A trip to the Georges Bank...

The seas off New England are a fickle mistress (that sounds pretty cool and but rather unoriginal) any time of year.  In February the seas are gray to match the sky.  The wind, and there is always wind, barrels out of the Northeast and the seas build quickly.  You know it's going to be a bad day when the froth off the tips of the waves rips off and flies across the sea.  Patrol boats are great but they pitch without care or mercy and there are times when the seas are just right the boat rises up but doesn’t ride down the wave, it falls off.  When the ship hits the ocean the vibrations rattle the keel, galley, mast, and anything else onboard.  The shimmies travel from just forward of the galley to the screws.  The feeling in your stomach is the deck falling out beneath your feet as well as the stark fear of the boat breaking in half—a truly bad feeling.

GRAND ISLE was patrolling Georges Bank on a day quite like that.  We had been out three or four days with nothing to show for it, a few contact reports the first day but after that—crickets, nothing, nada, zero, zilch—I could go on but you get the pitch.  We were the B2 boat for the northern half of the district ready to respond to any search and rescue cases.  A time-honored tradition when you found yourself in molar jarring seas was to do the only thing possible…head back to homeport with your tail between the stern.  

Rides like this are physically demanding; your back and knees take a beating. They do their best to absorb the pounding but after a few days of this incessant pounding your body surrenders and loses its shock absorbing ability.  The waves go from the deck to your feet through your back and rattle your brain.  Not only does it hurt it’s exhausting to stay on your feet.  If your knees haven’t totally given up the ghost they try to sway to the rhythm of the ship—expect there is no rhythm, or pattern to figure out. Two or three minutes of getting slammed, fine off the starboard bow, then a wave hits square on and a torpedo of water shoots through the bull nose and straight streams the bridge.  If that has happened you probably buried the bow and the ships bell rung on its own from its perch on the mast.  Again, it’s a bad day all around.

We called the Group and told them we were enroute Gloucester, we would assume B2, refuel, and restock the galley.  Our plan was to give the ocean a couple of days to settled down and hit the closed areas again.

I am such an idiot.

We got back early in the morning and granted liberty shortly thereafter. The cook made a quick run to the store and the engineers had the tanks topped off in just an hour or so.

I got home and fell asleep on the couch for a couple of hours.  After a brisk workout in the gym, a good dinner and the Bruins game I hit the rack and hoped to catch up on some sleep while still on dry land.

Until…

The phone rang about midnight—I am one who can wake up quickly, I don’t like it but I am usually alert right away.

“Captain.”

I assumed if you were calling that late it wasn’t social.

“Sir its QM1 on the boat…you awake?”

That was a perfectly acceptable question…there are times when you can be so tired that you sound awake, make some decisions, and have not recollection of the conversation.  This also gave me a chance to get the cordless and head downstairs to the kitchen.

“Yeah wheels, I’m good, what do we got?”

“Fishing vessel about a 100 miles south east of Boston, disabled and adrift, four people onboard.  District is recalling us.”

“Great…any idea on the weather?”

“Gales or worse out of the northeast…we can expect 8 to 12s at least and maybe building.  Won’t calm down for 48 hours at best.”

“Great.  OK…get the recall going, if you can plot the position and get us a course.  I’ll be in soon.”

My next call was to the OPCEN.

“D1 Command Center.”

“Morning, this is LT Dow from GRAND ISLE.”

“Sir, we got a fishing boat needed to get towed off Georges Bank.”

“I heard.  Have you seen the weather out there?”

“Well…that’s kind of why we are having you get him.”

That was a good point.  I can only guess I was still tired…it was not one of my strong moments.

“Yeah.  OK…we will call the group and let them know when we are underway and we have an ETA.  Anything else to pass?”

“No sir.  That should do it.”

“Roger.  ‘Night.”

I put on my coat, grabbed my ready bag and opened the door.  It was snowing.  Hard.  

Great.

The drive for me was only 10 miles.  It was the kind of snow that was blowing into the windshield in straight rows. Hard to see and high beams made it worse.  No plows yet, no one else out this time of night in this type of weather.  I was alone.  I didn’t turn on my radio or put in a tape (no CDs, no iPods, XM just a beat up tape deck.  I was on autopilot.  I had enough of my brain engaged to get me to the boat and not much more.  I think its a defense mechanism—I didn’t want to think what this trip was going to do to the crew and ship.  These were tough…the crew knew why we came back to port and they were driving to the boat in the same storm.  Even without looking at buoy data we all knew this was going to hurt and it would be a dangerous mission.

I got there about the same time as the XO and we walked down the pier together, it was high tide and our floating pier was as high as I’d seen in it in my few months aboard.  Rob and I talked a bit and retired to our respective staterooms.  I quickly changed into my undress blue uniform and pulled on a fleece jacket.  I went below to the galley and my cook had a pot of coffee ready to go.  I poured a cup of the black into my mug and went up to the bridge.  

The QM1 had the appropriate chart for Georges Bank and the XO was checking out his tracks.

“They look good sir.  Quarters in 15 minutes on the mess deck.”

“Aye.”

For the next fourteen minutes I sat in my chair and listened to the NOAA weather broadcast.  It was like a NASCAR car wreck…it was awful but I couldn’t pull myself away.  Every forecast for every area for every time frame was the same.  They could have said: “if you are out in the weather, you are in the shit, good luck.” That was pretty much what they said.

The coffee helped some.

Not much.

But some.

QM1 piped first call to Quarters and I slipped off the chair and made my way back down to the galley.  Refilled the black and stood next to the XO in front of the TV.  The crew all made it in less than 45 minutes.  We would be underway about 70 minutes after the initial alert.  Pretty good…a good, no a great crew.

XO gave the update on the boat and location.  I told them the weather was expected to be tough during the whole case. BM1 admonished the crew to secure for sea one more time.  

“Mooring stations in ten minutes.”

The station sent two of their watch standers to handle lines for us.  They wouldn’t even look us in the eye.  Like we had smallpox…they didn’t want to catch what we had and have to go on this trip.  They knew what was waiting for us and throwing off our lines was bad enough. 

Great.  Thanks.

We got underway from the flying bridge but quickly shifted to the bridge to get out of the snow—it was marginally easier to see without the snow careening into our eyes.  It doesn’t take long to get out of Gloucester Harbor and into open ocean—a major strength of our homeport.  We came up to clutch ahead and headed toward the fishing vessel Alamorosa.  We left a little after 1 am and it took us almost 15 hours to get on scene.  They had a working radio and good comms with the group so we were getting position updates every half hour.  We would be getting there just about sunset.  The water shipping over the gunwales was freezing on the deck in minutes; covering all the horizontals in black ice.  The best tread boots didn’t stand a chance on that deck.  Having to set up a tow was moving from dangerous to deadly.  We secured the weather decks and for now didn’t allow the EOW to make topside rounds. The smoking lamp was only good on the flying bridge.  About six hours in we slowed down to clutch on both and the MK1 did a round of the boat while BM1 and BM2 checked the small boat, gun, and other deck gear.  Once they finished their round we brought speed back up.  

I asked the department heads to meet me on the bridge about 1500.  Along with the XO we tried to map out a game plan. Setting up a tow was an all hands evolution and I had concerns about having the whole crew on the pitch deck covered in the dark ice.  We talked about someone falling overboard.  To a man they weren’t sure if we could get around fast enough to save them based on the water temperature.  And that was without a tow.  If someone went over while we were setting up or had them on an 1100 foot leash they would most likely die of exposure unless they were in a gumbo suit…and as you know, we couldn’t have them in one of those and still work on the deck.

I asked them to think about any options we had, everything was on the table. My last case scenario was to set the tow detail.  

When we got close enough we took over the radio guard from the Group.  I asked a couple of question of the master and knew right away we going to have problems.  Portuguese fisherman migrated to New Bedford— a lot of them still spoke that as a first language.  And this fishing boat captain was one of them.

I asked the watch stander to find MK1 Paul Barosso.  He was Portuguese and could speak it a little and understood it even better.  He was a great boarding officer and good on the radio.  

Minutes later…

“Cap, request permission to come on the bridge?”

Chief was already up there and Paul joined us by the chart table.

“Paul, think you can talk to this guy?”

“I can give it a try sir.”

After 20, maybe 30 minutes Paul gave us a rundown.  They had a significant leak on a fuel line and they were worried about how much was in the bilge and how much might spray on the engine. Earlier we talked about launching the boat to send someone over to look at the main.  It was a good idea but in these seas it was impossible.  I didn’t want to do it, but it looked like we were going to have to tow this guy back to Boston.

Until…

“Cap…Chief…is there some way we can get them a synthapatch?”

Intriguing question.  This was a fiberglass based patch that harder over a metal pipe.  It wasn’t meant for long-term use but if we could get a package, or two to them…just maybe.

“Cap, if we get it to them I’m pretty sure I could take them through how to apply it.”

“Paul, you’re my hero.  Boats…how many people would you want on deck to use a heaving line and send over a patch.”

“No problem sir.  Paul, you mind making the toss?”  Paul was the best aboard.

“No problem, Dan.”

“Cap, I would need Paul, BM2, and me…keep it to us.  Have the rest of the deck department dressed out not he mess deck standing by if we need them.  Yeah, we can do this.”

“Great plan.  Paul, give them a call and tell them what we want to do.  Boats, get your guys ready and give them a mason.  Chief, you want to take charge of the mess deck?”

“Aye Captain.”

“XO, Wheels, you guys got the bridge.  Let’s see if we can get this going.”

This was a solid plan…I was more comfortable with three people on deck than the whole crew.  It was up to Paul to get the information conveyed to the crew.  He spent about 15 minutes on the VHF.

“Cap, they are good with the plan and asked if I can talk them through it. I told them that was what we panned. They asked once they were done with the repairs would we stand by.  I told them we would escort them back to port but wasn’t sure where.”

“Great job Paul, let them know we will get them to just outside of Boston and then another Coast Guard unit will escort them to the pier.”

“Roger that sir.”

I left Paul on the bridge and went down to the mess deck to talk to the BM1. 

“Boats, we’ll get you close its up to you to tell Paul when to throw.  Don’t fall overbord.”

“Not planning on Cap.”

“All right, about 20 minutes and we will pipe you guys to the fantail.”

By the time I got to the bridge Paul was off the radio and on his way to dress out in a mustang.  Mustang suit provided some protection from the cold and floatation.  The bright orange contrasted with the black ice and made the crew pop off the deck—that’s what they were for.  

“Throw detail to the fantail.”

I was on the flying bridge again with Rob. He was going to make the same approach as a tow, come down on the ship swing over hard and give Paul a broad target.  The end of the heaving line was ties to a bad with the patch great wrapped in heavy duty plastic.  

Rob’s approach was flawless and pulled us close…maybe too close!

I had given the BM1 the authority to throw when ready.  And from the flying bridge we could see the deep red monkey fist knot scream out from the starboard side and the white line go taught and land across there deck.  They crew on the fishing boat quickly grabbed the line and pulled across the bag.

Rob pushed the throttles forward and put the rudder over full to open the distance between the two heaving ships.  We got off their quarter and Rob did his best to maintain station—that is a hard task in seas like this.  The waves and wind pounded GRAND ISLE.  

Paul doffed his mustang and made his way to the bridge.

“Nice toss Paul!”

“Thanks sir…its cold!!”

It was and I was grateful that my three guys were aboard and safe—the weather was vicious and unrelating with the wind and spray pelting the boat.  When a wave broke over the boat the drops of water crashed into the hull and it sounded like someone poured a bucket of nuts and bolts on the deck.  Eerie when you think that is just water. 

And frightening.

We weren’t done yet.

Paul spent another 15 minutes on the radio and told them how this would work. He thought it would only take them a few minutes to make the repairs.  They knew were the leak was; what would take some time was the dry time of the fiberglass.  About an hour or so of being on station.

And as always in the Coast Guard…waiting…and pounding

Pounding…and waiting

Hour goes by and the Paul and the Chief are on the bridge when Alamorosa lit of her engine.  We waited…this was awful…we were taking a risk…a fire on that boat would be a disaster.

The master came over the radio and said the leak was just a drop every few minutes.  He was going to bring the main ahead and see what kind of speed they could make.

It took a half an hour but they managed to make four knots.  That may not sound like much but we would take it.  It was faster than a tow.  The master came on and said the drops were a little faster but he thought it was safe.  We gave him a course to steer that would take us back to Boston.  One hundred miles to the buoy, four knots…24 hour steam.  Long time in these seas with a fuel leak.  The closer we got the better the weather should get and if we had to take them in tow we could.  

Problem though…Island Class Patrol boats are made for speed.  GRAND ISLE was a C class boat…and though it had a slow drive it wasn’t effective in these conditions.  Our slow speed was nine knots…twice as fast as the fishing boat. What we did—took position behind the boat and zig zagged…for a hundred miles.  

It was a long and stressful trip.  We kept comms with them every 15 minutes…got a gauge of the drip and it stayed manageable.  We called in the details to the Group and asked them to arrange the Station to meet the boat inside the harbor.

We escorted our wounded bird in handed them off to the small boat and made out way home.

Good case and good example of using all our options and getting ideas from all our crew.  A lesson that I hope stuck with for the rest of my career—both in and out of the Coast Guard.

Post Script (ok…not really a post script because I knew I was going to write it but it sounds cool)

About three or four months after this case I found myself down at the base doing a bit of a meet and greet…had a meeting with my boss, the group engineer, saw a few friend.  I would make the trip down from Gloucester every month of so.  I made my way to the command center to talk to the watch standers I normally only talk to on the radio.

They were in the middle of a case.  They had a patrol boat enroute to a disabled and adrift fishing vessel out on Georges Bank.  Turns out they had a mechanical failure.  I don’t think too much of it until the Group OOD got not he radio:

“Fishing Vessel Alamorosa we have a cutter enroute you position.”

You gotta be shitting me…. 

The people factor in nation’s immigration crisis - Guest column in WCF Courier 7/8

https://wcfcourier.com/opinion/columnists/guest_columnists/the-people-factor-in-nation-s-immigration-crisis/article_285edcb4-8925-5034-bddb-eaddade1ae94.html

I am a former Coast Guard officer with direct experience in AMIO (Alien Migration Interdiction Operations).  I would argue the use of that acronym endeavors to remove the human element from the mission, of both the migrants and those Coast Guard personnel tasked with enforcing the laws.  Political pundits compare the current situation on the border as an immigrant invasion while others reference the Nuremburg Trials for those in law enforcement. Which is right? Both, neither, in between?  Everyone has the responsibility to decide on their own; this is my story.

December 1991, most people will not remember a mass migration of Haitians attempting to enter the United States.  I was a 22-year-old ensign on my first tour of duty with aspirations of my own future command.  I was a deck watch officer on a Word War II era buoy tender out of Mayport, FL.  The ship was returning to homeport when the Coast Guard diverted us to Guantanamo Bay to assist with this looming humanitarian disaster. 

Thousands of Haitians were struggling to make their way to Florida on anything that would float.  Overloaded vessels of all types were interdicted at sea every day and quickly overwhelmed the Coast Guard resources on scene.  The ship I was assigned to had the dubious mission of relieving a larger ship of the migrants on their deck so they could resume AMIO.  

What do you know of Haiti?  Of Haitians? I thought I knew it all.  They were clearly lazy since they couldn’t fix their own country.  They were illiterate and dirty…just look at any picture of Port-au-Prince.  This was a ridiculous mission – they should just be stopped at sea and turned around.  So were the musings of a know-it-all 22-year-old ensign.

I saw 183 people come aboard our ship, all from the same town, all on one sailboat; fleeing that country’s economic plight.  Children and parents, the elderly, and one woman who was 9 months pregnant.  These people boarded a leaky sailboat, risked their lives, to try to come to the United States.  Ask yourself why.

Once aboard they requested paper and pens and they created their own system to guarantee everyone received a meal.  They set aside time twice a day to clean up the deck.  They held reading classes for the children using books they had with them. They appointed a spokesperson to ensure strong lines of communication between their community and the crew. When several of the teenaged kids became rowdy, loud, and angry, they disciplined the boys and girls long before the crew could react.

They were people. Not migrants, not Haitians, just people trying to make a better life for themselves in the United States.  The mirror I had to place in front of me was a difficult image to reconcile.  Not only was I wrong, but I was bigoted in ways I never suspected, a hard lesson at 22. The migrants at the border, they are people with families trying to better their lot in life.

Prior to the migrants coming aboard, the crew created showers on the deck; loaded hundreds of pounds of supplies, toys, games, food, clothes; scrubbed the deck on hands and knees with bleach; and procured yards of canvas to create canopies to keep the deck shaded. After returning to port, crew members scattered across the Navy Base in a M.A.S.H.-like fashion to procure additional supplies including diapers, baby food, and Enfamil.

The crew wanted to do their job thoroughly and humanely.  The mission became the people in our care; our responsibility was their safety and security in a demanding situation.  The conditions were not ideal but the crew worked hard, like they did on all missions, like the agents at the border. 

This is the time to put aside partisan politics and sound-bite governance.  It is time to work on policy.  This is a complicated subject that will take people focused on this issue, not cable news talking heads telling you how to think.

You gotta be kidding me...

On patrol in the vicinity of Fisheries Closed Area I…a large portion of the North Atlantic southeast of Cape Cod.  The New England fishery had come close to collapsing; in order to keep some of the cod “classes” viable, the National Marine Fisheries Service (NMFS) closed vast areas to fishing.  It was the Coast Guard’s job to enforce those regulations.  There were rules on when they could fish, where they could fish, how they could fish, and what they could fish.  On top of that there are reams of safety regulations that the Coast Guard inspects as well.  Legally, the Coast Guard could board any U.S. flagged vessel to conduct a safety inspection. 

My sympathies were with the fisherman—this was an industry that stretched back to the late 1600, long before there was a United States.  Most of the fisherman were trying to make payments on their boats and their homes, keep food on plates, and kids with clothes.  There was an element of greed that caused the crisis—too many boats taking too big a catch.  Regulations limited the number of days a boat could fish, so when they did make it underway they had to maximize their catch.  In rough weather, at night, it didn’t matter.

In this scenario, insert the Coast Guard.  The Coast Guard executes policy, enforces laws and regulations.  They do not make those polices.  Most fisherman just wanted to fish and be left alone—they were not dirty boats.  The tolerated, at best, Coast Guard presence but understood what the roles had to be. 

Patrolling the closed areas offered multiple options.  Fishing vessels knew we were there and we had aircraft support.  Boats were never in the middle of the closed area, but on the edges trying to duck in there whenever they could.  A cutter may use overt tactics and patrol the border in plain site; they may run with darken ship, duck in deep and pounce on boats if they had radar contact information.  I favored getting close enough to the line at night and use radar.  I didn’t favor Dog Zebra running (turning off all running lights) …if a fisherman had a contact but no lights they would know it was the Coast Guard.  We may employ deceptive lighting and slow our speed over ground to not appear as a law enforcement vessel. 

On this night, we had intel from aircraft out of CGAS Cape Cod of a collection of boats in the northeast corner of the Closed Area.   In this case, we slow steamed through the middle of the area; we thought the fishing fleet would not expect a Coast Guard cutter to be coming from the center.

We had a vessel plotted about a half a mile inside the boundary line maneuvering slowly and in many different directions; typical of what fishing looks like on radar.  This contact was going further inside the area as well, NMFS would allow a boat some leeway if they dipped in and came back out; a warning or a small fine, but this incursion was more significant.  We had started a paper plot with matching log entries for a potential case package.  They appeared to be deliberately fishing in the closed area. 

It was about 4 am…I had been on the bridge since around 2 as we slow steamed and gathered intel.  The XO was already up and we were talking about what to do.  We had the BM1 go around and wake up the crew.  We were going to have the smallboat at the hip (hanging right at the rail, read to launch) and the team dressed out in a few minutes.  We would steam close and have the small boat following astern ready to make their approach as we did the pre-boarding radio calls.  It was a typical sized fishing vessel so we expected a crew of 5 or 6 so we would use our standard 6 person force lay down.  Two boat crewman and four boarding personnel. BM1 would be the lead BO—he came to GRABD ISLE with little cutter time but he was a top small boat coxswain and the most LE experience aboard. 

We made out calls to the boat they had 5 POB and were out of New Bedford—not a good sign.  Those could be rough boats.  We informed them that we were sending over a boarding team and they requested a delay so they could get the decks cleared.  We informed them the team would be alongside in less than five minutes and they should be prepared.  They knew it was going to be a bad day—no doubt they were aware of where they were fishing.  I hoped to get aboard them before they could alter any equipment or charts.  BM1 would immediacy take the vessel’s master to the bridge.

Like all boardings, when you are on the cutter it is a slog.  Waiting to hear from you deployed crew, responding to questions from CTU (the underway cutter in overall command) or the District via one of the Groups.  You had to keep the small boat running, decide if it was safe to bring them to the hip—I didn’t like having my boarding team that exposed if the boarding turned south. 

BM1 radioed back with his initial findings.  He had taken the waypoints from their GPS and they had put a trashcan over their VMS to hide their location (VMS was an electronic way to monitor boats…using a trash can was a way to mask them).  He also gave us the biographical details from the crew.  He recommended that we seize the boat and catch and escort them back to port.  That was standard procedure if there was a significant violation.  He said the master was getting angry and uncooperative.  He requested permission to put him in cuffs and detain him.  I told him to do what he needs to do to be safe and I would pass along this information to CTU.  He also said the team was going through with the safety boarding and the boat was a mess. 

There is a difference between detaining someone and arresting them.  We could detain for crew safety and as long as the Boarding Officer could articulate that threat.  Arresting someone triggered timelines for getting in front of a federal magistrate.  We only would arrest an individual in an extreme case. 

We contacted CTU…a 270 out of Boston and let them know what we wanted to do.  They immediately gave my boarding the authority team to arrest the master and any of the crew they deemed necessary (that was quick!! And it made me feel like we had some significant support from our fellow cuttermen ).  To conduct a seizure needed permission of the District Commander and it would take time to get those relays setup and then there would be consultation with legal.  It was about 630 in the morning, we could be here for the long haul. 

I called the BM1 and gave him the background.  He said at this point the master was back on the bridge but still steamed.  It was information like this that you would use in the calculus about the small boat. Its demanding on the small boat crew to stall alongside a F/V but I wanted the option to evac the boarding team without delay.  BM1 passed the first safety violations…7 so far.  More than five was considered a major violation.  They failed the big four: life raft, life jackets, fire suppression, and EPIRB-that alone was cause for terminating the fishing trip.  This was going to be a colossal fine for both the master and owner of the boat.   

As we passed the safety violations to CTU they reported that the crew had no warrants out on them.  A minor victory at this point.  We were going to have to keep the team on the boat while the district made its decision.  Normally we allow a fishing boat to continue with operations but in this case they were in the closed area.  Tensions were building on the F/V, BM1’s voice comms were clipped and he sounded agitated.  It was part of the job. 

BM1 called back another 8…EIGHT!!!! Violations.  I had never had a boarding with 7 safety issues…15 was unheard of—and unsafe.  We passed those along to CTU and then the waiting game.

9 am turned to 10 and then later.  BM1 called back often saying the master was ready to head in.  I told him that at this point he needed to maintain station.  That command, technically was detaining the vessel and I wasn’t sure I had the authority to do that—but being a CO was about weighing options and making the best decision possible with the given facts

Finally, CTU came back to tell us to seize the catch and terminate the voyage.  I had the small boat close to the fishing vessel when the BM1 told the master. GRAND ISLE would escort them into New Bedford.  It was going to be a 12-hour steam so NMFS would meet the boat at the pier at 6 am the next day.  We would keep our team aboard until they hit the pier and then have two people up all night keeping watch.

Predictably the master was furious.  He started raving and threatening the crew.  The BM1 told him to calm down or be placed in cuffs, then he would arrest him and explained it would be a federal offense.  No one wanted a part of the feds so he shut up.  What he didn’t do however, was stow his catch.  In situations like this the catch would be sold at market value and the money placed in escrow until the case was settled, if they were cleared, the money was released to the owner, otherwise it was a penalty levied on the fishing boat.  By not putting the catch on ice he was flipping the bird to NMFS.  He must have figured he was caught red handed and “fuck you” NMFS. 

It was noon, I had been up for 10 hours and most of the crew up for 8…it was a long ride back through some tight passes.  Making our way through the channels, staying on the quarter of a fishing boat at clutch speed, close to shoal.  We were already short-handed with the four on the fishing vessel.  The small boat was at the hip and the crew ready to deploy if it got tight on the F/V.

Unfortunately, as the sun set we were getting into thick fog at the most dangerous time of the trip.  The BM1 was on the bridge and asked if he could take over and drive the boat.  I know he was kidding, but only half so.  If we did that we would assume responsibility for the ship and if something happened the Coast Guard would have pay.  I told him no but he needed to be safe.  The master of the vessel choose to cut between two small islands that I wouldn’t take GI.  I told the BM1 we would go around the long way but pick up speed.  The small boat station in Cape Cod was standing by on the radio and said they could launch a team if we needed assistance.  That is always a comfort—being in the Coast Guard was just a small brotherhood…or sisterhood. 

The fishing vessel moored in New Bedford about 10 minutes before we did and one of our guys was standing on the pier to handle our lines.  We moored and by the time we go the boat locked down it was almost 2 am…a 24-hour stint not he bridge…and we were looking at about four hours of sleep before the boat had to get up and head to the fish market.  When NMFS was there we would transfer custody and we could head home. 

New Bedford is a tough port and we did not frequent that town for port calls. The MKC volunteered to take the first watch on the bridge in addition the normal watchstander.  He laid out a firefighting line (a hose) and charged it in case we needed to encourage the locals to stay away.

I hit the rack and was out in about a minute.  Five A.M. came fast and I went to the bridge.  Chief was still up there—he was exhausted.  I asked why he didn’t hit the rack.  He said the yokels from the fishing boat came back about three, liquored up, with rocks in their hands and were about to pelt GI with their projectiles.  Chief was the best and talked them out if it.  He said they could throw the rocks but if they did – he’d he pelt them with 250 gpm straight steam, he would arrest them all and handcuff them to our fantail until the mooring when he would turn them over to the sheriff.  He was bluffing…maybe bluffing…

They cooled their heads a bit but he said he wanted to stay up until they passed out.  He requested permission to lay below and catch some Zs.

BM1 and his team met me on the bridge.  All we had to do was get them to the fish pier and we would pick them up with the small boat and be on our way.  It was a good plan.

I am such an idiot…

Reveille came early, but it was the best short night sleep.  In a couple hours, we would be done with this jackass.  I made my way to the mess deck ready to pour that first cup of coffee.  The cook had the pot fresh and a mug laid out ready for the black gold.  He was in the galley and the clank of pans and the sizzle of grill made its way to the mess deck.

“Cap, morning sir…usual?”

“Please.”  Over easy and bacon…I didn’t eat much yesterday between the boarding and the difficult transit into New Bedford.

I suspect the FS2 knew what I wanted, as I sat down he slid a plate across to me.

“You are nothing short of awesome, Jason!”

I grabbed silverware and sidled back to my seat, the sound powered phone growled and the EOW picked it up.

“Cap, it’s the bridge.”

I am typically a pessimist—still am—but exhaustion prevented that defense mechanism from engaging and I answered the phone with only the thought of getting back to my breakfast.  It was probably just someone asking when we were getting underway.  It had slipped my mind—ok mind whole mind slipped—that the BM1 and one of the boarding team were on the fishing boat.

“Captain, its XO on the bridge.  I think you need to come to the bridge.”

“What’s up X?”

“They ran aground.”

“Who ran aground?”  I am such an idiot.

The fishing boat with the boarding team.

For the love of Pete…who is Pete by the way?

“Roger”.  I was too tired for more.  This guy was a monstrous pain in the ass.

On the bridge, the XO was talking to BM1 on the VHF

“—Ran aground but they have slipped off the bottom.  They have damaged the screw and the rudder.  They are saying I told them where to go.”

That was a total crock.  BM1 was smart and if he hadn’t taken over the previous night in no vis then he wasn’t going to do it now.  The marine investigator barley contained a laugh when the master leveled the charge.  He was the only one on the bridge that had that story where the BM1 had a witness, procedure, documentation, and there was the matter of 15 safety violation and a major fish seizure.  But it added to the bullshit of the case.  As just noted…the Marine Safety Office would have to be involved.

As soon as he set down the radio, XO picked up the cell phone and was calling the Coast Guard…the local Marine Safety Detachment.

We had bigger problems.  I had a team on a vessel disabled and adrift in a harbor.  It could run hard around and hole it’s fuel tank causing an environmental disaster and necessitating a response.  Possibly collide with another vessel or allied with a structure.  Island Class Patrol boats are one of the best all time designs in Coast Guard history…speed, endurance, armed to the teeth, the can tow with the best them…astern.  Doing anything alongside was almost impossible.  The narrow-hulled ships are equipped with stabilization fins about midship that help with rolling.  Taking this jolly jack alongside could damage that equipment.  Another trade off to speed and endurance was hull thickness.  The steel was 3/16^th of an inch thick, placing a 60-ton fishing vessel along that hull with the fins was a prohibitive strategy. 

Of course, you are saying to yourself: “Well, just have them drop the anchor”.  Normally I would praise such insight and act quickly upon that suggestion.  The anchor, however, was one of the 15 safety violations—as in they didn’t have an anchor.  The master clearly thought he would never deploy such a waste of space.  Fishing boats don’t ever anchor…they are fishing or the heading to the pier.  Unless of course you have grounded and have problems with your screws preventing propulsion in a crowded harbor…cases like that - the anchor would be useful.

GRAND ISLE’s small boat was at the ready by the fishing boat with our BM2 as coxswain.  GRAND 1 might be able to help a small sailboat but not much more.  Our next call was to Station Woods Hole.  At top speed, they could probably be here in 30 minutes.  Top speed, however, would be challenging; the fog from the previous day had not lifted and if anything intensified overnight.  We called anyway.

XO was on the radio with the Station OOD who predictably said getting a small boat to our location would be problematic due to the fog but they would launch; ETA was close to two hours.  They did offer a bit of advice.

“GRAND ISLE, have the fishing vessel deploy their anchor.”  Normally I would be pissed at being assumed such a moron but all is forgiven when you are sleep deprived.

“Station, GRAND ISLE.  The fishing vessel is not equipped with an anchor.:”

An unusually long silence on the radio aw we awaited a response. 

“Roger that GI.  We will see how soon we can get the 41 to your location.”

“Appreciate the help.  We will be standing by 2-2.”

Great.

With limited options, I did what any sane CO would do…and swore a lot.  The FS2 sensing the delicate nature of my psyche reached up from the radio room with my travel mug of coffee.  God Bless him.

I laughed a bit: “Thanks Jason.”

XO and I were talking when the BM1 came over the radio

“GRAND ISLE this is BM1, is the Captain on the bridge?”

“Go ahead Boats.”

“Sir, we are about lined up with the fish house.  If GRAND 1 can get over to our port side I think they might be able to get some momentum going and guide us the pier.  If you can get a person on the pier we might be able to get them tied up.  You can call the MSO and have these guys gift wrapped.”

“Do you think the RHI can take it?”

“I do…then can nudge up to us and gun it…I think they can even get a little bit of a head start to get the momentum build up.  We might hit a little hard but not too bad.”

“Boats, you are a genius.  GRAND 1 did you hear that?”

“Roget that, Cap. It’s the best plan we can come up with.  Permission to drop off Shane to handle lines?”

“Granted and good luck.”  We were using coded radio on channel 23 so the Station couldn’t hear us…I’m not sure I wanted them to hear that plan anyways.

“XO, can you give the Station a call and tell them we might have a local solution to the problem and to hold on launching their boat.”

“Already have the QM1 calling them on the cell phone.”

“Roger.”

XO, Chief, and I are on the flying bridge with binoculars in hand trying to gauge movement on the fishing boat.  It was hard to tell but they may be heading to the pier.  I didn’t want to call the BM2 and distract him.

“GRAND ISLE, Boarding Officer.”

“Go ahead, Boats.”

“It’s working, we are closing the distance.  Looks like Shane is ready for us.”

In the space of the call the distance closed and I thought this might work, I drained my fourth cup of coffee of the morning and already wanted more.

The next 10 minutes were a mixture of relief that this might be over and concern over the small boat, but neither Boatswain Mate had called. 

“Chief, any concerns with the outboard doing this?”

“Sir, the engine can handle it.  I’ll help Dan take a look at the pontoon on the way back to Gloucester.  That would be my only concern.  We’ll give you a quick assessment when we get it in the cradle.”

“Thanks, Mick.” 

Finally, they got this awful boat to the pier and I felt good for the first time in 30 hours.  NMFS was on the pier and BM1 did the custody hand off.  MSO was on its way and we were receiving the boat at this time.

Before we got underway I wanted to call my boss and give him a heads up.  This cluster of a case might wind its way throughout te district, even on a Saturday.  I got Captain Beck on the phone and went through the disaster.  I wasn’t sure what to expect.  Capt. Beck was the best and later in my tour he proved that in spades.  He took it all in and reassured me that we handled the whole thing by the book.  I told him we would drive the case package down to the District Monday morning. 

I called the Command Center to give them the same update and ensure we were released from the case, which we were. 

We left New Bedford about 11 am and laid in a course for the Gloucester Sea Buoy and home.

That was the last time I was ever in New Bedford.