The following account by Commander Erroll Bruce, R.N.(Retd. editor ofMotor Boat and Yachting, appeared in the edition for i8th September, 1964, and is reproduced with his kind permission. He is a former member of the Longhope life-boat crew in the Orkneys.

IT was a change to be at the other end of a life-boat call recently, but it certainly added yet another rivet to my warm feelings for life-boatmen, lifeboats, and everything to do with them.

It was also an experience full of valuable lessons, including the amazing strength of a well-built boat.

During a September week-end I was invited by Major Richard Gatehouse to make the fourth man of the crew in his sailing yacht entered for a race next day, with a course from the West Solent, round Christchurch Ledge buoy and back to finish inside Hurst Castle. I accepted willingly and looked forward to a thoroughly enjoyable few hours of sailing in his Lion class Reflection of 35 ft. overall, besides testing new gear.

TESTING POINT Next morning the forecast of northwest wind, force 4 to 5, heightened this promise, while we got away to a good start and were soon leading quite a large fleet on a reach down the Needles Channel; that was where we should have been as this was a handicap race, and Reflection was one of the faster boats. In such a fine wind it seemed no time at all before we were coming back to Hurst Castle, knowing that the result of the race would mainly depend upon who best could edge past the spring tide ebb stream which was then pouring through the Hurst Narrows at least as fast as most boats could sail.

Skill came in knowing just how close each boat could go to the shallows of the Trap, under Hurst Castle, where there is slacker water; our owner had taken a close look the day before, and came to the conclusion that there might be a channel of slightly deeper water inshore of this shingle shoal, through which we could try to feel our way as the sea was completely calm in the eddy.

GROUNDED ON SHINGLE Our echo sounder showed the depth inch by inch, as well it should do with its designer as owner of the craft. But instead of edging forward foot by foot with our sailing speed just overcoming the speed of the ebb, we came into a counter eddy which added to our speed to shoot Reflection forward until she grounded on the shingle of the Trap at a good seven knots. Another few yards further out, and she would have been clear, as our wading survey showed later. However, that same eddy held her firmly on to the bank however hard we shoved, and however much we heeled the boat with the engine going full speed astern. Nor was there time to lay out anchors before she was obviously stuck, and took up an increasing list as the tide fell.

We were not a bit worried, as the sea was quite calm on the Trap, and we expected to float oif with the rising tide some six hours later. It was merely inconvenient as the boat heeled over, to lie on her bilge at an angle of 40 degrees. Richard decided to wait for low water and slack tide to make a further survey of the soundings all round before laying out anchors in the inflatable dinghy.

DINGHY SWAMPED What we had not appreciated was that the ebb tide and broken water where it met the eddy acted as a breakwater for the Trap; as the stream slackened so the sea waves began to come on to the beach; then later it was as though the flood brought them in from the open sea to the Narrows, where they turned through 90 degrees and were augmented by the violence of the race before breaking on the Trap.

The dinghy was swamped at the first attempt to lay out an anchor; next time it did the job after half filling, but the strength of the stream prevented it putting this anchor in the best position well offshore. Later the surf moved closer inshore, so Olle Arbin, of Sweden, in bathing costume and lifebelt, managed to get the second anchor out to give a better lead, but this was our lighter C.Q.R. anchor, and these are never at their best in shingle.

COXSWAIN ALERTED About that time two girls waded out, offering to try and help lay out anchors with their outboard fitted Duckling dinghy; but we felt the surf was too dangerous for this. So instead Miss Bremridge, whose father was a fellow member of the Royal Cruising Club, proved an able shore link who found the nearest telephone and informed the Life-boat coxswain at Yarmouth of the position in case help was needed later. When this eventually came about in the dark, she organized a transit line of lamps to indicate the position of the yacht.

However, that was all much later and meantime Reflection lay with her bows up the beach, heeled away from the waves; but a good deal of water came over the weather side, and even before she began to move around, it was surprisingly awkward to work on a spray-swept deck angled at 40 degrees.

BEGAN TO LIFT Soon she began to lift; it was an anxious time when the bilge was hammered on to the shingle with each wave, but it was not long before she was up enough so that the bumps came more on the iron keel than the wooden hull. Soon after that we realized that the anchors were holding, and each time she lifted on a wave we winched in the warps to haul her bow an inch or two to seaward, while the wave would swing round her stern. In half an hour she was right round, with her stern standing well up out of the water and her bow facing towards deep water.

Water came over occasionally forward, but she was firmly on her keel, lolling from one side to the other with the waves. The wind was by then parallel to the line of the beach so we hoisted sails which steadied her and kept up a steady pressure to push her off against the force of the waves trying to push her up the beach. As the tide rose, so the line of maximum wave height moved in shore until it reached the yacht, and gave her a real pounding.

SHOUTED MESSAGES Although our stern seemed no more than a boat's length from the shore, the noise of crunching and grinding made it difficult for our shore link to hear even shouted messages although on board we could hear more easily.

ROCKS WERE CLOSE However, two motor boats were standing off, waiting to help if needed, but we felt they could do little unless they had heavy anchors to lay well offshore from which we could collect the warps through the surf in our rubber dinghy. In any case I was quite confident myself that if our anchors would hold it would only be hah0 an hour more before the tide gave us the water to haul off, assisted by sails and engine.

Yet things were rather critical, as quite close under our counter were rocks, and only a couple of boat lengths downtide was the jagged remains of an old breakwater. The warp leading to our heavy anchor, although not best placed for hauling off, was certainly our life line, and, if anything happened to that, the position of Reflection would at once have become serious.

COMMUNICATIONS DIFFICULT As ever, one of the problems was local communications. The motor boats could not get close enough for us to know what equipment they had on board, nor even to see that one was in the charge of a Yarmouth fisherman of great experience, even if he had no large anchor on board. But longer range communications were working well, and soon the word reached Lymington, where my wife gathered a team of children of which the leading hand was Mark Gatehouse, who even before going to Pangbourne had earned an award for swimming out to sea to save life in a tideway.

So as the light began to fade, I heard a familiar barking ashore and could just make out the newcomers who had arrived to support the loyal watch of Miss Bremridge. They were shocked by the violent treatment served out to Reflection by the waves, as the boat crashed around so noisily.

LIFE-BOAT WAS NEEDED Soon after that the seaward anchor began to come home, and we realized that the other anchor, even if it held, might do little to keep her off the beach; instead, the radius of its warp might swing her with the tide on to the boulders.

With the last light of the sunset we saw from our transits that an occasional wave threw her a few niches up the beach. We conferred quietly and all agreed that help should be sought and would best be given by the lifeboat with her heavy anchor and ability to operate in fairly shallow water. To those ashore we shouted, asking that they telephone through to the coxswain asking for this aid. Although so close, they were unable to hear until each word was shouted by two or three in unison. The yacht pounded more heavily than ever, shuddering as a wave hit her, then jarring as it dropped her on to the shingle.

FIRED A FLARE "She's taking no water," I reported to the skipper after checking the bilges for the umpteenth time, "except what little has come through the hatches." But we all agreed that she would soon be holed if she pounded like that a few times on the rocks not far off.

"I'm not certain they heard our message ashore," our skipper said calmly. "It's getting dark now and the stream is running very fast, so we may be endangering those boats if we ask their help, especially as we don't know who they are and what they have on board. I daren't let them touch the warp which is holding, as if the strain goes off that for even a few seconds the boat might come on the boulders. I think the right action is to fire a flare." All three of us in his crew agreed.

Richard held the flare as it burst into an orange light, then handed it to me on the counter as, one after another, four balls of fire flipped up above the masthead.

MAROON WAS HEARD At once the Needles coastguard station flashed back acknowledgment.

Soon, from over the Isle of Wight, another ball of light climbed into the night sky. It was the life-boat maroon; and we knew that Harold Hayles and his men would soon be on the way.

As the lights of the life-boat moved into the Narrows, a steamer was passing on her way to sea—rather fast I noticed, as I stood by the mast ready to lower the sails if ordered by the skipper who was in the cockpit.

Suddenly from the foredeck came the call, "The anchor rope's gone slack. Look out. She's off." She was, and urged by her engine and sails she shot out from the beach. Suddenly she came up with a jerk and swung round on her cable with the anchor firmly stuck into something. "Let it all go," shouted the skipper, but the warp was jammed on the capstan. "Cut it then," he ordered, but in the dark no one could find a knife. "Take the tiller, hard over to port," he told me, and darted forward to do the job.

RETURN TO SAFETY At the tiller I saw that the swirling stream had swung us right round and we were going straight at the beach again and the rudder was having no effect.

No time for questions as I flung it the other way and she swung round on her stem, with the tide; a moment later the warp was cast off and thrown overboard.

We safely headed out to sea, then turned into the Solent where the life-boat crept alongside to confirm that all was well.

We were four fit men, all well accustomed to boats in most conditions, and aboard a particularly well found sea-going craft. Never had the wind exceeded force 5.

A CERTAIN DANGER Yet the yacht had certainly been in an awkward position and, when aground, she was quite unable to pick up anyone if he went over the side; so there was an element of danger to those working on her deck in usual conditions with a dark night and a strong tide. I'm certain we all felt warmly for the life-boat and, too, for those who stood by in boats and ashore..