The Storm
The seasonal buoys in Hogg Island Channel wouldn’t set themselves.
U. S. Coast Guard cutter WILLOW’s operational area stretched from the Maine
- Canada border down to Buzzards Bay. It
was a challenging OPAREA with rocky coasts, strong currents, and unpredictable
weather year round. Gale and storm force
winds in the winter routinely assaulted the coast and the cutter. The summer’s thick, dense fog hung low,
hugging the surface. Visibility measured
in feet pulled on nerves when working buoys alongside shoal water. At times you could hear the waves break on
the rocks but not see then—it was unsettling.
Hogg Island Channel was the entrance that connected the Cape Cod Canal in
Buzzard’s Bayto Massachusetts’s Bay—a vital shipping route any time of year
cutting off more than a hundred transit miles around the south coast of
Massachusetts. In the winter it was the
maritime pipeline for tug boats carrying fuel to all of northern New
England.
Ice season started in early November and ended in mid March. Each season WILLOW replaced the normal buoys
with smaller, sturdier ice buoys that were designed to slip under ice flows and
pop up; the lights encased in a solid cover.
You may ask, “Jeff, if they were so good why not keep them year round?” I would tell you that is an excellent
question. Couple of reasons: 1) They
were smaller in size and didn’t return well on radar. 2) They did not have solar panels so the
lights would drain the batteries by the end of ice season. Good question.
The District Chief of Staff, Captain Campbell, was a sailor’s sailor and
one of the finest Captains I had met and on several occasions I invited him to
sail with us any time he liked. Captain
Campbell looked at the master schedule and gave us a call when we were getting
ready for our second buoy run. WILLOW
would leave Newport early back late the next day—the timing worked out for
Captain Campbell; I told him when were getting underway—he was in for the ride.
The District Chief of Staff is second in command; the position is coveted
in the Coast Guard—a lot of Admirals had a stint in this role. I never thought Captain Campbell was there
for a promotion. He was an excellent
Chief of Staff - not trying to impress admirals but there to make sure admirals
has the information they needed to make decisions. These types of Captains are the best to work
for—and Captain Campbell was the consummate sailor. He’d visited WILLOW in the past and the crew
loved him. It was going to be a good
trip.
The six bells announcing a senior officer rang throughout the ship; I
walked out of the Wardroom and opened the watertight door.
“Permission to come aboard, sir?”
Captain Campbell rendered a salute.
Regardless of rank, any sea going officer understands they need to
request permission to come aboard a vessel.
I returned his salute “Permission granted Captain. Welcome aboard, sir.”
One note for any reader not familiar with seagoing services (and I would
guess about two people may have made it this far). Captain Campbell was an O-6, a Captain by
rank (equivalent to a Colonel in the Army, Air Force, or Marines). He was addressed a Captain. I was a Lieutenant Commander, an O-4 (same as
a Major in the same aforementioned services) but I was a Captain by position
and I was referred to as Captain…Captain of the ship. I had been a Captain of a patrol boat on a
previous tour…but I was a Lieutenant an O-3 (same as a Captain in the again
Army, Air Force, or Marines…I know this gets confusing but trust me it
works). Even though Captain Campbell out
ranked me by position and role, I was the Commanding Officer of WILLOW. He had no command authority on board the
ship. Now, it would be foolish on my
part to push that issue but those traditions were ingrained in all the sea
going services.
The buoy trip started sluggishly. Due to the weather, the predicted
currents, and the position of the remaining buoys we needed to replace, we went
through four plans in the two hours prior to leaving homeport. It was good for a district officer to see
this; being a buoy tender required flexibly and innovation.
WILLOW was a 225-foot, 2000 ton ocean going buoy tender with integrated GPS
for a dynamic position system and it was the first class of cutter designed to
use all electronic charts. These boats
could do maneuvers that pervious ships could never accomplish. Sailors took these cutters into shoal water
every day; buoy boat drivers went were white hull sailors feared. That is what we did. Even with advanced technology, black hulls
needed to know how to read wind and current, have a feel for the ship, an
understanding of shifting weather conditions.
It was a privilege to command one of these boats.
I tell you this, my gentle reader, because we were taking the Number 2 guy
in the district to dangerous places—and we asked him to come along. Yep, that’s how black hulls roll.
The buoy trip itself went off smoothly.
We changed our plan, again, enroute Hogg Island Channel and then made
quick work of the remaining swap outs.
The actual working of buoys is a fascinating dance to watch from the
buoy deck or the bridge. Getting a 2000
ton ship in position to snag a buoy can cause havoc to my blood pressure but
once we dialed it in the worked shifted to the deck. It was dangerous down there, cold sea water
soaking the crew, large ungainly, and heavy buoys straining across a potential
pitching and heaving deck. When the crew
finally gets the buoy on the deck, getting it secured, safely, was a chore in
of itself; a coordinated effort of the deckies surrounding the buoy with air
guns and mechanical grips. Trips like
this filled had the deck filled with a combination the new and used buoys; the
crew negotiated their efforts around a forrest of huge green and red
hulls.
Tending buoys was not glamorous work and you won’t see it on recruiting
commercials; news networks cover rescue swimmers and the occasional small boat
station case. That or they glom onto
major drug busts by our white hulled cousins.
All the while maritime commerce throughout the country relied on well
marked channels even with the advent of GPS.
We even finished a bit early on day 2; the deck department was on a tear—really
hitting their stride. This was a Friday,
we were in B-24, getting home early and heading into a Charlie period that
would take us through Thanksgiving. A
fine martini and a steak tip dinner at The Fifth Element were just a few hours
away.
I was such an idiot…
Every sailor is an amateur meteorologist.
Whether you are a day sail-boater or the captain of an aircraft carrier,
an intimate knowledge of the weather is a crucial aspect of your life. We had messages that came to us from the
Coast Guard and the National Weather Service, we had radio broadcast, and with
satellite TV, we had the Weather Channel and I accessed several website to get
real time weather buoy information. We
were locked in on the weather.
I was such an idiot…
The system integration aboard these boats provided unprecedented
capabilities compared to every other cutter in the fleet. It was not, however, without drawbacks. A casualty to the gyro, for instance, knocked
out our radar and charting systems. We
trained for those situations, but if time and space allowed we would anchor and
correct the root cause problem.
And a gyro casualty we did have on the way home. No big deal, we slid over to an approved
anchorage and dropped the hook. The ET
and EO were on the bridge in moments and informed me, and the Chief of Staff
mind you, that the power loss from the night before must had altered setting on
this sensitive piece of equipment and we just needed to let it spin up and find
true north again.
“Hour tops, Captain.” My ET was
outstanding and if that is what she said, it was good enough for me.
The XO called the cooks and we had lunch while everyone could enjoy
it. All told a two hour delay—not that
bad. The Fifth still called.
Hour later and we weighed anchor on the way home. We were maybe halfway out of Buzz Bay. This far south and the winds had picked up
slightly out of the west-northwest. I
was a little surprised—the forecast predicted light and variable winds. These were steady about 20 knots…not a
problem for WILLOW at all.
Again…yes…idiot.
Maybe 30 minutes after we resumed course the same issue, this time the
winds had increased to just shy of gale force.
I asked OPS to find a lee on one of the many island along the south side
of the bay. We found a nice spot 250-300
yards offshore the wind pushing back into good water if anything happened to
the anchor and we were not underway.
Slightly more risk than last time but overall I this would barely rise
to the level of worry—even with Captain Campbell aboard.
We made our approached dropped the hook and set out three shots…then it got
weird. The BM2 and his crew were on the
foc’scle making the anchor ready for letting go.
“Bridge, foc’sle. Can you see that.”
BM2 was pointing maybe 045 relative. I
grabbed a pair of glasses and looked that way.
I had no need for the binos. This
was a first. A distinct wall of white,
whipped water and what looked like debris was heading our way. This wind seemed super concentrated and
strong. Well more than gales…50 knots
plus would be my guess. And coming right
at us.
“Boats, keep your guys up there but hang on and get the port anchor ready.”
“Ahead of you sir, we are ready. Can
you pipe the First Lieutenant, BM1, and BM3 to the foc’sle”
“Roger that.” Before I could turn
around OPS made the pipe for reinforcements to make their way out to help their
shipmates.
The wall hit us maybe 90 seconds later and it HIT us. The crew ducked down and held on.
A shot is 90 feet of chain and the weight of the chain is really what kept
and anchored ship stationary. We had
nine shots of chain. In rough weather a
ship would pay out more chain to get more weight on the bottom and keep the
ship steady.
We had not secured the main engines yet but had already shifted to the
anchor watch. XO re-set the special sea
detail to let the crew know we were in some danger. OPS took the deck and the conn and called the
engine room to ensure the mains were ready to respond.
“Boats, pay out three more shots.”
Six shots on the anchor should do it.
We were in sustained 50 knots of wind.
The big problem was the direction.
The shift was huge and now it was blowing us ashore. If this didn’t work we would run aground.
BM1 used hand signals to indicate six shots out. XO was watching the radar (one break…the gyro
had reset on its own so our navigational systems were in working order).
“Cap, she’s not holding.”
“Eight shots Boats”
“Cap, still sliding back.”
“OPS, you are going to have to drive up on the chain.”
This was the last thing we could do…use the engines to gain some ground
against the wind. The chain would merely
slow us down and give us time but it could stop the ship in this wind. Which was now sustain over 75 knots…we were
into hurricane force.
While we were trying secure out position we started to hear radio calls
from all over this part of New England, fisherman, pleasure craft and Coast
Guard cutters. Frantic calls asking what
was going on? How did this happen? Safe havens?
No may-days. It wouldn’t have mattered for us, in these conditions we
couldn’t recover our anchor. We were
here for the duration with our ass end facing the beach and the superstructure
acting as a sail in hurricane force winds blowing us back.
“Captain” I motioned for Captain Campbell to the aft part of the
bridge. “Any other ideas sir?” I wasn’t a fool—he was the most experienced
sailor aboard. We had not been able to
let go the second anchor.
“Jeff, you and your crew have done everything they can. I am going to the Wardroom…they have done a
great job.”
“Thanks, sir.”
I knew why he went below. With him
on the bridge the crew was a bit on edge.
When he left he was telling everyone that he trusted then. That was a great leadership move.
We fought the wind for more than two hours.
OPS and XO took turns on the Conn…the whole time the beach loomed as a
reminder of the stakes. At one point
winds speeds reached 98 knots (almost 113 miles per hour, Class 3
hurricane). As quickly as it hit us, it
stopped. Never seen anything like
it. It made the news as a rogue weather
event. Rogue or not, it was the highest
wind speed I have encountered in 9 years at sea.
And like that…it was done, we were headed home, none worse for wear.
That
martini was going to be a double…
