ACR PLB that Saved Me after a Capsize
Credit: Erinn J. Hale
Three thousand pounds of boat rolled on top of me. I couldn’t see my three other crew. Markus Pukonen, my watchmate and team videographer, was caught literally with his pants down on the five-gallon bucket that served as a head on the 29-foot rowboat that had served as our home for over two months. That’s how normal things had felt just seconds before—as normal as any day could be on a row from Dakar, Senegal to Miami. We spent what felt like weeks on sea anchor, broke two oars, and managed sun exhaustion, blisters, and lightning strikes so close I felt the static tug on my beard.
Our ACR ResQLink Personal Locator Beacons were about to prove themselves.
Prelude to Disaster
We’d covered 3,000 nautical miles with 800 or so to go. The closest land was Puerto Rico, roughly 375 miles SSW away. Food was holding out nicely and morale was high. I woke up 15 minutes before from four hours rest, the longest stretch I would have at any time during a 24-hour period and prepared for another four hours at the oars.
It was almost 0600 hours and I felt remarkably rested and alert. The boat surged gently with the waves. I cast an eye on our course and speed and felt the most optimistic I had in weeks. The weather on this voyage had not been terrible, nor was it favorable. It seemed like things were going to change and that our course through the Bermuda Triangle might bring our little boat some good miles.
The other watch, Pat Fleming, our medical officer whom I’d rowed with at university and Adam Kreek, Canadian Olympian, were on deck. They were tired, but I could sense the same optimism. The wind had picked up in the right direction over the last few hours. We talked of sea anchor if it continued to build, but we had managed larger waves over the course of the voyage.
I traded places with Adam at the bow, then Markus with Pat. Markus began our watch as he had at this time every day with his morning constitution. As unpleasant as this was to watch, it was normal. I kept my eye on the waves.
Out of the corner of my eye, Pat entered the cabin and began to close the door. Suddenly a wall of water jacked up behind the boat which was not that much taller than the other waves, but had a steep square face.
Instead of lifting our stern and rolling under us on its voyage across the Atlantic, the wave enveloped our stern. Thousands of pounds of water inundated the deck, depressing the boat below the scuppers. Then the second wave hit. Same shape. It grabbed our floundering craft before she had a chance to emerge from the water and surfed us into the back of the first wave. With so much weight on deck and so much force behind her, the center of gravity shifted, and she corkscrewed into the water. Before I turned to take a face full of ocean my last sight was Markus crashing off the bucket and Pat’s arm struggling in vain to close the door against the sea.
Overboard
My head broke the surface and the voice in my head piped up, “Well at least you still have your hat.” I heard Markus thrashing on the other side of the boat. Seconds later Pat and Adam had swum out of the cabin. There was a cacophony of shouting that established that everyone’s head was above water and no major injuries.
With the main cabin flooded, the boat, normally self-righting, was firmly capsized. In my mind only a ship collision would trump this worst-case scenario. Part of preparing for this voyage had been to consider these worst-case scenarios and prepare for them. I had a Plan B and some tools we hoped we never had to use.
Pat clambered to the hull, now exposed to the sky.
“How many should we turn on?” He yelled above the wind.
Each of our inflatable PFDs was equipped with a ACR ResQLink Personal Locator Beacon (PLB). Smaller than a handheld VHF, we had lashed these devices snuggly into the PFD and exposed it when the life vest deployed. We’d gone with four, one for each life vest in case we ever suffered the horror of becoming separated.
The device is tough, floats, and uses GPS positioning, a 406 MHz signal, and 121.5 MHz homing capability to broadcast its location.
“All four,” I replied emphatically.
We raised the antennas and pressed the button. A small strobe began to flash.
We cut loose and deployed the life raft, and we tied it to the bow of our boat. After a moment of checking in with one another we decided to try and flip the boat over. We tried in vain for two, perhaps three hours until exhaustion caused us to retreat to the life raft.
It felt like a sauna in the life raft. We examined what the life raft was equipped with. There was food and water for many days, perhaps weeks. For now, we needed to eat, drink, and rest. If the weather changed, we would try and flip the boat again.
From the life raft supplies Markus pulled out a minuscule book. On it, embossed in silver letters, spelt out, “The Little Bible.” I say little without hyperbole-it is not much bigger than a postage stamp.
We shrugged. It sure wasn’t going to hurt.
Genesis was abbreviated to two verses:
“In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.” Gen. 1:1, followed by “The Lord watch be-tween me and thee, when we are absent one from another,”
Markus finished that second verse as an airplane roared overhead. We pulled down the top of the raft and saw the orange livery of the United States Coast Guard. I checked the time. It wasn’t even 1100 hours. We’d been found in the middle of the ocean in less than five hours.
The life raft and the capsized rowboat linked for the last time moments before the rescue. Credit: M/V Heijin
USCG rescue aircraft take a picture of crewmate Markus as they fly overhead Credit: USCG
USCG rescue aircraft take a picture of the capsized rowboat Credit: USCG
USCG rescue aircraft take a picture of the life raft. Credit: USCG
Our rescue wasn’t over by a long shot. We would still have to divide a life raft and a rowboat with a 480-foot car carrier that was diverted to pick us up and still have four rowers left over. The most dangerous part was up ahead, but we were no longer lost.
The timing of the verse was uncanny and I’m not one to discount a holy intervention—but if God helps those who help themselves then being prepared with our PLBs was a good first step towards inviting divine participation in the rest of the rescue.
As far as boat equipment goes, this is cheap. If you take into account your life, and the lives of the people who will take the time to search if you find yourself lost, you can’t afford not to have one on your boat.
As far as its use goes, it stupid easy. There is a button to test and a button covered with an antenna that calls the calvary. The hardest part is making sure its accessible and available to use should you need to. It must be registered with NOAA, and as with any safety equipment it’s got a life span. It’s not a replacement for a VHF radio, cell phone (where services is reliable), charts, PFD’s, appropriate navigation equipment, a float plan, or other safety gear. Unlike a lot of other tracking gadgets this does not do multiple things, it does one—no subscription required. It reliably calls in a rescue and provides its location. It’s not going to help you blog, tweet, or tell your family you will be late for dinner. It exists as your option of last resort. I believe in gear that does one thing well.
The ocean is big yet we got found. The reality is that most folks who recreate with boating are doing so between sight of shore and perhaps 30 miles out. That water is still big, and that’s where most people are lost. You don’t need to be rowing an ocean to make reliable PLBs a part of your kit.
The author makes it to the top of pilot ladder on the Roro M/V Heijin. A flare had burned a hole in his inflatable life vest while being sighted.
Credit: M/V Heijin
The author starts the five story climb from the waves to the ship. Credit: M/V Heijin
The author takes a nap while on sea anchor. Credit: Author- The crew heads out to sea. Credit: Erinn J. Hale
The crew loads the last equipment into their rowboat, the James Robert Hanssen, in Dakar, Senegal. Credit: Erinn J. Hale
Sept 5-7, 2025
Come see Jordan recount the whole story at the Wooden Boat Festival in Port Townsend, at 1600 hours Friday September 5. Can’t make it? Read or listen to his book, Rowing into the Son, about his first record setting row across the North Atlantic.
Want to see the full story on the big screen? Stay updated on the documentary in progress.
Rum Running a Brigantine in the 21st Century
Rowing into the Son by Jordan Hanssen
