Emergency at sea: Sailor rescues her husband after he suffers a heart attack

Last Wednesday, the Flensburg Outer Fjord was hit by the first signs of autumn weather. Weather fronts bringing heavy rain and gusts of 28 knots battered the Pietsch couple, who were sailing their Moody 38 ‘Andiamo’ from Maasholm to their home port of Toft in Gråsten, Denmark. Shortly before reaching their destination, the skipper retreated to the saloon, suffering from sharp pains in his chest. His wife, Gunda Pietsch, recounts what happened next in an interview with YACHT.

YACHT: Ms Pietsch, what exactly happened?

Gunda Pietsch: My husband and I wanted to go on one last sailing trip for a week on our ‘Andiamo’ and were still in Maasholm harbour on the Schlei on Wednesday morning. We’d actually planned to sail on to Eckernförde, but as I’d already been suffering from a severe sore throat and earache that morning, we decided to sail back into the Flensburg Fjord instead, heading for our home port, Marina Toft. We were level with Langballigau when a huge black cloud began to gather on the horizon, and we thought there was bound to be a lot of rain and strong gusts of wind coming our way. So we took the sails down and carried on under engine power. Shortly afterwards, the gusts hit, reaching 25 to 28 knots, accompanied by heavy rain. Just before Holnis, my husband suddenly said, “I’ve got a stabbing pain in my chest and can’t breathe,” and went below deck. He was barely responsive, could no longer move properly, was shaking, was breaking out in a sweat and had turned green in the face. It was a nightmare.

What was going through your mind at that moment?

I felt terribly alone at that moment. But then such a rush of adrenaline surges through your body that you just carry on functioning. No more sore throat, no more earache, no hunger or thirst. I have a boat licence and a radio licence, and now I had to draw on what I’d learnt at some point. I was glad that, in this weather, I didn’t also have to start taking down the sails as well.

But you are an experienced sailor, aren’t you…

My husband is the more experienced of the two of us – a sailor through and through. Although I’ve obtained all the necessary qualifications, we’ve been sailing together for many years now and have faced some tricky situations. However, as a pair, we’ve always managed to handle them well.

What did you do then?

Autopilot on, heading for Marina Minde, and getting the mooring lines and fenders ready. Our home harbour is only 15 minutes further on from Marina Minde, but I would have had to wait for the bridge to open there, so I set course for the nearest harbour, Marina Minde. Every minute counted now. Even so, it still took a great deal of effort to pick up the radio and actually call out ‘Mayday, Mayday’ in earnest.

But fortunately, you did it and got some help…

…Yes. We’d done our amateur radio licence together a few years ago. In the exam, you have to handle an emergency call accurately: ‘Mayday, Mayday’, your own call sign, your position and all the important information. Our instructor had said at the time: ‘If you’re in distress, just start talking. The control centre will ask for whatever information they need.’ I remembered that. First, I called Lyngby Radio on the radio, but nobody answered. So I sent the distress call straight away: “Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is the ‘Andiamo’, a sailing yacht off Marina Minde. My husband is probably having a heart attack. We need medical assistance.” Shortly afterwards, Bremen Rescue came through. They told me they’d heard the distress call and were stepping in because the connection to Lyngby Radio hadn’t worked. I was asked to give my position. Then they said: “We can see you. You’ve got AIS. Very good, we can see you.” I was able to breathe a sigh of relief for a moment. I knew: someone could see me. There wasn’t another sailing boat nearby, just some friends of ours who were a few nautical miles behind us. That feeling of being completely alone was awful. After all, my husband was fighting for his life – and he’s the person who matters most to me.

So what did Bremen Rescue do?

They asked whether the emergency services had been alerted. I’d tried to do so, but couldn’t get through to the emergency number 112 in Denmark on my mobile. So I rang our Danish friends, who were sailing a few miles behind us. They then alerted the emergency services, asked them to go to Marina Minde, and also informed the harbour master there.

What happened next?

Now I had to sail into Marina Minde in this terrible weather. My husband always does the mooring when we’re out sailing. I hate mooring and only do it very rarely, and even then my husband is always there to help. But this time, with a sick husband down below who we seriously suspected was having a heart attack, in pouring rain and with winds still over 20 knots, it was really pushing me to my limits. There wasn’t a soul in sight either. So I got the foghorn out and blew signals like a madwoman, in the hope of perhaps still managing to rouse one or two people in the harbour. Then I put out the fenders and lines and steered up to the jetty. And then the harbour master, Klaus, and Horst, a permanent moorer, came running over. No one who hasn’t experienced something like this before can imagine just how glad I was to see those two people at that moment.

So the investor worked out well?

Yes. Klaus and Horst were standing on the jetty and were able to grab the mooring lines. I’d arranged them so that they could reach them from the jetty. They moored the boat. I left the engine running and went straight down to my husband. He was just shaking all over. Klaus took care of the boat and secured everything. There was a fierce storm.

What happened to your husband then?

Horst asked if he could come on board. He introduced himself and explained that he’d heard us on the radio. He exuded an incredible sense of calm and spoke very calmly to my husband. Then he asked me if I had anything to cool him down. I took everything I could find out of the fridge: salmon, a packet of butter and other bits and pieces. We used these to cool my husband down, as he was suffering from severe heatstroke.

How long did it take for the ambulance service to arrive?

About 20 minutes. It felt like an age and was absolutely dreadful. It took me about 15 minutes from the time I sent the Mayday call until we docked. After that, it took another nearly 20 minutes for the emergency services to arrive. All in all, it was more than half an hour.

Why?

The emergency services had to come from Sonderburg.

And then your husband got help straight away?

Immediately. They took my husband to the ambulance. On the way to the ambulance, he was still experiencing severe chest pressure and could barely breathe. In the ambulance, he nearly lost consciousness. All I could see was the paramedics administering one injection after another to stabilise him. At first, they said he would have to be flown by helicopter to a heart centre in Odense. However, an emergency doctor who arrived in a second ambulance examined him again and said: “We don’t have time for that. We must go to Flensburg immediately.” The paramedics took him to the Diako hospital in Flensburg. I asked if I should go with them, but they told me to stay at the harbour for the time being. By the time I’d transferred our boat to Marina Toft with the help of a couple we’re friends with – who’d arrived at the harbour shortly after me – and finally reached the hospital in Flensburg, they’d already operated on my husband. It was a heart attack, and he’s now had a stent fitted but is still in intensive care.

Have you moved the boat across yet?

Yes. Klaus said I could leave the boat in Minde and head straight to Flensburg. But I couldn’t do that. I had to sort out the boat. I knew that the first thing my husband would ask would be: ‘What about the boat?’ And when he was able to respond later, the first thing he asked, of course, was: ‘What about the boat?’ I knew that question was coming. Then he even said: ‘I knew you could moor it. Why don’t you do that?’ I replied, ‘I don’t want to – and certainly not under these circumstances.’ It was a bit of gallows humour.

To cope with all of this in this situation is a tremendous achievement.

You just get on with it. There were no tears. I don’t know how much adrenaline was pumping through my body at that moment. Somehow, your brain tries to recall everything: What can I do? What’s possible? What do I have to do? I can do this because someone can see me. After all, I had no other choice. I couldn’t just pull over to the right and ask someone to help me. First, I had to moor. And the conditions were really tough. We had a wind of about 20 knots. Shortly before that, I’d taken two photos showing a black wall ahead of us. My husband keeps a constant eye on the sky and usually says in good time: ‘Watch out, something’s coming over there.’ This time, he was right again. Then came some fierce gusts. We were very glad that the sails were already down.

Based on this experience, what advice would you give to other people who sail as a couple?

You should practise mooring more often. Ideally in a familiar harbour. Passing the exam alone isn’t enough. You really do need to have carried out the manoeuvre yourself at least once. I took the exam and practised mooring from time to time in the meantime. But most of the time the weather was ideal for a duck pond: no waves and hardly any wind.

How is your husband getting on now?

He says he’s doing quite well and that he’s being well looked after in hospital. The doctors are keeping a close eye on him. Now we’ll just have to take it day by day and see how things go. It’s good for me that he’s in Flensburg. That way I can get there quickly.

Will you ever set foot on board again?

Yes, definitely. Sailing is one of the most wonderful hobbies you can imagine. Fortunately, not everyone goes through what happened to us. Statistically speaking, nothing else should happen now – at least, I hope not. Of course, a lot can happen out on the water, but the same goes for on land. I don’t want to let that spoil my enjoyment of sailing.