200 Miles
~Or~
There and Back Again
My watch was coming to an
end…midnight couldn’t get here fast enough.
The weather just south of Oahu was reasonably calm. The big mountains created quite the lee. ASSATEAGUE was finishing her patrol with a
BARPAT from Barbers Point to just west of Pearl Harbor. I admit, we were stalling—the week had been
productive, a couple of good boardings, some needed training—we were still the
B2 [rapid response] boat but I was looking forward to the end of the trip. Our boarding teams were still thin; I was one
of only two boarding offers and I went on every boarding, add to it a one in
three watch rotation (I was on the 8-12s) and having to coordinate all the
training. I was wiped. I looked forward to hitting the rack and
getting some sleep. We would be pulling
into Hono around 8 am.
The GM2 ambled his way to the
bridge about quarter past 11.
“Evening XO.”
Tracy was a former SEAL with a bad
knee - a top performer and a true leader.
It was unusual for a gunner’s mate to qualify as an underway OOD, but
Tracy was one of the best.
“Hey Guns, how was the movie.”
“Tombstone.” It was an ASSATEAGUE regular in
rotation. I laughed a bit—Tracy was not
a big fan.
“What do ya got sir?”
“Pretty quiet. BARPAT 090/270 a pretty good run. Just a
couple of contacts tonight but nothing too close. I haven’t even been on the radio. I got a grease plot started on a couple of
contacts but they shouldn’t be a problem at all.”
Tracy buried his head in the shield
over the radar. I saw him take a grease
pencil and he was begging a plot of his own.
“Comm shift went in for the morning
and the LOGREQ as well. Nothing out of
the ordinary in the CO’s Night Orders.”
“Aye. I’m going to swing around the deck and be up
in a few.”
“Roger that.”
I made my way to the flying bridge
to gulp a good lung full of tropical air.
A little puff of a breeze hinted at what was to come.
I met Tracy on the bridge.
“XO, I relieve you.”
“I stand relieved.”
“On the bridge, this the Gunner’s
Mate, I have the deck and the conn.”
“Aye.” In unison.
I went to the chart table and read
over the logs, inspection sheet, and weather sheet. I checked the radio log and the machinery
closure log and added my signature.
“Guns, see you in the morning.”
I was such an idiot…
I made my way to the mess deck;
everything looked secure. Off to my
stateroom.
I crawled in the rack, set my watch
alarm, and pulled the wool blanket up around my shoulders.
What seemed like…FIVE
MINUTES!! Because it was…the main diesel
engines wound up, and up, and up. I
could feel the cutter come to the left—heading south and the engines continued
to whine and ramp up their rpms.
Shit. This wasn’t good.
I cranked the sound powered phone.
“Bridge, Guns.”
“Guns it’s XO. What happened?” I mean I wasn’t off the bridge 15 minutes and
we changed course and are going about top speed.
“Sir, about 30 seconds after you
left the bridge Group called on VHF for the District. A fishing vessel sunk about 200 miles southwest
of our position. C-130 overhead with
comms. We have been diverted to bring
them home. Captain is on the bridge.”
“Roger that Guns. Can you tell the Captain I’ll be up there in
10 minutes…I gotta grab a shower to wake up.”
“Aye, he figured that was you. He said take your time…we are a good 10 hours
out.”
Damn. Well if you are going to be diverted this is
the reason to do it.
Nine minutes later I made my way to
the bridge.
“Captain.” I rendered a salute.
“XO. Good morning.”
“I guess it is. What’s the situation, sir?”
“Looks like a fishing boat hit a
submerged object. Whale maybe? They holed the hull at the keel and
flooded. They were able to get a couple
of HF radio calls out and flipped on their EPIRB. The District launched the ready C-130 and
they found them and dropped a radio. The
five crewmen are in something that looks like an RHI so not a life raft. C-130 was also able to drop a relief pack
with food and water. That bird has a few
more hours left on scene. The AIRSTA is
launching another C-130 to stay overhead until we get there. Our ETA is 1030 tomorrow morning…timing isn’t
great—the C-130 will be about at Bingo then so we need to make best speed.”
“Roger that sir. Reveille then at normal time? I’ll swing by the mess deck and let anyone
know who is up what’s going on. Are you
going to hit the rack?”
“Yeah, nothing else we can do
tonight.”
“Copy that sir. Permission to lay below.” I saluted and
waited for a return.
Which the CO quickly did. “Lay
below.”
As expected pretty much the whole
crew was on the mess deck. I gave them
the details. There were few questions
but with their curiosity sated they made their way back to their berthing
areas. Our cook was on leave but an FS
from the Group volunteered to make the trip with us. He had been a little green about the gills
the whole trip. This was not going to be
easy.
“Cookie, how you doing?”
“Best I can XO…still not feeling
great.”
“Do what you can in the
morning. We will be busy probably
through lunch and will have five extra people aboard. You can feed them first. I bet they will be starving and thirsty—give
anything they want.”
“Sounds good sir.”
He opened the QAWTD to engine room
and headed aft.
I retired to my stateroom waiting
for whatever the day will bring.
Right away I was concerned. This was an unexpected turn for the much
worse. I got the department heads
together on the mess deck to figure out a way out of the mess (yeah…it was
messy for sure.) Overnight as we got
further away from Oahu and more the west the winds picked. They were coming out of the north so the ride
wasn’t bad for now. But the problem…the
problem…
Was our cook.
He never made it up for
breakfast…not a tragedy—the crew was pretty self-sufficient. The BM1 went back to find him and he had
thrown up on himself in his rack and was violently seasick. Yep…our cook was out of commission. Not the worst—our EM1 was the best cook
aboard but I was concerned about our volunteer’s health. He hadn’t eaten much this trip at all and
whatever he did was now…well…everywhere.
We cleaned his rack and him as best as possible and put him on his right
side.
I didn’t have time to fix this—but
when we turned around our 10 hour transit was going to be closer to a 20 hour trip
beating against the seas the entire time.
Island Class boats were amazing cutters but they pitched horribly and
that is what we would be doing the entire ride home. Maybe 30 miles south, once underneath the lee
of the island might slacked….but a good 170 miles was going to hurt all of us. And for FS3—not good.
The captain was on the bridge and
despite his assurance he was going to grab some sleep I don’t think he left the
bridge. I brought up a couple cups of
coffee to push out the sleep.
Seeing the waves was a bit worse
than not knowing. I would say a 8 to 10
footers with a good 12 to 15 rolling through once in a while. Our initial plan was to launch the boat,
rescue the crew, and pull their boat aboard.
That option was off the table. It
was too dangerous to launch.
The department heads were gathered
around the Captain’s chair.
“We might have to wait it out…give
this a chance to blow over. Awful option
but I don’t want to launch the RHI.”
The BM1 concurred with that.
I thought about this. I was still new…just a couple of weeks
aboard. I was a 24-year-old brat
compared to these guys. I found driving
the 110 an easy task. I cut my teeth on
the 180; an old barn door that challenged the best drivers going. I had approached and worked buoys in seas
almost this big on a boat that was far less maneuverable.
I knew this is why I joined the
Coast Guard…to save lives. Here was the
chance to do it but it was a risk. Risk
the crew, risk those mariners in the water.
This wasn’t arrogance, this wasn’t bravado.
“Captain, I can get them.”
It was that simple. No embellishments, just stating a fact. I was saying I was good enough a ship driver
to get these guys alongside and keep them there enough time for five of them
climb up a Jacobs Ladder.
Yeah…no pressure. No one else on ASSATEAGUE said they could do
it; someone might have thought it but I said it.
“XO, you sure?”
“I’m sure Captain. Boats, make sure your team is ready to go and
get them up as soon as you can but I’ll get them up against the hull and keep
them there.”
“Aye, sir.”
I cannot explain what this was
like. These Coast Guard salts were
looking at me and taking me at my world that I can accomplish this
mission. It was a heady feeling but
there was no time to think about it.
We were in radio contact with the
C-130…line of sight was better with them…no comms with the survivors. They had a handheld that was on Ch 16. The lookout spotted the C-130 just a minute
later. The aircraft commander said he
was doing well on fuel and would be able to stay on scene until we got lifeboat. My guess is they were close to having to turn
around but the Brown Shoes were there to do a job. There is always the angst between the Cutterman
and Aviators, but when it came down to it we would do whatever it took to save
a mariner in distress.
In the movies seeing the life boat
or the man overboard is always quick and easy.
Try it sometime and come back and tell me how easy it is. Low in the water, boats and especially
people, are next to impossible to spot.
Add the sea conditions where if you were out of step they may be in a
trough when you are on a peak and cannot sea them.
The C-130 was giving us good
direction in and in a few more minutes, through the binoculars we could make
out what looked like a while hulled boat with some heads bobbing up and
down. It was them.
“XO, see if you can raise them on
16. QM1 set the RA detail; man the boat
deck for recovery.”
As I was picking up the radio, QM1
got the crew moving. I reached the
survivors and talked to them.
“Well, we are ok. Five of us.
We are a bit beat up. You guys
got here just in time. I swear we can
see tigers swimming around.”
Tiger sharks…no idea if they are
seeing those or not but they have been 24 hours in some rough seas exposed to
the elements. I am sure they just wanted
to get on a vessel. I described what we
were going to attempt and asked if any of them would have prelims climbing up
the ladder. If they said yes we honestly
did not have a backup plan.
“No, we should be good. A little long in the tooth but trust me, if
it means getting off of this we will jump up.”
We were getting close. QM1 relieved me of the deck and I retained
the conn and manned the flying bridge.
To drive like this you had to be in the elements. I got the all ready call from BM1. His crew was on the deck with heaving lines
it we needed to send them over to get them along the hull. The ready med pack was there.
It was up to me now. I had to do that driving thing.
BM1 and I were on Maxons…short
range radios—they were faster and clearer than the old sound powered
phone. We eliminated the middle person.
BM1 stood on the fantail with his
deck department. Their orange life vest contrasted with the dark blue
uniform. As an aside…for my entire
career and beyond Coast Guard personnel work dark blue uniforms. That was because it never looked dirty even
when the engineers finished an oil change.
The downside, and bear with me, if anyone fell overboard the dark blue
would be a fanatic camouflage for the churning ocean. Never got that. Anyway—
The deckies positioned themselves
to physically hoist the survivors—it might be painful but in a case like this
niceties fell away.
On the flying bridge we could feel
the steady northerly wind, gusting to 30 or more knots. I was judging the seas trying to come up into
them to give the crew the best ride.
It’s not advised to approach beam
too—the roll could hit someone int he water, maybe in their head. If we took the seas stern to we could pushed
to one side and before we could recover, maybe keelhaul the life raft.
Had to come up into the seas and
swells. What, you ask is the
difference? Great question. Seas are a local phenomenon driven by the
prevailing wind. Think short choppy
conditions with whitecaps. If it gets
bad enough the white on the caps is ripped off by the wind and skims along the
wave. Quite frankly it’s terrifying I
don’t mind telling you. Swells are waves
from a distance…think the swells on the North Shore of Hawaii caused by a
distant storm. They can be huge and at
times you can ride up or down the face of one.
They are waves of energy traveling through the ocean. A swell breaking over the bow—yeah, it can
break you in half.
Coming in the waves gave a cutter
the most control but that was elusive at times.
Rudders turn ships and they do with water moving over them, so when you
go into the seas you are putting more water over the rudder giving them more
bite. There is a slight issue with the
110s. While they have twin rudders, the
rudders are indeed slight. 110s were
designed to go fast and at speed large barn door rudders—the one say on buoy
tenders—would cause problems. So small
rudders, slow speed less control. 110s
do, however, have twin screw direct propulsion.
All of these factors have to go into the calculus when making an
approach to a pier so you don’t bend a stanchion for example—not that I have
done that. Approaching five souls in an
open life raft ups the ante to butterfly inducing levels.
The wind was steady at 20 knots or
so and the seas continued to build…solid 10 footers with bigger sets coming
through with more frequency. I swung the
cutter around to starboard to come up almost due north. We started the approach about 1000 yards out.
Clutch ahead on both…ahead on
starboard
Coast, wait…
“900 yards XO.” BM1 would be calling out distance. Right now I could see the life raft but when
we get close I would lose sight of them.
Clutch on port, left standard
rudder…midships…clutch on both.
Coast, wait…
Clutch on both, a 10 degrees right
rudder seems to be doing the trick. I
don’t want to build up too much speed and overshoot the boat, not enough power
and we will be station keeping.
Coast, wait…
“500 yards.”
“Aye.”
Clutch on port…I will use the
prevailing conditions to stop the boat, just have to hold this line. Approach looks good so far.
“XO, approach looks good.” The Captain confirmed what I was seeing…and I
was a little smug…yes sir.
Clutch on both and we are a hundred
yards away.
Coast, a goose ahead on both.
“50 yards XO.”
“Boats stand by, I’ll tell you when
you can start brining them on.”
Between me and the Captain we had
to judge when sets were rolling in and time a survivor coming up the ladder.
“XO, you are right there, right
alongside. Your call.”
It looked good—
“Boats bring them up…stand by for
my call if I tell you a set coming through.”
“Aye.”
Two men were already up and a third
on the way.
“Boats avast.”
A good 15 footer rolled under the
bow and when we down the backside the crew on the fantail stumbled toward the
taff rail. The next big set was just a
few away but I didn’t want to have to come around for a second pass.
“Now Boats!”
One up, and the next was up the
ladder when three sets of hands hauled him on deck. The next rouge set came through.
“Boats, have Guns get these guys
below. We’ll try to recover the boat.”
The radio barked:
“ASSATEAGUE this is Rescue 1501…we
are bingo and heading back to Barber’s Point.
Safe trip home.”
“Roger that 01, see you back
there.”
You may be asking why on earth did
you want to recover the small boat.
Great question again. If another
Coast Guard cutter or maybe merchie saw the empty boat they would report it and
a search would ensue. This wasn’t one we
would sink with gunfire so we wanted to recover it.
The boat recovery was somewhat less
successful—as in we were never able to bring aboard. The Captain stood down the op…it wasn’t worth
risking the crew for an inanimate object.
We would call the position and description into the District and they
would issue a marine broadcast.
The Captain on his way down to the
fantail:
“Great job XO!” That was the best SAR case I had a direct
hand in…it was the most surreal feeling of my young career. I was a part of this…didn’t watch, I got the
boat in position to get those five men out of harms way.
BM2 secured the fantail and I
worked with the QM3 on getting course laid out to the Honolulu Sea Buoy. It was solid 200 miles up into the seas. At best we would make 10 knots and maybe
less, it was going to be 20, 22 hours up into it…long ride home.
Once relieved I went to the mess
deck to talk to our guests.
They were sitting at the forward
table with mugs of coffee in front of them
Kimo, the EM1 had some hot food going on in the galley—a noteworthy feat
with the seas we were taking.
These five guys were wind worn,
with scruffy beards—no shoes on the lot of them and in shorts. The crew donated sock and we passed out
blankets, toothbrushes and toothpaste from our migrant supplies. We didn’t have berthing for them but I have
slept on the mess deck and its not so bad.
And compared to be shipwrecked it was a sight better.
To a man they were effusive in
praise. They swore, tiger sharks had
been casing them since they went into the drink. No food, no water, no radio, sharks on the
prowl—we were heroes, at least according to them.
I got contact info for all of them
and had the QM1 radio it in to the COMMSTA so they could have the District
notify their family. They settled in
with food, coffee and movies for the next 20 hours—not too bad a trip home.
Now gentle reader we have to
address another issue. We needed to
contact the flight surgeon back in Hawaii; we had a critical situation aboard
ASSATEAGUE and may require medical attention.
Our cook was in becoming a candidate for work record sea sickness—I have
never seen the likes of it and never would again in my career. He couldn’t keep anything down, not food,
water, Gatorade. We were worried about
severe dehydration and what that would mean.
The flight surgeon told us to continue with the Gatorade and we would
look at a medevac if we needed it.
A MEDEVAC…for a Coastie…you gotta
be kidding me..
The trip never got better until we
were 20 miles out, no MEDEVAC but…
“XO, I think we need to have an
ambulance standing by for him. He can’t
get out of the rack. We are going to
need the stokes to get him out of aft berthing.” GM2 was the backup EMT as well.
You gotta be kidding me.
“Roger that Guns, I’ll have John
call the Group and have an ambulance on the pier.” This was tough to take; we have five guys who
were in an open boat fro 24 hours who were fine but needed urgent medical
attention for a member of the crew…**heavy sigh**
The Group asked QM1 to confirm it
was not one of the survivors, which we did:
“Group, ASSATEAGUE, we have
a…a…severe case of sea sickness. The
flight surgeon said he will need intravenous fluids right away.”
I would put money on the fact they
were laughing their assess off.
“Roger that, ASSATEAGUE, see you at
the pier.”
We have maybe an hour before sea
detail. I went to the bridge to take the
deck and the conn to get us in as quick as we could. We had all the logistics ready to go; line
handers and an ambulance…that was a first (and last in my career.)
Honolulu Harbor is an easy transit
just a couple of minor course changes.
At this time the most of the major cutters were underway so the pier was
empty except for WASHINGTON at the northern end of the pier. So when we lined up for our final approach we
could easily make out the line handlers (dark blue again with the bright orange
life jackets and white hard hats), a smattering of personnel in tropical blue
long uniforms…Group CO and OPS by the look of it, the ambulance was there—big
white boxy looking truck. Through the
binoculars I could see them with equipped laid out on the gurney. And, way cool, it appeared to be a gaggle of
press including at a television van with camera.
I am not one for much publicity, I
like seeing the Coast Guard do well and this was a cool case…now, that was not
the concern. What I was not looking
forward to was five stragglers coming off the cutter and none needing an
ambulance. Of course, since they are
reporters and what something to report, they would wait to see who was in such
desperate need of medical care. And
then, then my friend…they see the near terminally sea sick Coastie carried, yes
carried, off the cutter.
Seriously, you got to be kidding
me…
He got some full airtime,
mercifully the Group OPS officer was a real pro with public affairs and she
handled the questions with aplomb. In
fairness he was part of the base galley and wasn’t really assigned to
ASSATEAGUE…but shit, that kind of hurt.
The poor kid did his best to make
it up to the cutter. For the rest of his
tour if the cook was out for a day or a week—and we were inport, he came aboard
to cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner (and on a PB the cook only had to do
lunch—open galley dontcha know). Full
disclosure…he was an awesome cook when he was upright. He was a good kid and took the ribbing with a
nod and a wink. We gave him a couple of
t-shirts and a hat. When we had the
change of command he volunteered to help our normal cook with all his duties
that day. It might have been a rough
couple of days for the kid but redeemed himself.
This was far and away the best SAR
case of my career. I had many more but I
felt I earned my stripes with this one.
We pulled those guys out of harms way and I had a hand it that. Again, there is no way I can describe how
that felt. I joined the Coast Guard
because I wanted to help people, wanted to have an impact. In fact I dropped my dream of being a doctor
because it would take to long to get that degree. While my direct involvement was never quite
the same, I am proud to say that I brought back everyone I went after. Pulled more than a fair share of boats back
to the pier and even helped get a hurt crewman on a helo after a fishing
accident.
But that, my friend, is another
story for another day…
