Chapter 13
The Harmony
The Next Day
Matt lumbered
across the ramp and into the boathouse stopping in the paint preparation room
that overlooked the inside of the boathouse. Tied to either side of the short
dock sat the 44331 and the newly refurbished 44303, both gently rocking against
the shallow swells that filtered through the front of the structure. A stiff
breeze swirled around inside the housing area where several of the deck crew
were working on the hull of the 331 which, in comparison to the newly refitted
303, looked somewhat worse for wear.
Corrosion
caused dull streaks of brown to create uneven stripes to spill down her flanks
and the crew could be seen sanding and preparing the surface to apply a new
touchup coat of vinyl white paint. In most cases the sanded surface required a
new layer of a primer called Blue Death so the vinyl paint would stick without
curdling. Sometimes a crewman would often try to hurry the job and do it
without the primer. In most cases they could get away with it. Sometimes the
vinyl paint would curl after a short delay as it dried.
Matt made
his way down the ramp to the docking area, stepped into the lower well of the
331 an inspected a recently touched up location. The paint had curled.
“Who
worked on this area?” He shouted not directing his voice to any one person.
BM3
Conners, a twenty-two- year old Boatswains mate who handled many of the routine
deck maintenance duty rosters, stepped over and took a look. He ran his hand
over the crinkled surface of the poorly done paint job, then motioned to Seaman
Andrews to come over.
“You do
this.”
Andrews
grimaced when he noticed the crinkled paint. “Yeah, crap. I thought it would
hold.”
Matt
stuck his finger in his face, “Do it again and do it right, or no liberty. Got
it.”
Andrews
looked at Conners for support who didn’t respond, then he shifted his gaze back
to Matt. “Okay Matt. I got it covered.”
“Just
do it.” Matt turned to address the entire deck crew. “I’m tired of all this
slacking off. Get your act together or I’ll put you all on report.”
He doubled
timed his way up the ramp and left.
Conners
placed his hand on a despondent Andrew’s shoulder. Andrews ask, “What’s eating
him. Good grief you’d think I had gone AWOL or something.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just fix it and it’ll
be alright. Matt’s been through a lot. He’ll get over it. Not like him to get
upset over something as insignificant as this.” Andrews knelt closer to the
affected painted area and began sanding again shaking his head while doing so.
Matthew
stepped into the Chiefs office to find him staring out the window. In his hand
he held a weather report for the next 48 hours. Chief Adams turned away from
the window and returned to his desk and handed the report to Matt.
“We’re
in for another big blow. Already starting to build and continue to do so on
into late in the evening. We will most likely have to close up the bar again.”
“Better
let all the trawler skippers know.”
“They
know, that’s why they are all heading back in today before it blows up. The bar
is already starting to act up but the main channel is clear. If they make back
in before the tide changes, they should be okay.”
Matt
didn’t say anything, he just stood there staring at the weather report. In the
back of his mind he could see the bar rolling and collapsing in on itself. The
Chief saw through his blank stare.
“What’s
eating at you Matt? You look like a country and western song about a guy who
just lost his best friend.”
He
shook his head left and right before answering, “I think maybe I just did.”
“Want
to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Alright
then. Maybe you should take some real time off. Regroup. Take some leave and
get away for a while.”
“That
wouldn’t help. Besides, I’ve been away too long already. What I need is to get
back into the saddle and do something that matters.”
Before
the Chief could respond the comm watch stepped into the office.
“Chief,
the Harmony skipper, Joe Brown, is on the radio. Looks like their engines are
overheating and they are afraid they will breakdown if they keep pushing them.
The seas are running 15 up to 20 feet creating some issues for them. They need
a tow.”
“How
far out are they?”
“Said they were 15 miles out and
about 20 miles north. They are drifting at idle to maintain the bow into the
wind. Wind is out of the northwest at 25 knots.”
Matt
and Chief Adams entered the chart room and using calipers and a straight edge
they began to calculate the Harmony’s drift and an intercept point.
Drift
is calculated by using the formula Speed = Distance / Time. Determining the
advance position, the set and drift are factored in. Using dead reckoning, the
intercept position can be determined with a reasonable degree of accuracy. Matt
did some quick calculation, took a bearing off the number 2 buoy outside the
bar, drew a line with a grease pen, and made an X at the calculated intercept
location.
“Let me
take her Chief.”
Chief
Adams stepped back and tossed a surprised look. “I don’t think so Matt, not
this time. You’re not ready.”
“What’s
that supposed to mean?”
“It
means you’re not ready yet. The doctor said no active duty missions until he
clears you.”
“Doctor’s,
what do they know. We’re wasting time Chief.”
Chief
Adams shook his head and hesitated. All he saw was uncertainty. Against his
better judgment, he blurted out,
“Alright,
pick your crew. Take the 303. It will be a good shake down mission, and Matt,
just be careful.”
Matt
clinched his fist snapping it in front of him like a basketball player who had
just made the winning shot. He again clambered down the ramp into the boathouse.
He snapped at EN2 Johnson, “Light off the 303. We’re heading out. Andrews,
forget the paint, let’s go.”
Within
one minute, the 303’s engines were rumbling, but the boat was still secured to
the dock. Matt stepped into the coxswains flat and stiffly lifted himself into
the driver’s chair. His ribs jabbing at his side as he had to bend slightly to
get into the chair. He pulled his ball cap down tighter, and repositioned his
jacket around his shoulders. It felt good to be in the driver’s seat again. He
motioned to cast off the lines and Andrews tossed the last line onto the dock.
Matt pressed the throttles forward a few inches to idle out of the enclosure
blowing the 303’s horn in the process to warn other vessels that might be
coming around the corner out of sight.
“Station
Umpqua River. CG44303 underway.”
The
Comm Watch entered the event into the stations log.
By the time the 303 reached the
bar, three other trawlers had already crossed over and two others were waiting
outside waiting their turn. Across the North Spit and middle ground, 12foot
breakers were rolling, but the main channel was mostly open with only an
occasional small breaker rising up. Matt throttled back as he surveyed the
crossing. The other two trawlers were waiting for him to come out before they
tried to come in.
With
confidence the channel was open, he pressed the throttles full forward, the 303
dug into the swells and plowed through the crossing without incident, angled
toward the number 2 buoy, then turn northwest, setting an intercept course that
corresponded with the calculated drift of the Harmony.
Andrews
sat on the right where the radar was located while Johnson stood in front of
the forward compartment entrance hatch where he could easily drop into the
engine room should he need to. The wind created a great spray to fly across the
windshield as they road over the tops of each swell. The farther out they
motored, the bigger the swells became and the force being thrown against the
303 caused it to roll and pitch more like a slow-motion bronco than a boat. Matt’s
ribs stabbed at him as they rolled over every swell, but he said nothing to
complain.
Andrews
had been here before, but this would be his longest and most difficult SAR
mission. “Kind of nasty out today.” He said trying to break some of the tension
of the moment.
Matt
nodded but did not say anything. Johnson cast a long questioning look at
Andrews as though he wasn’t sure Matt was not yet up to the task. A few months
ago, there would have been no doubts. But now after all Matt had been through,
he wasn’t sure how ready he was.
The 303
lunged upward at a steeper angle than before then slammed hard against the
backside of the swell. What were reported as 12-foot swells, we now easily 15
feet multiplying the force by two.
Matt
glared forward rarely wavering his vision to either side. He subconsciously
spun the large wheel to keep the compass on the correct heading. An hour and
half after they left the number 2 buoy, the sky began to close in on them and
visibility turned into a haze, which in turn became a common blend of sky and
water with barely a discerning break between the two. The relentless swells stirred
the ocean into boiling caldron with no rhyme or reason to its motion.
Matt’s head began to spin into a
vertigo induced sense of disorientation. The front of the 303 and ocean seemed
to extend forward distorted out of context from what his mind expected and what
his eyes were experiencing.
He
closed his eyes. Rubbed his face with a wet hand. His insides began to churn
into a nauseated bile, and his skin turned pale. He yelled at Johnson, “Take
the wheel…take it.” Then he lunged into the lower well and bent over the side
vomiting with a violence of someone in complete internal distress. Two, then
three times he wretched. Then a fourth time until nothing else came out except
a thin yellow slime before he stopped. He remained silent, pale with a green
hue across the back of his jaw area behind the ears.
Andrews stepped into the lower
well. “Hey man…you okay?”
Matthew,
slow to respond, took a deep breath and allowed the spray exploding off the bow
to hit him in the face which provided a refreshing splash. After he wiped
himself partially dry, he said, “Yeah, I’m okay. Guess I got a little seasick.”
“That
can happen,” Andrews said trying to reassure Matt knowing full well he had
never been seasick before.
“No…I’ll
be alright. Turn on the radar and see if you can spot Harmony. We should be
getting close.”
Andrews
climbed back into the coxswains flat and removed the radar cover. Flipping a
couple of switches, he peered into the cone shaped screen covering to see if he
could see any blips. All he saw was a myriad of indiscriminate echoes bouncing
off the swells as they tossed for miles around them.
“Man,
what a mess.”
“What
have you got?” Matt questioned as he struggled to keep the 303 pointing into
the swells.
“Not
much, just a jumbled mess.”
“Try a
longer-range setting.”
Andrews
flipped to the 10-mile setting and the blips died down. In their place he saw
one solid blip.
“I
think I’ve got her.”
“Where
is she?” Matt asked.
“Dead
ahead about 2 miles. Man, oh man what a sight. Now that’s some kind of
seamanship. Hear that Matt. We’re dead on her.”
Matt
picked up the radio microphone and called, “Fishing vessel Harmony, this is the
CG44303…do you read, over.”
A few
seconds later Joe Brown from the Harmony responded. “Roger that 303.”
“Yeah, Joe,
303, looks like we’re about 2 miles due south of your position. I do not have a
visual yet, but we have you on radar. ETA should be maybe 10 - 15 minutes.
Standby to take a line.”
“Roger
that 303…standing by.”
Andrew
was already preparing the tow line disconnecting the eye from its secured spot
on the towing post directly behind the coxswains flat. He played out about
fifteen or so feet careful not to tangle it into a knot. Next, he removed a
smaller line with a weighted monkey’s fist knot attached to the end. He would
attach this to the towing line and toss it over to the Harmony who use it to
pull the larger line across to them. Ten minutes later, “There she is,” Johnson
shouted, “just off the starboard bow about four hundred yards.”
Matthew
cut the throttles to half and turned toward them. “We’ll run past them, turn
and come up on their port side down wind. Andrews, I’ll get you to within about
thirty feet. You’ll have to give that line a good heave to make it through this
wind. Stand ready.”
Matt
motored past the Harmony, and looped around behind them cutting the throttles
to one quarter, just enough to ease alongside. The following swells caused both
boats to roll over the top in a choreographed dance of machines. Matt turned
the wheel and inched in closer. On the bow of Harmony stood a short stocky man
wearing a wool watch cap and rain gear. He waved signaling he was ready to
receive the line. Again, the swells lifted both boats in their waltz across the
sea.
“Andrews…next
swell, give it a toss, but not until we’re at the bottom and leveled off.”
Andrews
stood at the ready bracing his knee against the side of the lower well area.
Johnson stood ready behind the towing post the tow line wrapped in a crisscross
loop around its stout cross member. For a third time both boats lifted over the
top of a swell and floated into the trough behind. Andrews gave the smaller
line a heave, a perfect toss, and it landed across the bow of Harmony whose
crewman secured it and started pulling the tow line across.
“Watch
those props…keep the slack out.” Matt shouted at them. They already knew not to
allow the line become slack and drift under the stern of the 303 for the props
would surely suck the line in and foul the props. Within a few seconds thirty
yards of line had been played out and the large eye was secured onto the towing
station on the bow of Harmony. Her crewman waved and headed back inside the
wheelhouse.
Matt
began to slowly move forward. Andrews now controlled the payout of line. The
idea was to allow enough line out so both boats would ride the swells in unison,
rising and falling at the same time. Not always easy, when the seas were angry.
It took
about 80 yards of line to get both boats to ride that way. Even so the swells
were not always evenly spaced and there were times when Harmony disappeared
behind a swell. The towline whipping and cutting through the water, snapping
and popping as the strain on it tested its strength.
“Alright
guys, get behind the barrier. If that line snaps it will take your head off It
hits you.” Matt spoke directly to them.
The
barrier was a simple arch extending about three feet wide and seven feet tall
with chain link fencing material stretched across it. Its purpose was to
prevent a snapped line from driving itself into the coxswains flat. A simple
but effective deterrent.
At
their reduced speed because of the heavy tow. It was well over two hours later
before they approached the number 2 buoy outside the bar. The overcast still
hovered just above the surface and the distant ridge behind the sand dunes was
obscured. All they could see was a thin white line of foam that marked the
backside of the breakers that rolled up on the beach. Once they approached the
number 2 buoy, they were about a half mile from the entrance channel. Yet Matt
could not see clearly enough if there were breakers inside. Large swells
continued to run with them and as they approached Andrews shortened the tow
line to about 40 yards.
Matt
took a long look at the channel, then called the lookout tower.
“Umpqua
River Tower, 303.”
“Go
ahead Matt.”
“Do you
have an updated bar report. What have we got in there?
“Last
one is about an hour old, been socked in since then. We had a few random
breakers in the channel, but the tide should be reaching its peak outward flow.
There could be some in there now. I just can’t see anything.”
“Roger
that.”
Johnson
turned to Matt and asked, “What do you think. Should we risk it with Harmony in
tow?”
Matt
took a deep breath and simply stared toward the channel entrance. It looked
clear, but if a rogue breaker hit them as they were coming in, things might get
ugly very quickly. His mind drifted again back to the Marc Eagle. Visions of
breakers and screams chided him and his breathing started to increase. All he
could hear, all he could see, were those nightmarish images from that night.
His hand and shoulders began to shake. Andrews cast a worried look toward
Johnson who returned the same.
“Matt…Matt…you
okay?” Johnson finally blurted out.
Matt’s
focus snapped back to the present moment and he looked up. “Yeah…yeah, I’m
good.”
“What’s
your call?”
“Let’s
do this. Andrews tighten up the line bring them in another 10 yards or so.”
Matthew
backed the throttles slightly so Andrews could recover a few more yards of
towline. Bringing them closer allowed a bit more control over their situation.
“Once
we get inside, we will bring them alongside and take them to the dock.
Ready…here we go.”
Matt
pushed the throttles forward and picked up speed, the props straining against
the heavy bulk of Harmony as it lagged behind. The once long swells became more
compressed as they gathered over the shallower waters across the bar. Harmony
began to drift to one side out of line with them. Matt radioed, “Keep her in
line skipper, it’s going to be tight through here.”
“You
bet, sorry.”
The 303
was lifted by a following swell and started to broach to starboard toward the
jetty. Matt was slow to respond and allowed the boat to get too far to one
side.
“Whoa,
Matt…that Jetty is getting close.”
“I see
it okay.” With that he worked the throttles and brought the 303 back in line.
It took almost a full minute to cross the bar, but other than the close approach
to the jetty, all went well. As they rounded the front edge of the training
jetty, he called Harmony again.
“Harmony,
303. Joe, once we are a little further in, we will bring you alongside so we
can tuck you into your docking slip.”
“Roger
303…no need to do that. I think we can nurse these engines long enough to take us
home. Thanks for the tow…you did a good job.”
A Harmony
crewman tossed off the towline and Andrews rolled it back aboard and the crews
waved as she motored by. A few minutes later, Matt pulled the 303 into the
fueling dock for servicing. Chief Adams was standing there waiting.
Johnson
secured the engines and Andrews sprayed the hull down with fresh water. Matt
continued to sit in the coxswain’s chair, physically spent far beyond what he
should have been. As Johnson stepped off the 303, he walked up to Chief Adams.
“How’d
it go?” Chief Adams asked.
Johnson
stopped and looked the Chief square in the eye. You need to have a talk with
Matt. He did okay, this time. But you need to have a talk with him. I don’t
think he’s ready for primetime yet. He almost froze up out there.
Chief
Adams raised his head as he took in a strong breath. When Matt stepped off the
303, he walked over to him.
“Get
you something to eat and a hot shower, then come see me.”
Matt
stopped and threw a puzzled look toward the Chief. “Alright. Any reason.”
“Just
want a status report.” The Chief replied as he walked away.
