WHILE its popularity rise has not been quite so obvious when compared with the pleasure boating explosion as a whole, offshore powerboat racing today has a very strong coastwise following with events held every summer weekend at different resorts. The sport is made up from four classes. Class I: for large craft falling between 20 foot and 45 foot overall with a maximum engine size of 16 litres. Class II: for craft of the same size with half the maximum horsepower, and Class III, by far the most popular of all, catering for offshore powerboats between 14 foot'and 25 foot overall with a maximum of three litres. Class IV is similar to III but with less engine power and is primarily intended for the production 'off-the-shelf skiboat owner.

All these craft, except perhaps for those in Class IV that compete on very small sheltered circuits close inshore, are forced by the rules of the sport to carry very extensive safety equipment. Items include daylight smoke signals, hand flares, parachute flares, sea and standard anchors, automatic pumps and hand bailers, signalling lamps and first-aid kits, etc., to name just a few, and in the two larger classes it is also obligatory to carry a liferaft.If all pleasure craft were asked to carry such equipment fewer needless searches would be carried out, but with powerboat racing even this is not considered enough. Organisers are also expected to space large rescue craft at certain intervals along the course, and to make sure all these safety rules are obeyed, official observers and scrutineers are always in attendence at every race.

With all these precautions one would imagine that organisers of powerboat races would never need assistance. But while outside help is seldom called upon, there is always that odd occasion. . . .

Class III racing started in Great Britain in 1962 with an event from Putney in London down the Thames and across the Channel to Calais and back—the competitors' only compulsory stop being one hour at Ramsgate for fuel—and this race has been annually staged ever since. In 1970 it took place on 7th June and I accompanied, as co-driver, Anthony Denton in Blu-Blud—a 17-foot Class III (D) outfit powered by a single 125-h.p. Mercury outboard.

The weather forecast was certainly not very encouraging as the 26 entries shot off from the 9 a.m. start at Tower Bridge. Force 5-6 northeasterly winds blowing in the estuary were producing sharp, short seas along the north Kent coast particularly off the North Foreland.

We found conditions extremely punishing in Sea Reach and crossing the Cant to Herne Bay.

It was almost dead on the bow, and at speeds between 40-50 m.p.h., Blu-Blud slammed into the seas with such force that both the driver and myself were soon bruised all over. We were also finding difficulty in preventing ourselves being thrown forward from our seats with each deceleration.

Meanwhile, unknown to us, several competitors had made navigational errors with some running aground (easily done when compasses swing continually with the jolting) and this coupled with mechanical breakdowns and hull failures had depleted the more powerful field ahead to such an extent that Blu-Blud lay second overall as we approached the North Foreland.

Our course past Margate had been close inshore, which had given slight shelter from the headland, but as the organisers had stipulated that Longnose Buoy would be left to starboard in order to avoid the underwater training wall extending seawards, we were forced to head out.

The comforting sight of several patrol craft had been seen during the journey down river and across the estuary, and yet another was rolling around on station at Longnose. However, in this case it was serving a double purpose and acting as a check boat to ensure all competitors rounded the mark correctly.

The seas running out to the buoy were the worst encountered so far, and at times the driver had difficulty holding Blu-Blud on the plane.

Longnose was rounded to the accompaniment of encouraging shouts from the patrol boat crew and we headed west for Ramsgate harbour with the sea now on the beam.

Although less punishing on the crew, the waves were very "steep indeed and proving extremely awkward for the small powerboat.

She was uncontrollable above half-throttle, and Anthony was just about to alter the hydraulic trim tabs (small underwater ailerons on the stern that control trim) when Blu-Blud was knocked off course.

The effect of this threw the driver forward which in turn caused him to accidentally push the foot throttle to maximum power, driving the craft down into the trough at right angles to her original course. The acceleration was so great that when the boat reached the bottom she travelled completely under the surface for her whole length like a dart. Everything went black and the water pressure felt like a ton of bricks throwing us backwards and ripping off our goggles in the process.

Luckily, the craft popped back to the surface stern first, leaving Blu-Blud awash to the gunwales.

The engine continued to run for a few seconds until water entered the bores and this left us wallowing in the seaway slowly being blown on to a rocky lee shore directly below the North Foreland lighthouse.

Although we both took turns at the large diaphragm hand pump, crests were breaking aboard faster than we could clear them, and within five minutes from surfacing the buoyancy in the hull overcame the waterlogged trim and she rolled upside down, throwing us both in the sea.

Meanwhile, the patrol boat on the Longnose station had seen us go under and was making her way to where we were clinging on to the upturned hull. Unfortunately, however, her skipper suddenly realised he was fast heading for shallowing water and was forced to turn about and stand off. We, of course, from our low position knew nothing of this and had no knowledge of the depth which was probably around one and a half fathoms at the time. But at the speed we were being driven ashore we soon realised that unless we were picked up within a short time the boat and ourselves would end up in the surf breaking over the outcrop.

Thinking no one had reported us (in actual fact our plight had already been radioed to Ramsgate coastguard by the patrol boat), we decided to use one of the orange smoke signals that Anthony had sensibly taken from the flare locker before Blu-Blud turned over.

I was already finding the BS approved lifejacket awkward in these particular circumstances.

Life-jackets designed to roll the weareron his back are not conducive to holding on to an upturned boat in rough seas. Each time a wave washed us against the hull, our bodies would be floated back by our life-jackets causing us to lose grip. Now, on attempting to use the smoke signal, I suddenly realised the stupidity of not reading and memorising the instructions before going to sea. There I was with one hand trying to hold on to the boat while attempting to read the small instructions printed on the signal held in the other. I found yet another difficulty in its pack. In some cases these days, small hand flares are made waterproof for stowage by being sealed in tough polythene bags. Although little starting slits are provided to ease tearing, this method of packaging is almost impossible to open with cold and slippery hands.

The signal was eventually fired and, if nothing else, provided excitement for the many holidaymakers now lining the cliff top.

Fortunately the rubber wet-suits we were wearing kept us warm, and within 30 minutes of our mishap and still some way out beyond the line of breakers, we suddenly saw to the west what we thought to be a group of yellow-clad men walking upon the water in true biblical fashion. They turned out to be the crew of the Ramsgate inshore rescue dory 17-001 (which itself was below our view) that had accompanied the Michael and Lily Davis up the coast; the latter drawing too much water to safely manoeuvre inshore to our position.

In no time at all we were both hauled aboard the dory and it was only then that we saw just how close inshore we actually were and the reason why the Michael and Lily Davis was standing off.

There was some hurried activity as the crew took a turn with a line round the outboard leg of Blu-Blud—the only suitable fixing above the surface—and towed the craft out to deeper water where the life-boat was waiting. We immediately transferred and stood back as both crews endeavoured to right the racing boat.

Although this operation later made the hull easier to tow, it is not always necessary to do this with racing powerboats. They normally have plenty of built-in buoyancy and will tow quite happily upside down although with heavier drag.

The particular danger lies in their propellers.

These are extremely sharp and could, if thrownagainst a rescuing craft while the victim is being righted alongside, easily cut through double diagonal planking.

Less than 30 minutes from being picked up, the Michael and Lily Davis, with us aboard and Blu-Blud in tow, entered Ramsgate harbour.

To the R.N.L.I, it had been a straight-forward, simple rescue, but to us and the racing officials it was the exception to the rule in normal organisation. However, had it not been for the Ramsgate crews, Blu-Blud would quite possibly have been severely damaged, if not a total loss— to say nothing of ourselves. . . .

Sennen Cove Mr. C. Pedrick, of Bath, collected the £40 mentioned on page 29 of the January Journal at Sennen Cove and not at Penzance as stated.All contributions for the Institution should be sent to the honorary secretary of the local branch or guild, to Captain Nigel Dixon, R.N., Secretary, Royal National Life-boat Institution, 42 Grosvenor Gardens, London, S.W.I (Tel: 01-730 0031), or direct to the Institution's bankers, Messrs. Coutts & Co., 440 Strand, London, W.C.2, or National Giro account number 545 4050.

All enquiries about the work of the Institution or about this journal should be addressed to the Secretary..