A boat with its own fascinating RNLI history set out on a perfect day last Summer. Little did her crew know it was to be her last voyage …

‘We set off in ideal conditions – you couldn’t have picked a better day,’ recalls Paul Harrison, 52, an experienced mariner and diver. Paul and his son Sean, 31, had left North Shields on 31 July 2012 in sunshine and relative calm. They were aboard Paul’s 16m motorboat, Princess, a former lifeboat (see panel) converted into a leisure vessel. The pair planned to head up the east coast of Scotland and make for Peterhead, ultimately aiming to reach the Isle of Man. It was a passage that would never be completed.

‘We were happily going with the tide in the evening when the wind started to pick up and the sea got rougher,’ says Paul. By midnight, as the Princess passed the Isle of May, near the town of Anstruther, Fife, the wind had increased to 25 knots. That weather, combined with a spring tide, created large swells that were outrunning the boat. As Paul tried to steer through the conditions, he suddenly realised the rudder was not responding. The steering gear had failed. With no control in the relentless tide and waves, Paul and Sean were rapidly shoved towards the rocky shore.

‘I remember saying to my son that I was going to get on the radio and call for help when, suddenly, there was this massive bang – followed by a spinning noise,’ says Paul.

Peering through the darkness, father and son realised the Princess had been thrown onto a rocky outcrop at Crail. Her propellers were out of the water and there was a gash in her bow. Precariously perched on a rock, she was battered by waves that broke right over her.

Paul and Sean switched off the engine, sent out a mayday call, and tried to find a safe place to wait. That wasn’t easy – below deck, water was leaking in from the bow.

The boat rocked so violently that the cooker and fridge worked loose from the galley floor and were hurled around. Sean and Paul huddled together in the cabin and hoped that help would arrive. ‘We are both experienced at sea. Sean’s an ex-submariner,’ remarks Paul. ‘But this was the worst experience we’d had in a boat.’

John Clark, the Anstruther Lifeboat Operations Manager, woke to a Coastguard call at 12.50am, requesting the launch of the inshore and all-weather lifeboats. John paged the crew and, from all over the town, volunteers rushed from their beds to the lifeboat station.

Life-changing choice
Among the volunteers were D class lifeboat Helmsman Barry Gourlay and Crew Members Euan Hoggan and Becci Jewell. ‘I knew it was windy that night because the fishing fleet headed in', says Barry. I could hear the waves from my house. I hadn't had time to change – I just pulled on shoes and went in my pyjamas.'

Within 7 minutes of being alerted, the Anstruther shore crew had helped launch both lifeboats into the dark harbour.

The D class was the first in the water and was soon out at sea, exposed to the elements. Barry knew they had to head north east along the coast as quickly as possible, but did not dare to push the craft towards her top speed of 25 knots in the conditions. Breaking waves were appearing out of the night, hitting the lifeboat’s starboard sponson. 'It was so rough that I couldn't put the radio microphone back on its clip, so I had to hold it between my teeth while I held on with both hands!' says Euan.

By now, the Princess was sustaining damage beyond repair – and her crew feared for their lives. ‘We were getting thrown from one side of the cabin to the other,’ says Paul. ‘The final straw was when the floor got driven up beneath us. I told Sean that we had to get out because, if the floor got pushed up any further, we wouldn’t have been able to open the cabin door. We would have been stuck in a wrecked boat, taking on water.’

Meanwhile, the D class lifeboat crew hit trouble too. After travelling for just over a mile, their propeller got tangled in a creel fishing line. Without propulsion, the crew were in danger of capsizing. 'I thought that we were in for it when that happened,' says Barry. But he managed to quickly raise the engine, free the propeller blades from the line and restart towards Crail.

The lifeboat was less than 10 minutes away from the scene, but Paul and Sean had run out of time. ‘I told Sean to get on the radio and tell the Coastguard we were going to abandon ship,’ says Paul. ‘It was too dangerous in the cabin and too dangerous on the deck – there were breaking waves and the boat could have gone at any minute.’

With lifejackets on and shoes off, Paul and Sean edged along the outside rail of the Princess, struggling to hold on against the 3.5m breakers. Paul looked down into the churning water. ‘I could see the tops of the rocks, but didn’t really know what was down there,’ he says. ‘I turned to Sean and I said “if we go, we go together. Don’t let go of each other”.’ They were ready to jump.

It was at that exact moment that the lifeboat arrived. Every light was blazing on the Princess, and her crew's torches could be seen moving around. Barry quickly realised where the stricken boat was – and what a dangerous position her crew were in.

Above and beyond
Standing off some 50m from the Princess, Barry could see the only way to get close would be to ride a wave towards her, and then turn the lifeboat round and get alongside. There, he would need his crew to hold onto the Princess to stay in place. They would also need to warn him of any oncoming waves, and help the casualties aboard. ‘We had complete trust in Barry,’ says Becci. 'He's an awesome Helm.'

A large wave rolled up behind the D class lifeboat. Barry took a deep breath and powered towards the shore. Riding the back of the wave towards the starboard side of the Princess’s bow, he spun the lifeboat round. Becci grabbed a short length of rope trailing from the casualty vessel and the lifeboat crew beckoned Paul and Sean aboard. ‘It was a huge relief to see them. I can’t believe what they did,’ marvels Paul. ‘They got so close that we were able to step aboard.’

Shivering, shocked and exhausted, the father and son crouched in the lifeboat as Barry headed out to sea, battling the oncoming waves with five people aboard.

It took 3 agonising minutes for the inshore lifeboat to punch through the surf and reach the Anstruther Mersey class lifeboat, which was waiting in deeper water. The D class pulled up alongside and prepared to get Paul and Sean over to the larger vessel, which would provide a more comfortable passage home. 'But getting them from one rolling boat to another was a bit hairy – the allweather crew had to lift them aboard,' says Barry. By 1.20am, Sean and Paul were in the warmth of the Mersey class wheelhouse.

As both lifeboats left the scene, the Princess finally slipped off the rock. The waves drove her further inshore, into a wave-swept gulley that would have been difficult for anyone to reach – or escape from. ‘At the time, you don’t think about dying. It’s afterwards that you realise.

If we had gone in the water, we would have been cut to bits,’ says Paul. He and his son were given fresh clothes by the crew when they got back to the lifeboat station, and Crew Member Roy Giles put them up for the night.

‘They couldn’t have done any more for us,’ says Paul. ‘The next day they took us to the boat when the tide was out. There was a massive gash along most of the side of her. We didn’t salvage much apart from the bronze number plate – the one that all lifeboats are issued with.’

Helmsman Barry Gourlay will be presented with his own bronze memento of the rescue: an RNLI Bronze Medal for Gallantry, which he will receive at the RNLI’s Annual Presentation of Awards in May. It’s in recognition of his seamanship, leadership and personal bravery in saving two lives. Becci and Euan are to receive the Thanks of the Institution on Vellum for their bravery, determination and teamwork. ‘On that night, the Helmsman went above and beyond the call of duty,’ says Paul. ‘They all did.’