Your Story

What I’ve Learned as a Onshore Person

By Kim Searl-Jones ; I’ve learned things I never really wanted to know.

Ten minutes is a long time to wait for Marine Rescue to call you back.
It’s even longer when you know something’s wrong.

I’ve learned the difference between a personal EPIRB and the boat’s EPIRB. I’ve learned that three relatives are listed on an EPIRB registration—and they call them in order, one by one, until someone answers.

I’ve learned that when a keel fails, inversion happens in seconds. Ten, maybe. There’s no time to grab anything. No time to think.

I’ve learned that life rafts don’t always deploy in an inversion.
If they’re not underwater, the hydrostatic release valve won’t trigger.
They can be just trapped under the hull—useless.

I’ve learned that every lifejacket has two harness points for hauling in.
And that they should be worn. Always. On deck. Any race. Any conditions. Because you just never know.

I’ve learned that offshore, everyone is tethered.
At night. Alone. On watch. In big winds. In big seas. It’s not optional. It’s survival.

I’ve learned about grab bags—what they are, what’s inside, and why they’re tied to your body. I didn’t know that before.
I’ve learned that some people sleep in their lifejackets and grab bags below deck. It’s controversial. But I understand why.

I’ve learned about keels. How they’re designed. How they differ.
How racing and cruising boats experience stress in different ways.
I’ve learned about fatigue—metal, welds, bolts—and the physics of pressure.
I’ve learned that keels are not forever.

I’ve learned about club memberships, volunteer insurance, and race logistics. I’ve learned that you often have to fight for what should be included.

I’ve learned that some people in this industry are only out for themselves. But I’ve also met others—marvellous, knowledgeable, kind—who make up for it. They’re the reason I keep going.

I’ve learned that grief turns into anger, then into resolve. I’ve learned that no one else was going to take this on. So we did. For Roger.

I’ve learned that the power of friends and family is everything.
I’ve learned that the beach helps. So does the garden. Every day.

I’ve learned that culture is the hardest thing to define.
But I believe it can be changed.
And I believe it starts with knowledge.

I’ve learned that Coronial Inquests can take years.
And that committees, even well-meaning ones, move slowly.
Rules take years to change. In the meantime, people die.

I don’t know exactly what stops progress—maybe culture, money, sponsorships, fear of regulation.
But I know it feels wrong. And I know it has to change.

I’ve learned that I couldn’t wait for the system to catch up.
I wanted to reach the average sailor. The “naïve as.” The inexperienced crew. The ones who answer “crew wanted” ads.
The ones who post pictures of damaged keel bolts on Facebook and ask, “What’s happening here?” The ones who show up for Learn to Sail courses, eager but unaware.

I’ve learned how to build a website. WordPress. It takes me forever—I’m not tech savvy. But I’ve had help from generous people online.
Big shoutout to Squared Circle Ecom. Thank you.

I believe Roger would want things to change. He would not want us to be sad forever. He loved sailing. He loved teaching. He was good at it.
This was a tragic accident.
It could have been anyone on that boat over the past few years.

So we honour him with information.
We teach others to ask:
“What’s under your boat?”
“What should you look for?”
“What should you report—and to whom?”
“What can you check, right now?”

Because metal fatigues.
Bolts give way.
Welds fail.
Keels are not forever.

Please share. Please reach out.
Your stories, your experience—they matter.
Let’s turn this culture around-  Kim