Chapter 18
Typhoon
0100 Hours
Station Umpqua River
Lookout Tower
Seaman
Patterson tried to pierce through the gloom using binoculars, but to no avail.
He scanned the weather station gauges which indicated the winds were steady at
60mph gusting to 75mph approaching typhoon strength. Outside, snapping
violently in the wind, hurricane warning flags, double stacked red rectangular
flags with a black square in the center, stood straight out. The large front
window wobbled with each gust as the rain pelted against it in an unrelenting
wash.
The
lookout tower became the eyes and ears of the station. Manned 24/7, they
monitored emergency radio frequencies and when visibility allowed, they watched
and logged with a decerning eye every crossing of the bar. There would be no
crossings tonight.
He
opened the tide chart manual and discovered the outgoing tide was nearing its
peak flow. “Wow. That bar has got to be busting its rear end.” He made an entry
in the watch log book of the weather conditions and his observations to that
effect.
Standing
next to the side window where he could see the lighthouse, he could see little beyond
the front of the parking area yet the glow from the top cast a frail light
across the compound. The radio crackled with a faint, but desperate voice
barely audible. “Mayday, mayday…Coast Guard Station Umpqua River…Coast Guard
Station Umpqua River this is the sailing vessel Marooned. Do you hear me?
Over.”
Patterson
lifted the transceiver and pressed the transmit button. “Vessel Marooned, this
is the Umpqua River Lookout Tower. Come back.”
The
desperate voice that followed was surrounded by the roar of the background
storm. “Thank God…station we’re approximately twelve miles north of the bar and
six miles out. We are floundering in this storm. Engine is dead and we’re
taking on water. We have four souls onboard. Can you help us please?”
Patterson
jotted their position and time of call into the log book as he responded. “Vessel
Marooned, acknowledged twelve miles north and six miles out. Standby one.” The
direct phone line to the station comm room rang twice before Andrews answered.
“I heard the transmission…standby.” Andrews activated the intercom system.
“Light off the 331…standby duty crew to the outer office.”
Within seconds the entire
contingent of crewmembers, both on duty and off clambered into the outer
office. Andrews was on the phone with Chief Adams. “That’s right Chief, sailing
vessel Marooned, north of us. Four people onboard. Red is off duty, Cunningham is
sick, and Matthew is on leave. That leaves you. Already ahead of you…the 331
one is being lit off as we speak. Right away. I’ll call North Bend ASAP.”
Andrews punched another code into
the comm system to connect to the North Bend Air Station directly. Three rings
later the duty watch answered. “North Bend Air Station.”
“Hey
this is Andrews up here at Umpqua River. We just received a call from the
sailing vessel Marooned. They are taking on water. Chief Adams thinks you guys
might can get to them before we can. Their position is approximately twelve
miles north and six miles west of our bar. That’s all the position they gave
me.”
Chief
Adams stepped into the comm room and took the phone. “This is Chief Adams.
Patch me in to Commander Reese.” A moment later a somewhat sleepy Commander
Reese answered. “Chief, Reese here. What’s going on up there?”
“Commander,
we got another good one for you…” For the next two minutes Chief Adams
explained the situation. The answer he received was what he expected.
“Chief,
we got you covered.”
Chief Adams surveyed the bar report
and tide conditions. “See if you can locate Matthew and get him back in here.”
Then he ran to the boathouse where the 331 was ready to go.
North Bend Air
Station
Ian
Logan slid in next to Captain Michaels onboard the 1369. Airman Pell secured the main cabin. Together
they completed their preflight and the pilot revved the turbine, the blades spun
faster and faster until with a tug on the collector, they lifted into the wind.
“Station Umpqua River…CG1369 in route from North Bend.”
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John
Ackers, and his family were being toss around inside the cabin of Marooned. His
wife Marge grabbed his arm, “John I’m scared.”
“I know
you are, so am I, but we have to remain calm. Marooned is a good boat, she’ll
stay afloat until the Coast Guard finds us.”
“How
can they find us in this storm at night?”
“I’ve
activated the destress beacon so they can home in on us. They are the best in
world and they will find us, that’s what they do.”
He
scanned around the room scanning the eyes of his children, a teenage son Luke
and preteen daughter Suzy, who were huddled in the corner clinging to each
other. Marge rolled next to them and the three huddled together.
“The
Coast Guard is on the way, when they get here it’s going to get busy. We will
need to go topside and I don’t need to remind you to be careful out there. You
two will go first. Michael, take care of your sister. Mom will follow, then I
will. I’m counting on you to remain calm. We’re going to be okay.”
Suzy
started crying and Luke, doing as his dad asked, pulled her close.
Station Umpqua River
Andrews
acknowledged the transmission from the 1369. By this time Chief Adams, and the
44331 had entered into the bar area. The wind howled against the side of the
coxswains flat whipping rain across the panel. The swells even this far inside
the bar caused the 331 to snap roll and pitch in the chaotic menagerie of
chocolate colored surf, with all the grace of a hippo tip toeing across an ice
rink. The Chief squinted to see forward,
but it didn’t help. He flipped on the spot light and shined it toward the bar.
What he saw sent slivers of ice penetrating through his spine. It was
exploding.
“Crap…”
His crew looked at him with questioning eyes about the situation. “What do you
think Chief. Maybe we should sit this one out and let North Bend handle it.”
The
radio crackled again. “Mayday, Mayday…this is the sailing vessel Marooned. Is
anyone there. Please we need hel….” The signal was cut off, then crackled
again, “Mayday, mayday…please answer, we’re sinking and we won’t last much
longer.”
Chief
Adams, looked at his crew. “Does that answer your question?” He paused a few
seconds. Took a deep breath. “Hang on, here we go.”
“Marooned,
Marooned, this is Coast Guard rescue boat CG44331. We have your signal and are
underway…ETA in thirty minutes. Air rescue CG1369 is also in route.”
“We’re barely
hanging on…please hurry.”
He
slammed the throttles full forward and the hull of the 331 dug deep into the pitching
black water. Fifty yards later they approached the first line of breakers the
sight of which alarmed Chief Adams. He worked the throttles and spun the wheel
to line up the bow with subconscious effort, and as the breaker crumbled in
front of them, he powered the 331 over the top and through the foam. The force
that hit them lifted the bow up at a sharp angle before gravity slammed them hard
into the backside trough. The bow plunged into the surface throwing an
avalanche of foam and water to either side.
Their
forward momentum momentarily halted, the 331 lunged, forward, against the
onslaught. Facing the next level of breakers. Almost thirty feet high, the wall
threatened to pulverize them, but Chief Adams slammed the throttles forward
hard, spun the wheel and slid over the top again becoming airborne.
The bow
dropped triggering a weightless two seconds before it plunged into the trough.
Tons of freezing water engulfed the bow and flooded the coxswains flat. The
crew hung on with all of their strength, their weight pulling at the safety
belts that held them in place threatening to rip them from their secured
connections. Chief Adams lost his grip on the wheel, and the 331 spun violently
to starboard. He frantically grabbed it, spinning it to port to turn the bow back
into the next approaching breaker. His actions were too slow, and the breaker lifted
them at an angle rolling them hard over into a 90-degree roll, partially
capsizing them, rolling and shoving them sideways at the base of the breaker as
the props lost their bite. The 331 finally slid under the remnants of the
breaker, righted herself but carrying tons of extra water in her lower well,
was sluggish to respond.
Chief Adams applied more power and
more wheel, spinning just in time to ride over the next breaker which felt more
like falling off the edge of a cliff. Their forward momentum purged the extra
water through the self-bailing ports.
One
more breaker line lay ahead, then open water. He applied full throttle again
trying to outrace the approaching breaker. It rose in front of them, but his
timing was perfect on this one and they floated over the top before it broke
tipping over the other side.
Fifty
yards more and they turned north into leviathan sea’s, on a bearing to
intercept Marooned. Once clear of the breaker lines, he called Marooned.
“Sailing Vessel Marooned…Sailing Vessel Marooned, this the Coast Guard rescue
boat CG44331. Do you read over.”
Three
seconds later the radio crackled. “Coast Guard…yes we read. Please hurry…”
He
Replied. “We’re across the bar on our way.”
A few
seconds later the 1369 called. “CG44331…this the North Bend CG1369. Be advised
we are maybe forty minutes out from the estimated drift position of Marooned.
This headwind is really slowing us down. What is your ETA on site?”
“Standby.”
The Chief extracted the small chart from his survival suit inside pocket,
opening it against the wheel. A quick glance at the calculated position of the
Maroon and he had his answer.”
“1369…331.
Looks like we might get there about the same time as you. If they don’t sink
first. they are going drift a long way south with this wind and seas.”
“Roger
that 331. We’ll see you on site,” Chief Adams whispered to himself. “I just
hope we get there in time.”
The
crew settled in, bracing themselves against the full force of the typhoon winds
and mammoth swells which now were rolling along at over twenty feet. The 331
rolled, pitched, and fought her way through the onslaught. Rising up and over,
rolling to port then to starboard, to rise again and plunge behind each chaotic
swell.
