Brian O’Carroll and his sister Kate were sailing a dinghy off County Wicklow when they capsized. Here, in Brian's own words, is their story.

We were making good speed towards Mizen Head and had intended to round it and land at Brittas Bay beach for lunch. We were sailing a Laser Pico, the water was relatively calm and the north westerly wind was reasonably strong and consistent: perfect sailing conditions and a fine day.

About 500m from the Head the sea started to become considerably rougher, the wind picked up and switched to a north north easterly direction. The change in conditions caught me off guard and the boat capsized. Capsizing is not uncommon in dinghy sailing and righting is normally a straightforward procedure. We were quickly back onboard but the escalating weather and sea conditions prevented me from regaining control and we capsized again. This time, my sister ended up a short distance from the boat. I told her to come back. When I climbed back aboard, I noticed that she was now around 6m from the boat. I didn’t think much of it. We often lose water bottles and hats overboard and they are recovered within seconds.

I wrestled with the boat for a few minutes, trying to beat into the direction of the strengthening wind, tidal current and waves. However, these three combined factors made the task impossible. Meanwhile the tide and the wind were carrying me and the boat further and further away from Kate.

I was beginning to have serious doubts about my ability to get back to her and I was starting to get very worried about the wild conditions that only 10 minutes before had been ideal. This worry and torment affected my ability to concentrate and capsizes became more frequent.

I thought she was gone for good.

About 20–25 minutes and 10–12 capsizes later, I was utterly exhausted and in a state of panic. At times, it took 10 seconds or more to spot Kate in the swell and this added to my terror. Each time it happened I thought she was gone for good. She was now 200–300m away and the boat was in tatters after the hammering it had taken. It was no longer sailable.

Eventually, I made the most difficult decision of my life and left the boat. I knew from training and experience never to leave the boat. I had run out of ideas and I was utterly desperate. I jumped in knowing that I was already exhausted and looking at a 250m swim in severe conditions, against tide, wind and wave. In short, I felt I had little chance of making it. On top of that, I was now at water level and I could rarely see Kate over the swell. I swam, unsure of direction or outcome. My plan was to reach my sister and attempt [to swim] a further 300m to land. I didn’t fancy the odds. I thought about my unborn child, my wife and my parents and how I was going to explain to them that their youngest daughter was gone for good (if I was even able to make it myself). I pushed myself beyond all physical and mental boundaries.

Strangely enough, I finally started to relax and accept the fate that was starting to appear inevitable. I can only assume that this was the result of some soothing chemical released by the brain when death is knocking loudly at the door. I was awoken from my now trance-like state by a loud voice. I was unable for several seconds to even register where the voice was coming from and what it was saying. I turned around and saw the large bright orange rescue boat of the Arklow RNLI. My spirit soared with a relief and elation that I had never felt in my life. When I regained the ability to listen and speak, I confirmed to the crew member that yes, there were definitely only two of us. I directed the lifeboat to my sister and asked them to pick her up first.

I will never forget their kindness.

 I watched the boat pull up alongside her and looked

at the RNLI flag with a mixture of giddiness and great respect. I will never forget it. It was finally over – and not in the manner I had feared. I would like to sincerely thank the voluntary crew at the Arklow RNLI Lifeboat Station for dropping everything in their personal life on a Sunday afternoon to save my life and that of my sister. I will never forget their kindness and professionalism in our time of dire need. I would like to express my gratitude to Pat Ruddy [see panel, overleaf]. I would also like to point out that without the proper safety equipment, we would almost definitely have drowned, even with the best efforts of the RNLI. Thankfully, we had two good-quality wetsuits and well-fitting buoyancy aids.

Finally, I encourage all who read this to give generously to the RNLI, which depends on donations from the public to maintain a well-equipped and very well-run rescue service.

Every minute mattered

Pat Ruddy was patrolling his golf course – The European Club on the southern slopes of Mizen Head – at 1pm when he spotted two sailors out to sea. ‘When one person drifted away from the boat it was obvious that matters were taking a turn for the worse so I put in a 999 call,’ recalls Pat, who spoke to the Coast Guard.

They decided that Arklow all-weather lifeboat, based some 6 miles to the south, was the sailors’ best chance of rescue, and contacted volunteer Lifeboat Operations Manager Jimmy Tyrrell. Jimmy alerted the lifeboat crew pagers and drove towards the lifeboat station. As he passed the Avoca River, he could see a large tug obstructing the river mouth. ‘I got within shouting distance of the tug,’ says Jimmy, ‘and told the skipper he needed to make way for the lifeboat.’

Meanwhile, Arklow’s Coxswain Ned Dillon and his volunteer crew had reached the station, and launched in just 5 minutes. ‘It was Sunday lunchtime, so most of us received the call at our homes,’ says Ned. Back at the top of Mizen Head, Pat Ruddy kept in touch with the lifeboat crew by mobile phone, explaining what was happening. ‘It was all a silent and tense tussle,’ remembers Pat, who watched the rescue unfold from a distance. As the Trent class lifeboat approached, the crew prepared an A frame to winch the casualties from the water.

‘We reached Brian first and he was able to talk and direct us to Kate,’ says Ned. ‘But when we reached her, she did not respond. She was conscious, and we were giving her reassurance and instructions. But she was too tired and cold to say anything.’ The crew attached the A frame strap to Kate and quickly hauled her aboard, before doing the same for Brian. ‘We regularly use the A frame in training, so everyone knew where to put themselves at the right time,’ says Ned. Once the hypothermic, exhausted casualties were in the lifeboat wheelhouse, warmed by blankets, they rapidly improved. ‘We warmed them up, checked them over for injuries and they both became more lucid,’ recalls Ned, ‘although Brian could not have been 100% because he offered to get back in the water to help retrieve his dinghy! We declined that offer and hauled the dinghy aboard. If we’d left it there, upturned, we’d have been called out again half an hour later by a concerned observer.’

With the two sailors and their craft aboard, the lifeboat crew headed back to Arklow. Since then, Brian and Kate’s family have made a donation to the lifeboat station and organised a fundraising event for the RNLI. ‘There were no two ways about it,’ says Ned. ‘If they had been on their own for much longer in those conditions, they would have been gone.’