This is an awkward question because it delves into a number of emergency situations that I contemplate and prepare for, but never expect to happen.  I give fair warning that the discussion of the safety items we carry may conjure images of potential disasters that necessitate their use.  I assure you, dear reader, that I have considered these in detail and with a great sense of responsibility.  Your nightmares are no match for mine.  That said, we feel strongly that our life afloat is no more dangerous, in fact less, than life ashore.  Perhaps a future post will address this point directly.

Boats are required to carry certain items for the safe operation of the vessel.  The list varies by the length of the vessel and how many passengers it carries.  The most prominent items are flares, fire extinguishers, and life jackets.  My boats have been boarded by the Coast Guard twice for inspection.  Both times were pleasant, cordial experiences and no deficiencies were cited.

Take Two came to us with a very extensive set of flares, some very exotic and expensive-looking.  Unfortunately they were all expired.  Some even said they were made in “West Germany”.  We went through them and kept the ones that still looked good, just in case, and the rest we donated at the local hazardous waste dropoff.  We have newer ones to show the Coast Guard when they check, but the old stuff probably still works just as well.

Everybody has their own life jacket (Personal Flotation Device in Coast Guard lingo).  The kids spend so much time wearing theirs that they look natural in them.  Tanya and I have the auto-inflating kind, but wear them less often.  Mine has an integrated harness so Tanya has a way to haul me back aboard if I’m injured or unconscious.  Tanya has a separate harness because her PFD is designed for women, and they don’t make those with the integrated harness for some reason.  During rough weather or at night, the harness is attached to the boat with a tether to keep us from going overboard in the first place.

We have an Autotether system to alert us if someone does go over.  The system consists of little transmitters that are placed on the life jackets.  The transmitters communicate with a base station aboard the boat several times a second.  If the base station loses contact with the transmitter, it immediately sounds a very loud alarm.

The boat also came with an exposure suit, which is kind of a cross between a wetsuit and a ski jacket.  I tried it on and almost passed out from heat.  We don’t have any plans to be in water cold enough that we would need something like that, so I got rid of it.

We have these silly little tapered plugs that you’re supposed to have so you can jam them in holes or broken hoses to stop water flow.  I was sure I’d never need them, but damn if I haven’t had to use them TWICE to keep the ocean on the outside.

Of course we have a VHF radio, but it only has a range up to about 40 miles.  At some point we will probably get a single sideband (i.e. shortwave) radio that can bounce signals off the ionosphere to the other side of the planet.  In addition to voice, the SSB can be used for receiving weather faxes and even email.  When we start venturing beyond US coastal waters we’ll probably get an Iridium satellite phone, which can also be used for email and very light Internet access.  All of these can be useful for giving and receiving help during emergencies, but the satellite phone would be especially valuable if we needed to obtain medical advice.

We carry a rather extensive first aid and medical kit, including some good prescription medicines and surgical supplies (thanks Jeff!).  We have received two days’ worth of training on how to use the stuff, but we’ll still need outside advice for any major issues.  Additionally, Tanya has had CPR training and attended a Safety at Sea seminar.

If, God forbid, someone should need immediate medical attention when we’re far from civilization, we have an Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon (EPIRB).  When triggered, it communicates who and where we are to a satellite, which relays the information to global search and rescue authorities (such as the US Coast Guard, among others).  It does not, however, indicate what our problem is, and the assumption is that we require evacuation.

Depending on where we are, help will usually come in the form of a rescue boat or helicopter, but I have heard of things as diverse as military jets and commercial fishermen making initial contact.  It just depends on who can get there the fastest.  How long it takes will depend on weather and location.  Helicopters don’t fly in hurricanes.  

I have heard of two recent EPIRB rescues that probably represent the best and worst cases.  Abby Sunderland was recently rescued from the southern Indian Ocean.  She set it off on Thursday morning and was picked up by a fishing vessel on Saturday.   Then earlier this week a boat capsized 20 miles off the coast of California.  The Coast Guard was there within an hour to rescue three hypothermic crew members.

EPIRBs, personal locator beacons (PLBs), and the SPOT devices have been criticized for emboldening people who aren’t adequately prepared for their adventurous undertakings.  When they get in a little over their heads they just turn on the EPIRB for a ticket home.  We take our EPIRB very seriously.  We know that if we ever set that EPIRB off we will be leaving the boat with nothing but the clothes on our backs and will probably never see it again.  Needless to say, that isn’t something we’ll do unless absolutely necessary.

The life raft is our last resort.  The boat came with a raft, but upon evaluating its condition and the costs of recertification, we opted to buy a new one.  We’ve been without one for awhile, but we finally placed the order for an 8-man Winslow this week.  This particular brand is made here in Florida, so we’ll go see it when it’s ready and before it is packed up and sealed.  This familiarity will be important, especially for the kids, if we ever have to use it for real.

I really don’t think there is a likely scenario that would see us use the raft.  The adage says you should always step up to the life raft, meaning your boat should be sinking.   History is rife with examples of crews taking to the raft and being lost, while the boat is later found afloat.  Being a catamaran and thus not having ballast, I don’t think Take Two is likely to sink.  We have powerful pumps to remove unwanted water and materials for plugging any holes.  But any number of unexpected things could happen that we might need to abandon the boat.  Since mothers may be reading, we’ll let those horrors remain nameless.  If nothing else, the life raft is a really expensive insurance policy.

Very carefully.

A boat cruising in US waters pretty much has to have a holding tank rather than flush the toilets directly overboard.  That’s because the US has laws preventing overboard discharge within 3 miles of the coast.  Never mind that many coastal cities pump their sewage into the ocean as a matter of course (Miami), or regularly have accidents whenever it happens to rain too much (Tampa).  Or that the real pollution problem in our oceans is caused by fertilizer runoff from residences, golf courses, and farmland.  It stinks but that’s the way things are.  

When being inspected by the Coast Guard usually the first thing they want to see is your Marine Sanitation Device, which is their official term for the commode, to make sure it is properly secured.  In typical government fashion, the laws only apply to the toilets themselves.  It is perfectly legal to go in a bucket and toss it overboard.

We can hold it comfortably for about ten days, which is pretty good for having 6 people aboard, but usually empty the tank on a weekly schedule.  The tank can be pumped out at a shore-side facility such as a marina or fuel dock, or by a special boat that comes to us.  Additionally, most boats also have their own pumps so they can dump overboard when beyond the 3-mile limit.  We do all of the above.  

When offshore, we empty the tank with a macerator pump, which has little blades like a kitchen sink disposal.  The kids particularly enjoy watching our muddy wake while the pump does its business, but it isn’t all fun and games.  The thing is notorious for breaking down and I have had to rebuild it multiple times.  Every aspect of the process related to the tank is fraught with danger.  Poo under pressure is never a good thing and I have witnessed a couple nasty accidents during dockside pumpouts, but have fortunately never experienced one myself.

Outside the US, the holding tanks are usually dispensed with and the goods go straight overboard.  The Caribbean is full of boats doing this and it doesn’t seem to be a problem.  From what I’ve heard, though, you aren’t allowed to flush paper in the Caribbean.  Go figure.

The marine toilet is a bit different from those typically found in a house.  Household toilets operate by gravity, which is not quite as reliable on something that moves the way a boat sometimes does.  You want to deposit that stuff in a safe place where it can’t get back out except on your terms.  Marine toilets operate on principles similar to those on an airplane, but rather than a simple device that empties the bowl in one big vacuum flush at the push of a button, like on a plane, our toilet has handles and levers and must be pumped manually.  It’s definitely a more complicated procedure and most guests require a briefing.  If you’ve been aboard, you’ve probably experienced it for yourself.

There are several different toilets types available for boats.  Our current one was selected because it was the cheapest and most commonly available, but certainly not the best.  It was installed as an expediency after I canned the four toilets that were on the boat when I bought her.

That was over two years ago and six of us have been enjoying it daily for almost a year.  It has proven surprisingly reliable, but when it does have a problem, it immediately goes to the top of the project list.  Usually the problem isn’t discovered until someone has to use it.  In a pinch, we get the bucket out.  Installing a second toilet is somewhere further down the project list and staying there for now.

The biggest challenge to our toilet’s regularity is the kids’ toilet paper use.  Every once in a while, one of the kids will use about half a roll of TP and clog it up.  They have all been amply warned, so when it happens the culprit becomes my special helper for the unclogging.  You can’t just use a plunger the way you would in a house (remember, poo + pressure = bad).  You have to open the hoses until you can find the clog and clear the line.  It’s a messy, messy job.  So far there haven’t been any repeat offenders.

I have spent a lot of time thinking about this.  At this stage in our life aboard, we don’t move around too much, and our home base is at risk of the occasional hurricane.  In the future we’ll likely change our location seasonally based on weather patterns, but for now we have to take what comes.  Florida has had a couple bad years recently, but fortunately it has been pretty quiet since we’ve owned the boat.  But one thing I learned from owning a house during those bad seasons is that if you wait until a storm is forecasted before making your preparations, you’re pretty much screwed.  So we have a plan for Take Two.

Hurricanes are big enough and unpredictable enough that moving the boat out of a forecasted landfall area isn’t really practical.  You would be pretty much guaranteed to experience bad weather of some type during the transit and may very well increase your risk.  I think the time is better spent preparing the boat and taking your chances where you are.

In theory, the boat is safest at sea in open water.  My understanding is that the Navy and Coast Guard take their ships to sea.  As I’ve posted elsewhere, Take Two’s original owner did this with success, but there are several key differences between then and now.  For one, Take Two is older than she was then.  I like to think that she’s still strong and capable, but I don’t know for sure and haven’t tested her much.  The other factor is the crew.  Tanya and I just don’t have anywhere near the skill and confidence to face that kind of weather intentionally.  Could we do it?  I bet we could.  But it isn’t a reasonable risk.

To prepare for a storm in the marina we move the boat into a more protected slip and double the number of fenders and docklines.  We take the sails and other gear off to reduce the windage.  But the boat is only safe in the marina up to a certain point.  Docklines frequently break or chafe through under those conditions, and even if you prepare adequately, what if your neighbor doesn’t?  Storm surge is also a serious problem.  It is virtually impossible to set your docklines such that they restrain the boat properly when the tide may rise 20 feet or more.  In our case, it would only take about a 10 foot surge for the docks to float right off the pilings.  The boat is now secured to a raft that isn’t secured to anything at all.

So for an intense storm or a high strike probability, we’ll take the boat to what we hope will be a sheltered area nearby, moor her as best we can, and leave her to her fate.

This is the scenario we’ve spent the time planning for.  It involves many anchors (I currently own five), lots of high tensile chain and heavy duty shackles, and heavy 1″ line.  The goal is to array the anchors so that as the wind shifts they don’t have to break out and reset.  Shock absorption is necessary to avoid breaking the chain, so we’ll use relatively stretchy lines for the rode and bridle between the boat and the anchors.  And we will also try to eliminate all points of chafe by using thimbles and shackles on each end of the lines.  For the boat side, we’re currently planning to use chain inside hose looped around the cleats, but I’m still thinking about putting stronger attachment points on the bows that the line can be directly shackled to.

We’ve purchased all the gear called for in the plan and have it in our storage unit, so there should be a minimum of panic shopping.  Setting it all up will require a significant amount of time (much of it underwater).  We should probably practice it at some point.  Hopefully we’ll never need it.