My family and I were up at our Puget Sound beach place on Camano Island in the dead of winter. I needed a moment of serenity after a niece’s birthday party left me reeling. The water was flat, so I dropped the 12-foot aluminum boat in the water for a solo cruise south along the shoreline.
At first, the cruise was going well. I made my way south toward the head of the island, where there are no shoreside beach cabins because of the high bluff. I then backtracked toward home.
Suddenly, I came upon an adult male standing on the beach, waving his arms. His jeans and winter flannel shirt were soaking wet—not ideal, given that the air temperature was in the high 40s. Then, I noticed a second man 50 yards from shore, struggling to swim. I pulled alongside, but he was too big to haul into my small boat. He wasn’t entirely coherent and was losing motor function, but was able to grab the side of the boat as I, with my free hand, grabbed the back of his heavy winter shirt. Slowly, I towed the guy to shore, where he crawled out of the water and proceeded to lie flat on the beach.
The other guy, who was equally wet and cold, but somewhat more lucid, said they were at their parents’ house high up on the bluff and decided to take out a canoe. It capsized and sank, leaving them with no choice but to swim to shore. He made it, but the other guy didn’t.
I put them both in my boat and planned to take them back to my family’s place some distance north, but the guy in worse condition was likely suffering from hypothermia. He wouldn’t make it all the way. Fortunately, by dumb luck—in March, there are very few occupied beach cabins in this locale—another family was up at their beach place. I pulled in, a man from the cabin came down, and we were able to get both of the canoe guys inside. Someone called 911, and an ambulance took them away. The sheriff arrived, and I gave a written statement before heading home.
Here’s a few things I noticed. First, neither of these young men were wearing life vests. Second, there was absolutely no sign of their canoe—not a paddle floating in the water, not a boat cushion, and no sign of the canoe itself. And third, there were no other boats in eyeshot when I was out cruising. Like many bodies of water, when you’re boating in the Pacific Northwest in the off season, you’re often alone out there. But for my need for a reprieve from the birthday party, I never would have been out cruising, and never would have been able to render assistance.
We all know the saying: “Life vests save lives, but only if you’re wearing one.” With the 2023 boating season soon to arrive, maybe now is a good time to talk about life vests, and some of the dynamics at play when a person goes overboard.
Michael Phelps, the U.S. Olympic swimmer with 28 medals, was reported to swim about 6 mph, top speed. The average person can swim about 1 mph. Accordingly, for the average person, we’re looking at 60 minutes of consistent swimming effort to cover a mere mile, under ideal conditions. Are you comfortable with 60 minutes of consistent swimming effort, while wearing your normal boating attire? I suspect most of us would find that a bit of a challenge.
Now, consider these numbers in two hypothetical person-overboard scenarios.
Scenario one is that you go overboard a mile from shore, and for any number of reasons, are unable to get back aboard your boat. You are not wearing a PFD, and start swimming straight for the nearest shore, about a mile away. There is 1 knot current running at 90 degrees perpendicular to your course. Because of the current, you’ll end up swimming approximately 1.4 miles to reach shore, which will take 84 minutes of consistent swimming effort. If you stop to rest, the current will push you farther off course and your swim will be extended.
Scenario two is exactly the same, but with a 1 knot head current. When will you reach shore? Never, as you’re swimming in place. You’ll reach shore only with a change in the current or a swim in a different direction, presumably to land that is farther away.
Both scenarios assume a person is only a mile from shore. The challenges of surviving in the water increase exponentially with the distance from shore and the amount of time in the water. And both scenarios assume a measly 1 knot current. Unless you’re lucky enough to be swimming with the current, any current much over 1 knot pretty much leaves the average swimmer at the mercy of the sea.
On top of it all, it’s difficult to ascertain the direction of the
current when you’re in the water, particularly with a relatively slow current and absent a landmass for perspective.
A life vest would help for a number of reasons. The buoyancy would let you rest and reduce the swimming effort, as well as help rescuers to see you. A PFD also helps you retain the maximum amount of body heat, because it replaces the effort you’d otherwise need to stay afloat—important stuff when you’re in waters below 60 degrees and losing body temperature, which can lead to hypothermia. In a person-overboard scenario, a life vest means the overboard person will be better able to assist in the recovery process.
Add cold-water immersion, and a MOB situation is immediately life threatening. It creates a condition known as immersion hypothermia, which develops more quickly than standard hypothermia, because water conducts heat away from the body 25 times faster than air. Even strong swimmers will drown in cold water.
Even in a scenario where the person(s) remaining onboard can perfect rescue, a life vest is critical. If the primary operator of the boat is the one in the water, the person left onboard may be slower to perfect rescue simply due to inexperience in handling the vessel. That means more time in the water. With a life vest, the person overboard is not only floating, but is also more effectively able to assist in their own recovery
If given the option, it’s better to stay with a compromised (but still floating) boat or other floating objects to await rescue. It’s also easier for potential rescuers to see a larger object than a lone person whose head is the only thing above the surface.
The two guys who capsized their canoe were only 200 to 300 yards from shore when it went under and sank. They didn’t have any boat cushions, which could have been used as an auxiliary flotation device, and neither one of them was wearing a PFD. Once that canoe went down, they were in water about 46 degrees. I am certain the man who was still in the water would have drowned before reaching shore while his brother looked on.
To sink or to float: That is the question when considering the use of a PFD.
This article was originally published in the March 2023 issue.
