There were 38 of us on board the Sudur Havid.
In the first raft to be found, all 14 crew members survived.
In the second raft – my raft – 10 out of 17 died.
As Bjorgvin once said, ‘We were seventeen. We are seven now.’
However many were in the third raft, there were no survivors, lost along with anyone else who was left in the water.
In total, 17 men never returned.
I have lost contact with almost all of the survivors. They flew back into Cape Town to be greeted by a crowd of well-wishers, friends and family, journalists’ questions, newspaper and magazine articles. Some of them disappeared home, some went abroad, and others returned to sea.
When we separated at RAF Brize Norton I walked through to arrivals, and stepped back into my usual world. Corinne and I moved into a flat, and the physical work of redecorating gave me some purpose. I attended a few sessions of counselling, which helped me feel like I was addressing the event. Eventually, I took a job in a shop for a few months, just to re-establish some normality.
Within eight months, I was back at sea, proving to myself that I still enjoyed a challenge. The Spanish freezer trawler was bigger and better than the Sudur Havid, and the waters off Newfoundland were not as cold or as rough as the Southern Ocean. I felt fine. I could still laugh at those being seasick, still work on the wave-washed deck and still watch the spray pelting the bridge windows – all without having a panic attack.
The adrenaline rush from the accident sustained me for a year, and then the normal world came crashing back in. I was lost. I didn’t have the delightful feeling that each day was a bonus. Instead, I had no idea of how to get on with the rest of my life.
In the autumn of 1999, the South African Maritime Safety Authority asked me to appear at a Court of Marine Inquiry in Cape Town. This offered me the chance to tell the story to someone who might understand, but it also gave me the opportunity to catch up with my former crewmates. The inquiry promised to be interesting: at the simple Coroner’s inquest in the Falkland Islands, crew members had given conflicting stories, and those who thought that they might be apportioned some of the blame were manoeuvring awkwardly. My statement to the police in Stanley had been by far the longest and most comprehensive of anyone from our group. I wanted to find out what the South African authorities would think of it all, and wanted to help.
Who was responsible for the sinking? My opinion at the time was that the blame lay squarely with the Engineers on duty, for their lack of help with the pumps, and with the company men in South Africa, for putting us to sea in an unseaworthy vessel. Ultimately, my anger was directed at the vessel owners, for allowing such a culture to exist within the company. Curiously, I could not see the mistakes made by those in command. When the facts were examined in the cold, objective light of a courtroom, what was found did not sit easily with me at first.
The MFV Sudurhavid sank on the afternoon of 6 June 1998 with the loss of 17 of her crew due to the Officers on the bridge (Brian Kuttel and Gerard McDonagh) of the vessel failing to handle the vessel in a manner appropriate to the weather conditions resulting in the vessel being flooded by sea water through non watertight openings in the starboard side of the factory deck. (From the Report of the Court of Marine Inquiry)
Hard to compare as they might be, both Titanic and Sudur Havid were lost because of reckless, prideful decisions made by those in command. Captain E. J. Smith could have chosen to slow down when he heard the warnings of icebergs, in the same way that Boetie and Bubbles could have stopped fishing when the weather was so rough and sorted out the problem with the pumps. They were in charge, it was their choice, it cost them their lives and it ended and affected the lives of many others. The dead can’t defend themselves, and it seems dishonourable to slight their name, particularly when they were as loved and likeable as Bubbles and Boetie. But it took a long time for me to be at ease with the idea that some of those who died were some of the most worthy of blame.
The mistakes we made
Some people say that they have ‘no regrets in life’. I think this normally means that they have not recognized the harm and pain that they have caused themselves and others with their actions. I have a big bunch of regrets. I don’t dwell on them, but I’d be a fool not to have recognized that certain decisions and actions have been detrimental.
There have been some people I have spoken to who have hinted that this would never have happened to them because – unlike me – they grew up with the sea, and understand it. Many of those on the Sudur Havid had ‘grown up with the sea’, and died on it. Perhaps they had spent so much time on the ocean that they had grown blasé about its risks.
I wish we had not taken on fuel in the Falklands
In the normal routine of coastal fishing, a vessel will return to port to offload her catch, and then refuel and resupply. Ten days before the accident, we had taken on fuel without removing any weight from the boat. She was heavily laden with thirty-eight men and their supplies, as well as eighty-five tonnes of fuel, eighty tonnes of fish, and many kilometres of wet rope.
Bubbles should have carried out stability calculations to determine if we were overloaded. Did she still have the ‘righting moment’ that would bring the boat upright after each roll? Bjorgvin, who was highly qualified and experienced, would have been able to work out the effects of taking on fuel while loaded with catch, but was not given the information or the opportunity.
In the thirty-four years since she had been built, the Sudur Havid had been modified from her original design – she had been added to, chopped about and changed and hatches had been cut into the factory that could not be made watertight. The water that entered through the hatches and that built up on the factory deck added the ‘free-surface effect’ to the ship’s troubles: many tonnes of water washed from side to side with each roll, accentuating her instability and drastically altering her centre of gravity.
I wish we had stopped fishing earlier
If Bubbles and Boetie had listened to their crew and officers, when we tried to warn them, we could have stopped fishing before the problems in the factory became terminal. If they had come down to the factory they would have seen the problems. We should have attached a buoy and then cut the mainline, and retrieved it later. This would have allowed Boetie to turn the boat and shield the winch pit, which would have lessened the ingress of water, and freed other crew members to remedy the flooding. We would have lost some fish from the line, but if they had stopped fishing earlier then we might have been able to save the boat, the catch and the rest of the season.
A proper assessment of the situation may have led Bubbles and Boetie to call another vessel sooner for assistance, reducing the time for help to arrive and making success in a search more likely. It would also have allowed them more time to prepare kit and crew for an abandon-ship.
I wish we had pushed the life-rafts around to the lee of the vessel and boarded them there
By the time I reached the life-rafts, one had already been cut loose but two were close to each other on the starboard side of the boat, pinned against the hull by the wind. This made boarding much more convenient, but if we had dragged the rafts around to the port side (and tied our painter with a releasable knot), we would have been blown away from the boat. In the few moments that we were battered against the hull and plunged underwater by the stern gantry, we were dealt a severe disadvantage that would cost the lives of over half of the men in our raft.
We don’t know what happened to the occupants of the third life-raft. Were they thrown into the sea within minutes, or did they drift for hours to be rolled by a wave in the middle of the night? If the rafts had stayed together they would have been easier to find, and if they capsized we would have been in a better position to help.
The boarding of the life-rafts wasn’t chaotic, and didn’t degenerate into the violent squabble that some had feared, but neither was it co-ordinated. Before the accident, I had never even considered that we might one day have to abandon ship. That naivety meant that I had not even considered the best way to survive. I had no strategy.
I wish we had checked our crewmates within the raft
Bjorgvin once said, ‘We were seventeen. We are seven now.’
Taking the time to check that our lifejackets were properly fitted and securely tied, while we were still on the boat (and still had dexterity), would have been minutes well spent. Many of our lifejackets had slipped or shifted; I ripped my lifejacket off as I kept getting tangled in the badly tied straps. Bodies were floating face down in our raft, and this shouldn’t have happened if the lifejackets had been worn properly. If we had conducted abandon-ship drills, we would have been more familiar with their design and use.
Hypothermia takes a surprisingly long time to set in, but sudden immersion in water at –1°C rendered some of our colleagues helpless in an instant, and may well have killed them outright. It is probable that many of our crewmates were killed not by hypothermia, but by drowning once they had slipped into the water. A properly fitted lifejacket would have kept their heads supported above the water and may have stopped them from drowning.
‘Cold shock’ is a debilitating falter in respiration and circulation, when the body reacts to the over-stimulation of cold receptors in the skin. The sudden constriction of blood vessels, and the surge of hormones released as a reaction to the stress, can cause a jump in blood pressure that can disrupt the rhythms of the heart. Such cold water can also cause a gasp for air and then a launch into hyperventilation, with all its dizziness, confusion and panic. After the shock, it doesn’t take long for muscles and nerves to chill, and for a casualty to lose their co-ordination and strength.
When I was inside the raft, it was hard to think of the well-being of others once the effects of the cold and the realization of our predicament kicked in. Such introversion is also a symptom of hypothermia. But I wish we had checked that our crewmates were properly supported in the water, whether by lifejackets or by sticking their arms through the line around the edge of the life-raft. Unconscious, hypothermic casualties may have responded to re- warming on the Isla Camila; drowned, dead bodies would not.
I wish we had kept our boots on
Many of us shed our boots before we abandoned ship, fearing that any hooks lodged into their soles might damage the rafts, and that our ability to swim could be affected. I am not convinced that we had many hooks embedded in our boots. I am, however, certain that if we had kept them on, they would have provided a much better seal for preventing water from circulating in and out of our trousers, and would have therefore preserved vital body heat.
I forced myself out of the water, straddling the rope, but most of my colleagues were submerged in water up to their chests. Although they may have felt warmer by avoiding any wind and evaporative cooling, the water would have been stripping the warmth from their bodies much faster than the air.
Since the accident, the only physical repercussion of the sinking that I experience is a lack of control of the circulation in my feet. The short time in freezing water was enough to damage the tissue and blood vessels, which is known as ‘immersion foot’, or if acquired on land ‘trench foot’. For Morné, the symptoms included his legs swelling to twice their normal size and the skin tearing from his feet. Bjorgvin suffered full frostbite, with tissue that died and wounds that took months to heal.
The shedding of our boots was symptomatic of our inadequate survival knowledge, strategy and preparation. Those of us in the factory did not have long to prepare, between leaving the attempts to save the boat and boarding the rafts, but I still had time to find my deck-suit. Many of us could have donned more clothes, more layers and more protection. Survival experts recommend dressing in extra layers before abandoning ship, and then wearing a properly fastened lifejacket.
I wish we had been better equipped, and used the equipment available properly
One raft did not inflate, while my own raft was damaged and malfunctioning. The design made the doors hard to close against the weather. Vital kit – bailers, sea anchor, light – was missing or had been lost during our battering. No one seemed familiar with the deployment or operation of the rafts, including the supposedly experienced officers.
I am eternally grateful for my deck-suit. Without it, I am convinced that I would have died. My chances would have been even better had I been wearing a full immersion suit. Properly sealed, it would have protected me from the cold-water shock of the first few minutes and would have kept me warmer for longer. What chance did Simon have? Used to the heat of the galley, he abandoned ship barefoot in a T-shirt.
I wish we had been able to recover all of the bodies from our raft, and slowly rewarm them
By the time I was pulled from the raft, I was barely able to look after myself, and was in no state to assist in the recovery of the casualties, unconscious or dead. The same goes for all my raft-mates.
No one could have expected the crew of the Isla Camila to have risked their lives even further by descending into the raft, particularly in the conditions that day and without any proper equipment. But I wish that, somehow, we had been able to recover all ten of our colleagues, instead of four, on to the Isla Camila. Maybe Bubbles or one of the other silent casualties was just unconscious? There was the chance that one of them might have responded to slow and proper rewarming, and regained consciousness.
In addition to the heart attack that he may have suffered as we abandoned the boat, Bubbles might have been a victim of one aspect of rescue collapse. Once rescue seems possible, and hope replaces fear, the body can stop releasing the stress hormones that protect the heart during hypothermia – and the casualty suffers heart failure. If this was the case, even rewarming wouldn’t have helped him.
Most of all I wish we had not gone fishing
The few weeks we spent fishing were unforgettable, and I feel lucky to have met the men of the Sudur Havid. Ultimately, however, I wish that we had stayed at home and had not gone fishing. It wasn’t worth it. With our poor preparation and decisions, we were lucky that anyone survived at all.