Why a sense of community is vital on a long-term sailing trip

“Phuket coast guard, we need emergency medical assistance, over.”

“Phuket coast guard, EB transporter, over.”

“Phuket port control, EB transporter!”

“Phuket port control, please reply, OVER!”

Jamie was sitting at the chart table, editing our latest video, when this unusual call for help on SY Esper’s VHF radio cut through the one-track mind of his concentration. He turned up the volume and listened again. The breaks between his hails were getting closer together, and each time the man’s tone and volume rose higher. The desperation in his voice and message suggested he had been calling for a while, but Jamie had no idea for how long. Nobody answered him.

Channel 16 is meant to be constantly open and monitored while underway, and all vessels are required to assist in emergencies, i.e. maydays and pan-pans just like the (albeit unconventional) call Jamie was hearing now.

Apart from being the first place to send and receive emergency signals, 16 is used to receive messages from the Coast Guard concerning weather warnings or advise on restrictions to navigation. And it is the first channel we all use when entering a new port. All harbour master offices have VHF radio receivers and transmitters. But in two years, the only voices we had heard on the radio in SE Asia had been receptionists guiding new customers into various marinas between Malaysia and Thailand.

We had never heard any other traffic on the VHF.

We seldom have the radio on once we’re tucked up inside a marina, but for some reason – maybe to keep him company while I was still back in the UK – Jamie had left channel 16 open.

The man continued with his hailing. Still nobody answered.

Realising that he might be the only person in the vicinity prepared to reply to the man’s plea for help, Jamie’s instincts kicked in.

“Vessel requesting assistance, this is SY Esper, do you copy? Over.”

For the next hour Jamie worked with the marina and the caller, who was at anchor about 30 miles away, to arrange for help to be sent to SV “EB Transporter”. It was a pains-taking process, slowed down by several strong accents hampering the meaning of some messages. Luckily everyone spoke the phonetic alphabet, a necessity when trying to relay information by radio.

The captain had collapsed with a heart attack and the skeleton crew did not know what to do, or how to make a mayday call. It turned out that the commercial vessel was not only surrounded by other boats at anchor, but was much closer to the harbour master than we were. It still remains a mystery to all of us why no-one else heard, or chose not to respond to, the call. After several phone calls to the police and harbour master a doctor was despatched to the vessel where he attended to the captain. Jamie heard later that the captain survived.