Position: 55°36’50.0″N 13°01’13.8″E
With Aleta’s mast unstepped for the first time in seven years, we took the opportunity to replace her VHF antenna and Windex (the sailboat’s equivalent of a rooster on top of a barn that shows the wind’s direction). That meant a quick train ride down to Malmö to poke my head into Bachman’s, the area’s finest chandlery. With Niklas’ help I soon found a replacement Windex. Then, while wandering through the shop and out back into the huge workshop filled with enormous liferafts, I realised this place might be our best bet for getting our own liferaft serviced.
We were about two years overdue for an inspection. Why? Searching liferaft dealers around the Med we found the price of an inspection was about half to two thirds the cost of a new liferaft. That seemed extortionate. Why not just wait and replace the entire thing? Liferafts are after all mostly an afterthought. Cruisers buy one so they can join a rally and their boat can meet the minimum safety requirements, not because they seriously believe it will save their lives. But our plans include recrossing the Atlantic in the next year or so, and insurance companies are kind of picky about safety equipment.
Feeling Lucky?
The reality is you are very, very unlucky if you need a liferaft. And mind-bogglingly lucky if you use it and get rescued. The odds are profoundly stacked against you. Stories of surviving a sinking and drifting to shore, or into the warm galley of a passing cargo ship, are few and far between. Adrift: Seventy-Six Days Lost at Sea by Stephen Callahan is one such story. I haven’t read it because I’m superstitious.More recently, Rick Rodriguez and the crew of Raindancer were sunk by a whale in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and survived. I did watch Catch-22. One of the film’s most memorable images is of Alan Arkin as Yossarian desperately trying to escape the rigid insanity of military life during wartime by paddling to Sweden. That tiny yellow liferaft is as symbolically futile today as it was 54 years ago.
Rolls Royce
Inspired by my walk into the back room, I asked Peter if he might service our liferaft? “We’ll be here for a week. I know it’s short notice, but…?” Peter looked at me with all seriousness and said, “It’s very unlikely. We are incredibly busy right now. But I’ll ask.” He came back five minutes later and said, “Yes!” “Fantastic,” I replied, “I’ll drop it off tomorrow.” My 30-minute drive back to Landskrona gave me a chance to figure out how we were going to get the liferaft off Aleta and into our rental car.
You see, our Viking Rescuyou 6 weighs about 42 kgs (93 lbs), which is about as much as I can dead lift these days. Having spent years cycling, my upper body strength took a back seat. After all, muscle mass up top only slows you down as a cyclist. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. As often happens in marinas, our neighbour Michael generously offered to help and between us we lugged the raft down to the car. The next morning, I pitched up at the service centre bright and early. Peter began the steady job of unpacking things. Viking has a long checklist of tests that needed carrying out, and an equally long list of goodies like packaged water that needed replacing.
Each step in unpacking the raft held a valuable lesson for the would-be ship abandoner. I learned where the over-pressure relief valves and their caps were. I could see how the stabilisers worked and where I could find the emergency rations and fishing line. As the it slowly inflated, Peter turned to me and said, “This is the Rolls Royce of liferafts. You know why?” I did not. “It is self-righting. That is incredibly valuable.”
Only Hope
As the raft popped and groaned into shape after its seven-year nap, he went on to say that his air supply in the shop was about 6 bar (87 psi). The raft’s CO2 gas cylinder, however, inflates at about 60 bar. That would be impressive, eye-popping even, to watch. “These will last 25 years or more”, Peter’s colleague Magnus said, “As long as you service them regularly.” After a full tour of our nautical bouncy castle, I left confident that our raft would be well cared for by these two experienced and knowledgeable men. A week later we picked it up and with the help of another sailing neighbour, Martin, muscled it back onto Aleta.
We have a rule on board, well more of a maxim, that we only ever step up into the liferaft. Aleta will have to disappear beneath us before we will abandon her. Our raft is our only hope at that point. Thus, with the Swedish krone at a reasonable 11-1 vs. the mighty dollar and Bachman’s expertise, I feel we got great service at a fair price. If you’re heading offshore to escape the tyranny of social media and have a raft in need of service, I highly recommend stopping by and giving Peter, Magnus and Niklas your business.