels that kept them constant company. I can’t say I agree with the idea of casting food aside—no matter how bad it may be—but I also understand the need for a little bit of levity and fun in a survival situation. You can call it a psychological payoff that may be worth the food sacrifice. It also helped that the Robertsons seemed to have a fairly good supply of food on hand, despite the fact that they were floating in the middle of the ocean.

Dougal and his son Douglas were the only two who knew how to pilot the dinghy, so they were forced to take turns at the back of the craft, operating the steering oar. I know Dougal was a control freak—an alarming trait that manifested itself again and again—but this was going too far. He had Robin (a twenty-two-year-old man) and Lyn (his ultra-capable wife) on board, too, not to mention the twelve-year-old twins. It’s ridiculous that Dougal didn’t take the time to teach everyone how to steer the dinghy. What if Dougal and Douglas fell ill or died—a very real possibility given the circumstances? But again, Dougal accepted the answer at hand and failed to explore the matter any further. He and Douglas could steer, so why bother teaching anyone else? His need to be in control, along with his one-track mind, was a potentially deadly combination. At one point, Dougal actually forbade eighteen-year-old Douglas from cleaning a fish for fear he might waste some of the meat. This may have been a possibility, but the benefits of everyone knowing how to perform such vital tasks far outweighed the risks of losing a bit of meat.

As the Robertsons neared the end of their third week at sea, their clothes had disintegrated to virtually nothing. It wasn’t really a problem on warm, sunny days, as they could seek shelter under the canopy salvaged from the raft. When it rained, though, their near-nudity became much more acute, and they shivered under what sparse rain gear they had. And the rains did come with more frequency as they neared the Doldrums. The rainwater wasn’t easy to collect—they had to hold the catchment material high over their heads with aching limbs, and the rockered bottom of the dinghy was the cause of more than one accidental spill—but they managed.

Turtles continued to present themselves to the family, so food was not a problem, at least for the moment. Yet the wetter weather made it more difficult to dry and store the turtle meat, and mold had begun to form on some of it. With this in mind, the Robertsons would have been wise to harvest any kind of food they could get their hands on, just in case things went wrong. They didn’t, however. On one day, a young blue-footed booby landed on Douglas’s shoulder. Dougal considered grabbing it, but was dissuaded by the notion that sea birds were salty, stringy, and full of sea lice. It was foolish; there is no room for pickiness in survival. The Robertsons would have been wise to listen to young Neil, who cried out, “Pluck it! I’ll eat it!”

Their narrow-minded pickiness showed itself again when Dougal caught a suckerfish. Rather than butchering and eating it, they threw it back after deciding it wouldn’t taste good. In a survival situation, any food is worth eating, as long as it’s not poisonous. They also could have gathered food by constructing a strainer, dragging it behind the boat, and collecting plankton as they sailed along. And even though they had enough food to keep them alive, the Robertsons, like so many others in long-term survival situations, obsessed over food, despite the fact that they were far from starving. They entertained themselves almost daily by setting up a café they called Dougal’s Kitchen and planning the meals they would serve there. With raw turtle and fish as their staples, the thoughts of food such as minced beef pasties, lamb stew, roasted rabbit, and coddled-egg-and-cheese pasties were enchanting.

As their third week began, the Robertsons were beginning to feel like they could stay at sea indefinitely, as long as none of them got sick. Rain was falling regularly, turtles continued to present themselves, and flying fish occasionally flew into the boat. If anything, it seemed like the Robertsons’ greatest sources of risk were their own mistakes. One squally morning, as they passed around a jar of water, the boat tipped dangerously as the bright yellow float that helped keep the Ednamair above water broke away. It would take Douglas, the strongest oarsman on the craft, nearly an hour of desperate rowing to catch the runaway float. Again, they had failed to set up a strict, military-style regimen of checking things over, and it came back to bite them. Survival is work, first and foremost, and you’ve got to employ a regular work schedule to check on the things around you, whether it’s your shelter, animal traps, or the ropes holding a float to your boat. There is no room for complacency during a survival ordeal. But the Robertsons made more good decisions than bad ones, and they also had a fair bit of luck on their side, which often outweighed what foolish mistakes they might have made along the way.

Bad weather was scarce. In fact, in the many weeks they spent on the boat, it seems like they really only had to contend with one wicked thunderstorm that required that everyone play a part to keep the dinghy afloat. It seemed to be one of the few times the twins actually helped out with a chore or job, this time by bailing. I find it unforgivable that they were still being babied, to the point where Lyn even feared that they might fall asleep and drown in the few inches of water that occasionally filled the bottom of the raft.

The rain may have provided ample water, but the drawback was its effect on the food they left out to dry. Rather than become the jerky they had hoped for, it was now covered with a foul-tasting, slimy film. Dougal, worried that they would become ill by eating it, threw the turtle meat overboard. It’s a good idea to prevent sickness in a survival situation (the last thing you want to have to contend with is diarrhea or vomiting), but it would have been better to anticipate the spoiling of the meat and eat it before it got to that point.

As the calendar progressed, the Robertsons seemed to reach a comfortable state of equilibrium with the sea. Their great ingenuity saw them regularly employ new modifications that made their lives easier. Lyn had the brilliant idea of leaving the turtle fat out in the sun to render. Soon they had jars filled with beautiful turtle oil, which she not only administered as enemas to keep their intestinal tracts working, but also rubbed on their various skin lesions, which soon began to heal. For his part, Dougal was still driven by the idea of harvesting dorado from the sea, and he created numerous variations on a fishing spear. None proved fruitful, until day thirty-two, when Dougal finally realized that, instead of spearing the fish from above, he could fashion a gaff hook, snag dorado from their soft underbellies, and toss them into the boat.

It was a fantastic idea, and one that finally proved effective. Eventually, Dougal became an expert at gaffing. This is a recurring theme in survival: when you try some type of activity over and over again, you will, in time, become expert at it. Dougal’s newfound fishing expertise was a boon for the Robertsons’ diet as well as their water intake, as rain had not fallen for many days and their supply was again getting desperately low.

The Robertsons certainly were motivated to collect as much food and water as possible: their plan was not to float to safety, but rather to paddle to it. Dougal estimated that, once they had floated past the Doldrums, they would need another couple of weeks of paddling to get them to the coast of Central America. They would need all the food they could get to keep the rowers fit and strong.

Day thirty-five came with cloudy, rainy weather, a welcome change from the hot sun that had been beating down upon them almost mercilessly for days. Here, for the first time in more than a month, they realized they could use their extra piece of sailcloth to collect water instead of the rubbery yellow catchment material of the raft. As the rain intensified, they were happy to see that the sail held the water long enough for it to be transferred to jars and plastic bags. It was a valuable insight, but one it shouldn’t have taken a month to figure out.

Though they had a fair supply of food on board the Ednamair, it did not stop them from becoming excited when yet another turtle bumped against the underside of the boat. Dougal called to switch places with Robin, who was in the front of the dinghy, but after more than a month at sea, Robin seemed to feel he was up to the task of pulling the turtle into the craft. He reached over the side of the boat, grabbed the turtle by its flippers, and felt it slide from his grasp. He was not strong enough to get it into the boat.

Dougal lost control. He slapped Robin in the face, then cursed and scolded him severely for what he called Robin’s stupidity. Yet if anyone was acting foolishly and stupidly in this situation, it was Dougal. He was the one with the knowledge, but he refused to share it, just as he refused to teach the others how to steer the boat. Robin was larger than anyone else on the dinghy, and easily should have been as strong as Dougal. Teaching Robin (and Douglas, for that matter) how to catch turtles would have ensured the family’s survival had something happened to Dougal.

Day thirty-seven brought a discussion of the trip ahead. They now had an ample supply of food for the grueling paddle to the coast. The only thing left to do was fill up the new water bag they had fashioned out of the flotation collar that had once been wrapped around the bow of the boat. It had sprung so many holes that it was useless for its original purpose, but would hold as much as seven gallons of water in its new incarnation. The bag was almost full; paddling could not be far off. Dougal estimated they were approximately 350 miles away, a distance they could cover in a little more than two weeks.

Rains that evening brought the bag a little closer to full, and Dougal again set to the task of gaffing more dorado. He stuck the hook into the underbelly of a twenty-five-pounder, but as he tried to toss the fish into the boat, he was shocked to feel the lines snap and the gaff go limp in his hands. His last hook had snapped off, and there was little else he’d be able to do to catch fish. Yet, as disappointment began to wash over Dougal, he looked up and saw that the tiny Ednamair was laden with a rich store of dried meat. Even if they caught no more turtles, there was likely enough food to get them to the coast alive.

They would never find out. Late in the day, as twilight was beginning to settle across the horizon and they engaged in yet another lively discussion of Dougal’s Kitchen, Dougal’s expression went blank. “A ship,” he said. They all remembered the disappointment of their previous encounter with a ship, so when he stepped up on the center thwart with a flare in his hand, everyone held their breath. He lit the flare and waved it high over his head as long as he could bear the burning sensation in his fingers. When he could stand the pain no longer, he threw the flare as high and far as he could into the sea. He grabbed another flare and did the same. Was the ship altering course? Frantically, he reached for their last flare, their last chance at salvation, and pulled the striker. Nothing happened. The flare was a dud.

He screamed for the flashlight, so that he could send a distress signal in Morse code across the evening sky. He didn’t need to. The ship had changed course and was heading their way. They were saved!

When the Toka Maru II—a Japanese fishing trawler—pulled alongside the Ednamair, Dougal, his wife and children, and Robin felt a feeling of elation like they had never felt before. Soon they and the dinghy were on board the ship. They were weak and unable to walk because of all the time they had spent in the cramped quarters of the raft and dinghy, but were otherwise fine.

Over the course of the next four days, the kindly crew of the Toka Maru II treated the Robertsons like royalty. They ate, bathed, and slept the days away until they arrived back in Panama. Ten days later, Robin flew back to England.

The Robertson family chose to make the return trip, ironically enough, by ship.

The Robertsons

ELEMENTS OF SURVIVAL

Knowledge 10%

Luck 45%

Kit 20%

Will to Live 25%

Almost an even split across the board. Dougal and his family had a nice mix of everything you need to get through a survival situation. They certainly had knowledge, though it was largely limited to Dougal’s seamanship and Lyn’s medical knowledge; their sea survival skills were fairly minimal. Luck was a huge factor in their survival, whether it was gifts of food from the sea, water from the sky, or the rescue ship that stumbled across their path. Dougal had no emergency survival kit of his own, but the one on the life raft was a huge boon to the family’s survival. Finally, he and his family had an intense will to live, as illustrated by their decision not to rely on rescue for their salvation, but to paddle themselves to safety, if need be