I have been a lifeboat volunteer for two decades. We patrol a good chunk of the East Coast of England, and in that time I have rescued dozens of unfortunate swimmers, kayakers, surfers and sailors.
The job does not get easier. But I am experienced enough to prep a game plan for even the most perilous of situations on that vast body of water. Once you have jumped between ships in the middle of a nighttime storm your heart rate does not rise for much.
This is why I did not worry about the radio squawking that a man dangled from the rocks. A dog walker had raised the alarm. Although conscious, he was not even crying for help. We had plenty of time.
The cliff forms a crescent moon shape at this specific coastal spot. Considering the proximity to land the water is a surprising deep sapphire. You still have to be careful. We battled through waves slapping over the hull at every opportunity. The tide is an invisible hand ready to drag you under.
God knows how the man reached his perch. His wetsuit did little to hide the wiry build of a forty year old cyclist. At first his shouts were incoherent over the crash and fizz of the ocean. But up close the words revealed themselves.
‘What are you doing? Stay away! Keep that boat back!’
Shock is a common reaction in an emergency at sea. We ignored his hysterical cries, and maneuvered within a few feet of his position. But the man dug his fingernails into the rocks, and changed his words to a torrent of abuse.
My plan was to get close, and jump across with a rope. Bundle him onto our vessel, get him to shore, and let the emergency services calm him down. Then an emerald tail broke the skin of the water. Another followed, alongside a flash of scarlet hair.
The man let go, and vanished beneath the foam.
The shapes were everywhere, rocking our boat like a cradle in a tree.
I no longer cared. Everything was so beautiful.