Will to Live: Dispatches from the Edge of Survival (12 page)

With the faces of his wife and children staring eagerly back at him for insight, Dougal’s decision became clear. Their only hope of rescue would be to sail with the trade winds to the Doldrums, four hundred miles north. Not only did the closest possible shipping route lie in that direction, but if they were going to harvest sufficient rainwater to keep alive, they first had to reach a place where rain might actually fall. The Doldrums were the closest possibility. The only question was: Did they have enough water to keep themselves alive until they reached the Doldrums? And even if they made it to the Doldrums alive, their journey was just beginning. Once there, they would have to float or paddle back to the coast of Central America.

Dougal must certainly have been dismayed by the stark reality of their situation, but he never gave anyone false hope. He never deluded Lyn or the children with silly thoughts of something that wasn’t possible. Instead, he kept it real, assessed, and made a firm—and intelligent—decision.

Rather than becoming disheartened by their slim chances of survival, the Robertsons rose to the occasion. They now knew their task, had a goal. They would wait at the scene of the accident for twenty-four hours to see if any wreckage from the
Lucette
surfaced. After that, their destination lay to the north. Dougal was invigorated and felt the hopelessness lift from his shoulders. His reaction is a testament to the power of decisiveness in a survival situation. With the decision made, they now had a purpose, a common goal. The Robertsons and Robin settled in for whatever this ordeal would throw at them next.

The first task was to deal with the mound of debris in the center of the life raft. In addition to the raft’s survival kit, there was a huge sail and two hundred feet of fishing line that Douglas had pulled from the
Lucette
as she sank, as well as three gallons of gasoline, two oars, and two empty boxes. Lyn had also managed to rescue her sewing basket, which proved to be a treasure trove of useful devices. They were delighted to find that it not only contained the usual stores of needles and thread, but also two scalpel blades, four knitting needles, a blanket pin and hat pin, three plastic bags, a ball of string, buttons, tinfoil, a shoehorn, two small plastic cups, two plastic boxes, two small envelopes of dried yeast, a one-foot piece of copper wire, rubber bands, a bottle of aspirin, a pencil, and a pen. They also had a half pint of varnish, a West Indies pilotage book, and Dougal’s watch.

They set to work right away, stripping a wire from the sail and using it to attach the raft to the dinghy. Robin and Neil got seasick and started vomiting as the little raft pitched and bobbed in the rolling seas of the Pacific. It was an alarming start to their adventure. Each time they vomited, they lost precious fluids, which would be difficult to replace in the weeks to come. Luckily, the first aid kit came with antinausea pills.

While stowing and organizing all their gear, the Robertsons found an instruction book in one of the side pockets of the life raft. Unfortunately, it offered little in the way of useful information on how to survive in the middle of the ocean. Instead, it contained lots of fairly useless information on morale and leadership. Dougal thought the best part of the pamphlet was its last two words: good luck!!

The rationing began that first evening, as each person was afforded a biscuit
and a sip of water, one-sixth of an orange, and a hard candy. Lyn, who was a very spiritual person, drew comfort in those darkening hours by praying and singing religious hymns. Ever the pragmatist and atheist, Dougal spent the quiet time by trying to pinpoint their location. It was difficult to concentrate, though, as they were surprised to find that their raft had become a bit of an attraction for the many sea creatures that called those waters home. Throughout the night, dorados—also known as dolphin fish or mahi mahi—bumped the underside of the raft continuously. Sea turtles also bit at the bottom of the raft, though never hard enough to penetrate its thick double skin.

They took turns keeping watch in two-hour shifts throughout the night, a ritual they brought with them from the
Lucette.
The person on watch not only helped keep the raft pointing into the heavy swells of the ocean, but also served as lookout for ships in the distance.

As day two of their ordeal dawned, the Robertsons were surprised to find that the pressure in the raft’s flotation chambers had dropped dramatically during the night, largely due to cooling of the air. When they found that the bellows would not sufficiently pump up the chambers, they resorted to cutting the rubber tube from the bellows and blowing up the raft by themselves. After a few minutes of blowing, the raft was back to normal. It was an action they would repeat continuously until they finally had to abandon the sinking raft.

Dougal spent most of the morning bailing out the
Ednamair
and rigging a sail to the dinghy. The plan was to set the dinghy out front, acting as a tugboat and towing the raft during the trip north to the Doldrums. Later that afternoon, they set off, and it was now that Dougal began to realize just how fortunate he and his family had been to even have the raft, which now stood between them and a watery death.

As it turns out, the raft had been a gift from Captain Siggi Thosteinsson, a friend who had become dismayed at the sad state of the Robertsons’ raft in Miami and gave them one of the two he was carrying at the time.
It was a bulky but comprehensive craft—fully enclosed, like a floating dome tent. It even had a double canopy roof, which prevented the Robertsons from becoming dehydrated in the blazing South Pacific sun.

Why did the Robertsons, who were clearly knowledgeable and well-prepared sailors, ignore such a vital element of survival by not having one of their own to begin with? I have no idea, but they’re certainly not the first, and won’t be the last, to make that mistake. It sounds crazy, but so many sailors do not pay attention to their rafts. Most don’t check and repack their rafts regularly. Unbelievably, some don’t even take one!

When I spent a week surviving in a raft in the waters off Belize, I started with two rafts, which I purchased from two different sailboats. The first raft sank in just a few minutes. Luckily, I was only ten feet from shore when I found this out. The second, which I ended up spending four days in, leaked constantly, just like the Robertsons’. I hate to think how long they would have lasted had they been stuck in their original raft.

In that second day on the raft, the Robertsons and Robin spent some time writing farewell notes to the friends and family members they would leave behind should they not make it to safety. The ever-ingenious Lyn had cut small pieces of sailcloth to serve as paper. When finished, the letters were secured in waterproof wrapping and stowed in one of the raft’s pockets.

Although I understand why they did it, I can’t help but feel that this kind of action—focusing on death rather than the task at hand—is the wrong one to take. Dougal noted that they thought it a better idea to do it sooner, when they were strong and fit and the prospects for survival good, rather than later, when they might not have had the mental, emotional, or physical strength to face the truth. But I still say it’s the wrong mentality altogether, much too sad and forlorn for a time when you’re trying to be upbeat and positive. For me, the goodbye note is the last thing that should be done in a survival situation, and only when it is very apparent that you are doomed. Frankly, I’m surprised the Robertsons did this at all, because until then they had been so proactive.

It is not surprising, given the morose task they had just set to, that Lyn told Dougal that if Neil—who had clearly suffered the most during those early days and was not looking at all well—died, she would go with him. Ever the pragmatist, Dougal said she’d be much more useful alive than dead.

Sleeping on the raft was a cramped and uncomfortable affair. Even with one person on watch, the five bodies were wrapped around and on top of one another. Seawater seeped through the floor of the craft and collected in pools under them. It makes me wonder why they didn’t have one or two people sleep in the nine-foot dinghy to make more room. In addition, their bodies would fare much better than they did sitting in salt water all day and night. I imagine it was because the floor of the dinghy was hard and uncomfortable, but they would find that out soon enough, anyway.

The next morning—day three—the Robertsons awoke to find an eight-inch flying fish had launched itself into the dinghy overnight, a gift from the sea and an early indication of the kind of luck these castaways would experience. After Dougal cleaned the fish, Lyn again demonstrated her resourcefulness by marinating, and therefore effectively cooking, the fish in a squeeze of lemon juice. This is a great way of preserving fish if you have no way to cook it. You can even do it in your home in an urban disaster situation.

The clouds thickened as day three advanced, and soon a shower passed overhead. Luckily, the canopy roof of the raft was equipped with a water catchment area, along with a rubber hose that led down into the main compartment of the raft. By pulling down on the hose, a depression was formed in the roof, where water could be collected.

But the stuff the Robertsons collected bore slim resemblance to drinking water. It started out as bright yellow, and saltier than the sea itself. Soon, the water was running clearer through the tube, though it was hardly refreshing. They managed to collect half a pint of yellowish, rubbery-tasting stuff before the shower passed. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, and an important lesson in survival.

Catching rain off any kind of roof is generally considered a great way to collect water. And it is. But what is often overlooked is that the first part of the rainfall really only serves to wash the roof. So if you’re on land and have a tin roof overhead, that first bit of stuff running down is probably full of animal feces—mice, squirrels, bats, and birds. If, as in the case of the Robertsons, it’s the roof of a life raft, then you’ll be ingesting bits of chemical paint, latex, rubber, and so forth. It’s something raft companies would do well to consider when constructing rain catchment areas on their boats.

Even with this newfound “bounty” from the sky, the family wisely continued to stingily ration its water. Rather than drink a larger amount only once during the day, they partook of very small sips throughout their waking hours. It was a smart move. In the end, you’re putting the same amount of water into your body, but the Robertsons’ method gives you something to look forward to, even if it’s just a sip of rubbery gunk.

Yet, unlike in most group survival situations, the Robertsons were not rigid or mechanical about the amount each person got to drink. Instead, they employed a “ration by trust” system whereby each person took what they felt was the right amount. That said, I’m sure Dougal kept an eye on things, and it’s unlikely that anybody exceeded their rightful amount while he was just a few feet away. This method is truly unique among survival stories, and the only time I’ve ever heard of such a thing. But I’m not sure where I stand on this strategy. I can see it being a great morale booster, since it shows the group’s collective faith in one another. But there’s also great risk, if someone loses perspective and finishes the entire group’s stores in a moment of weakness.

By day four, Dougal had decided that he would try his hand at fishing. Indeed, the only way they were going to survive was by taking advantage of the bounty of sea creatures that swam in the waters around the raft, even if another flying fish had offered itself to the dinghy overnight. A few initial casts seemed to catch the attention of the dorado, so Dougal cast the spinner and lure well out ahead of them. He was shocked to see the spinner arc gracefully through the air, land in the water, then disappear below the surface. Apparently, he had not tied it on correctly, and their only spinner and lure had sunk into the depths of the Pacific. It was a foolish mistake, and Dougal cursed himself mightily for the error of his ways.

This mistake helps illustrate that you must always be cautious and meticulous in any survival situation. You can’t rush things. You have to think
everything
through. In general, Dougal was a fastidious man, a characteristic no doubt honed during his years on the farm and their year and a half on the
Lucette.
He was particularly precise when it came to navigation. He spent hours poring over his charts, estimating how long they would be at sea, their chance of rescue, and the possible route they might take.

Where I think he fell short, though, is in failing to tell the others about a couple of tiny islands that lay between them and the mainland. Dougal realized the only way they would hit the islands was by sheer luck, not navigation, and he didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. But even though the chances of stumbling upon these islands might have been ridiculously slim, the others deserved to know about the possibility. If you believe in the power of positive thinking, or even visualizing, having everyone hope for the islands might have created enough positive energy to actually lead the raft to one.