When you have been a coastguard for twenty years or so you tend to think that you have heard it all. However there is always someone out there to prove the saying “there is now’t as queer as folk”!The latest gem from the seas happened towards the end of January (that’s winter for us lot in the Northern Hemisphere!) when the UK was beset by fog.

Our local estuary is a favourite launch site for jet skiers and all manner of watercraft in summer, but in winter the slipway is used almost exclusively by small boat anglers, and of course by myself teaching RYA powerboat courses.

This particular day had started off with fog in the early hours but midday had seen a little weak winter sunshine before the blanket of fog dropped again and the visibility over the sea could best be described as negligible

It came as no surprise to me to hear, at around 6pm, a conversation on ch67 of the boat’s radio involving the Coastguard Marine Rescue Sub-Centre (MRSC) and a local boat angler who was lost in the fog and darkness whilst trying to navigate his way back up the estuary.

No surprise because the same thing had happened with another boat angler the night before.

Anyway listening to this guy he had missed the channel and was in just two feet of water. He had no electronic navigator and from the conversation it was obvious that he was getting on a bit in years and was certainly not a nuclear physicist!

Our man at the MRSC (Marine Rescue Sub Centre) had twigged this and did a fine job in enquiring about the health of both the skipper and his elderly crew.

He enquired if he had flares on board and advised our casualty that he was launching the lifeboat to him. His advice went on to include information that the lifeboat would no doubt ask him to give a slow count up to ten for radio direction finding purposes.

Having jobs to do onboard I moved away from the radio then and returned some time later to hear our man counting to ten, and then without drawing breath carry on with another count to ten, and then another count and another and so on! When he did eventually stop for breath and, more importantly let go of the “press to transmit” button for a moment, the Coastguard controlling the operation jumped in and told him that was enough numbers – we would go for the bonus ball now!

To cut the story short the boat was rescued and brought alongside the launch slip where it was delivered into the care of a member of the local coastguard team. His thoughts on looking into the 18ft cabin boat was how filthy it was –and how could anybody go to sea in something that dirty. But his curiosity was aroused when he looked at the outside of the boat, which was gleaming and obviously well cared for. A glimmer of understanding began to form when he looked more carefully at the skipper, who was dressed in a bright yellow day-glo traffic jacket. Well at least the back was bright yellow. The front was black and grimy, as was his face, and when he lifted an equally grimy arm the remains of a partially melted red rubber glove could be seen clinging tenaciously to the end of his sleeve.

The response to the question “What happened?” was the explanation that he had fired a flare when requested by his rescuers but that the thing had backfired and shot out of the wrong end of the tube! The melted glove was a casualty of throwing the thing overboard! (I can only think that he managed to throw it while the rocket propellant was burning and not the distress signal bit itself).

The local coastguard lad was now intrigued to say the least and asked the skipper if he knew how to fire a flare. The skipper gave him a Paddington Bear “hard stare” and said that of course he did! You removed the end caps and the safety pin and then it was just like a beer can – you pulled the metal thing on the top and the rocket shot out, but this one must have been faulty because it had come out of the wrong end!

He took a lot of convincing that he had held the thing upside down!

The potential for disaster was enormous and the future prospects for two elderly casualties suffering from extensive burns and being thrown into the water by the blast of exploding petrol tanks would have been minimal. A winter’s night with nil visibility and 12 hours of darkness to go is not the best scenario in which to be optimistic of your chances of rescue even if you survive the fireball!

If it had not actually happened here on my home patch I would have taken a lot of convincing that any small boat could survive an accident like this.

The whole night was like a scene from a comic farce, and there was not just the flare cock up. On the way back down the river after being found by the lifeboat the casualty ran out of fuel. The “D” class inflatable inshore lifeboat (ILB) came alongside and the two crewmembers stood up to hold onto the gunwale of the cruiser. Unfortunately our man onboard connected up to his spare tank, fired the outboard up again, and gunned the throttle, leaving the two ILB crew members gripping the casualty with their fingernails – and the floor of their rubber boat with their toenails! – as the bow wave from the casualty threatened to roll their little boat over.

My reaction of having story related to me over the phone? Surely he has not been on one of our courses – I haven’t signed a certificate for him have I?

The reply?

“No - he knows it all!”