Recent discussions in the magazine about the merits of mobile phones bring to mind a rather hairy moment I experienced about four summers ago. A friend had asked me to crew for him on the return leg from Falmouth to the east coast on his 35 foot motor-sailer ketch. She is an older style, GRP boat, steady and comfortable; not a dinghy but too good an offer to turn down!

The first week was excellent weather and we wandered back in a leisurely way visiting many of the pretty rivers of Cornwall and Devon, popping in to Polpero and, in the case of the Salcombe River and the Dart, going right up to the head of navigation; you can still creek crawl in a 35 footer. From the Dart, the plan was to step up a gear for the longer leg across Lyme Bay to Weymouth. We set off from Dittisham at about 0400 hrs in bright moonlight and as we left the river it was just getting light. There was little wind, so as we had a tidal gate to catch around the Bill, we were motor sailing; the sea was slight and it looked like being another lovely day. My colleague said he would take the first stint, so I just took off my top jacket and laid on the bench seat in the lounge.

The next thing I knew, over two hours later it transpired, was Arnold shouting "Get up, Graham – we're on fire!" I rolled off the seat onto the floor, on my knees, and followed his instructions to turn off the battery master switch beside the companionway steps. A large, round, bevel switch was imitating a Catherine wheel so I grabbed a cloth and rotated it, which seemed to stop the pyrotechnics. It was rather smoky, but not nearly as bad as in the cockpit. Windroamer has a centre cockpit and much of the floor of it comprises the two doors to the engine compartment, which are hinged at the outside edges and lift from the centre. We had three reasonable extinguishers and while I lifted the doors Arnold emptied these in succession. We did not know if this had done the trick but did not want to lift the doors again as this would let in more oxygen. It was wait and see. While waiting, I lowered the inflatable from the aft davits and all we had to do was get in and slip the painter, if push came to shove. There is a fixed windscreen and the top of the cockpit canopy was still in place. Much smoke was still wafting up from below and from behind the 'dash board'. You hear it said that it is the smoke from fires which does the most damage to humans, but it is not until you experience it for yourself do you fully appreciate the effect of lungfulls of acrid smoke.

Before waking me, Arnold had sent out a Mayday call before the power was switched off, and had been told that the Brixham lifeboat would be sent out. We were both out of the cockpit trying to get away from the worst of the smoke. I had popped into the aft cabin to grab my wallet and a few things. The sails were still set and we pottered on gently. Then Arnold remembered his mobile phone which was on his bunk in the focs'l; would I see if was possible to retrieve it via the fore hatch, as he has a 'gammy leg'. I took a deep breath, opened the hatch and 'duck-dived' in. I found it easily but came out coughing even more. Arnold dialled 999 and was asked if he wanted fire, police or ambulance. "Coastguard please". He was told he couldn't have them and the three options were repeated. He then explained, forcefully, that we were on fire 12 miles out into Lyme Bay, and was put straight through. He told them it was his Mayday they had received and updated them on the present situation. About a mile in front of us was anchored a large blackish supply ship and Arnold said we were reasonably close to that. They confirmed the lifeboat had set off and was heading towards us.

A few minutes later the phone rang, and it was the lifeboat itself! They wanted to clarify our position – our GPS was 'down' of course – as it transpired there was another cargo boat more in the direction we had come from, and they were heading towards that. Having sorted out that confusion it wasn't too long before we saw them steaming towards us – an Arun class, I think. It did look as if the fire had been put out but we weren't taking any chances by looking until they arrived. They put a chap on board with a big extinguisher, but investigation showed the fire was out. They passed over a substantial hawser and made it fast, then we were off at a good rate of knots for Brixham. Time to put the kettle on! Just over 2 hours later we were in harbour where we were greeted by two fire engines with all lights flashing; they had to 'check us out' it seems.

However, before we got there, Arnold had used his mobile again to phone his insurance company and advise them of the circumstances. About half an hour after tying up, the company's agent turned up and we sat around the cockpit surveying the damage – well done Pantaneus. The agent then used his mobile to get a local firm to come to estimate the cost of repairs; they too turned up quickly but getting the actual estimate took much longer. We then took up the previous offer of a cuppa in the lifeboat station and got out our chequebooks to contribute rather more than we usually put in their collecting tins. It sent a bit of a shiver down our spines when, as we walked up to the station, we saw on their blackboard: "TODAY! Boat on fire 12 miles out in the Bay. Two lives saved". They obviously had a good PR chap.

Just to conclude the tale, it was obvious that substantial damage had been done; the wiring was stripped, wood charred and the mechanics, including some quite substantial bits of metal, were generally 'bent and buggered'. We stayed on the distinctly smelly boat for a further three days before returning home in a hired car. The local firm failed to come up with the goods and Windroamer was eventually towed round to a yard on the Dart to be lifted out there. She wasn't ready for quite a long while – was it Spring? – and insurers paid out several thousand pounds. She is now A1 again. It was an experience I am in no hurry to repeat although I don't think our lives were ever at risk, as we could have got off in the flubber, unless anything had exploded. We realised, at Brixham, how close it had been when we saw molten grease oozing out of the winches right out on the side decks. And as a souvenir I took home to Valerie a whole kitbag of 'feu de bateau' perfume, which hung about there for weeks.

My attitude to mobiles is, of course, that they can be very useful as a back up but, like many of the latest gizmos, one shouldn't rely on them alone. I think you can get waterproof cases for them, so why not use any modern technology if it's available.