Our epic voyage around the world has produced many ironies, not least the number of times we've said something would happen, only for events to change our plans entirely. Monday was just such a day. We were well on our way to the Azores, our arrival in Gibraltar predicted to be this Saturday or Sunday, with our triumphal return to Cardiff planned for Saturday 27th July. Sadly that won't happen now.
It was just after breakfast time on Monday that Steve Lloyd suffered massive chest cramps and difficulty breathing. Suspecting a heart attack, we immediately contacted the Canadian Coast Guard, who arranged for a Search and Rescue helicopter to be despatched from Gander to come out to us.
Unfortunately they didn't have mid-air refuelling, so the helicopter had to fly from Gander to St John's, refuel there, then out to the Hibernia oil platform which we passed on Sunday night, refuelling there before meeting us at a pre-arranged point. Basically, we were beyond the helicopter's range, so it was up to us to reduce the distance as quickly as possible. That took us around eight hours.
The pickup was nothing short of dramatic. Our first contact was with a Canadian Air Force C130 Hercules, acting as spotter and co-ordinator for the rescue helicopter. Once they had a visual on us, they then flew back to guide in the Labrador (Canadian version of a Chinook).
We'd been instructed to proceed into the wind (we've been used to that on this trip) at a minimum speed for steerage, and to remove all obstructions from the deck and protruding objects. So Alan sets about removing our flagpoles and aerials.
We've also been told we'll feel the boat being pushed along by the helicopter's downdraught. The Labrador spends a long time flying at around thirty feet just behind us and to one side, its downdraught virtually flattening Spirit's characteristic whale-tail wash, and sending a blizzard of spray into the air.
Two men in bright red suits and bone-domes are winched down onto the deck. One of them is a paramedic, who quickly attends to Steve, and prepares him for the lift up to the helicopter. We've already put Steve in his survival suit, and he decides to use a strop under the arms rather than being strapped into a litter. "That way's a little scary unless you're unconscious," says the paramedic.
Before we know it, Steve is up in the air, along with his rescuers. The whole day has been a traumatic one, and it ends leaving Alan and me alone on the boat to make our way through the night back to St John's and take stock from there.
In an age when most people can expect a paramedic to be with them within twenty minutes, it's a salutory reminder of the extreme nature of our expedition - beyond immediate assistance. Steve bore what was clearly a long, painful and frightening ordeal with a great deal of courage.
And it was down to Alan's masterful seamanship that enabled us to reduce the distance towards the helicopter pickup in heavy following seas. Needless to say we're very grateful indeed to the Canadian Coast Guard, Air Force and other parties to the rescue for their professionalism, and to St John's Health Science Centre, where Steve is now recovering.
We'd welcome any offers of assistance, particularly from any of our supporters in St John's. If you can help, please call Nadia in the first instance on +44 7802 795583
Clive Tully
Copyright Clive Tully ©2002
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