Into the Storm (10 page)

Although Chris was injured, he was still focused on making sure that he was doing everything he could to contribute to the success of the team. Hanging onto the pipe as ballast was Chris'
mental medicine
. It gave him a sense of accomplishment and helped him fight the sense of disappointment that he had failed to do his job.

J
ames Hallion, the skipper of
VC Offshore Stand Aside
, had assembled a hybrid racing team of veterans and rookies. Andy Mariette was one of the most experienced crew members among the twelve sailors aboard. He had done two Hobarts and had been sailing all his life. As Mariette put it, “I've been sailing since I was probably knee high to a boot.”

Simon Clark had also sailed since he was a boy. Much of his experience was
blue water
ocean sailing, some of which had taken him near Antarctica. Others had shorter sailing resumes. Though Hallion had done one Hobart, it would be his first time sailing this boat. Mike Marshman, like Hallion, had done only one Hobart. And John Culley was doing the race for the first time.

At the 2:00 p.m. sked on December 27, Mariette was below deck at the nav station listening intently to the reports from other boats. When
Stand Aside's
turn came near the end of the alphabet, Mariette wanted to be ready to report their position. Like everyone else, he was also intensely interested in any weather information that could guide their decision making.

The 41-foot
Stand Aside
, built in New Zealand, was particularly good at sailing downwind. Like
AFR Midnight Rambler, Stand Aside
had had a spectacular run down the coast. When the weather worsened on the morning of the 27th, they shifted to a small storm jib.

Even with a small sail, they were still exposed to 70-knot winds when they reached the tops of the big waves. After
Stand Aside
had been knocked flat, they tried running on bare poles using just the mast and rigging to power the boat.

With no sails, maneuvering became so difficult that Hallion, who was steering, essentially gave up, letting
Stand Aside
make up her own mind about which direction to head. Sometimes the boat would slide east toward New Zealand, and other times toward Tasmania.

Stand Aside
's course was so erratic that, in an attempt to regain control, the crew decided to raise the storm jib once again. This time, the sail blew out of its tracks. By the 2 p.m. sked,
Stand Aside
had taken such a beating that no one was surprised at the high wind warning issued by
Sword of Orion
.

Aboard
Young Endeavor
, Lew Carter proceeded with his standard protocol for skeds: State the name of the boat; wait for the boat to repeat its name with latitude and longitude; record the position for later verification.

Near the end of the alphabet, Carter came to Hallion's boat: “VC
Offshore Stand Aside
.” No response. “Nothing heard,” he said and then moved to the next boat on his list. After every boat had been given a chance to report in, Carter repeated the names of boats that had not responded. Once again, there was no answer from
Stand Aside
.

At some point in the interval between the
Sword of Orion
's warning and Lew Carter's initial transmission to
Stand Aside
, Mariette heard a shout on deck. “Watch out! Big wave!”

Marshman saw the wave coming, and he estimated it to be more than 60 feet high. It was an enormous wave, and it was starting to break.
Stand Aside
was pulled into the bottom of the wave and then catapulted to the top. When the boat reached the crest of the wave,
Stand Aside
was hit with the full force of the wind. Then everything turned upside down.

About 35 miles southwest of Gabo Island, the boat made a complete rotation, rolling 360 degrees. When
Stand Aside
finally came back up, Mariette was still sitting in front of the nav station. The force of the spin had been so great that it pinned him to his seat. The cabin roof had collapsed on top of him, but Mariette was in exactly the same position as before the giant wave hit—and was still holding his microphone.

The boat recovered, but Marshman was trapped underwater by the rigging. He had been harnessed to the boat and was pinned by his safety equipment. Though Marshman was drowning, he still had the presence of mind to realize that he was better off attached to the boat than letting go and drifting into the maelstrom. He fought his way to the surface and he gulped for air with a full understanding of how close he had been to death.

Eight crew members were on deck when the wave hit, all but one attached to the boat with a harness. After they recovered from the capsize, the air was filled with people shouting out names, desperate to find out who was on board and who was in the water.

John Culley, who had gone over the side without a harness, surfaced over 100 feet from the boat.
Stand Aside
was so far away that it seemed hopeless. He looked back at the boat, wondering what would happen next. Miraculously, the force of the wind and the waves drove him back to the boat. He climbed aboard, saved by a twist of fate.

The four crew members who were trapped below during the roll were now on deck, pulling their mates back onto the damaged boat. It wasn't a pretty sight. The inside of the boat was awash with seawater, the mast had broken off, the hull had several fractures, and the boom was twisted sideways.

Marshman had lost the top of his ring finger and was covered with blood. Others had lacerations, gashes, cuts, and damaged cartilage. Food, clothing, and debris were floating around the cabin, and diesel fuel gushed from the motor. A winch handle had been driven through the radio, rendering it useless. The crew was exhausted and injured, and it seemed certain that
Stand Aside
would sink.

There were two life rafts onboard, one stowed below and one on deck. The crew quickly inflated the first raft and tied it to the stern of the boat. The second stubbornly refused to inflate. In the struggle, a line broke and the second life raft was lost over the side. With only one six-man life raft remaining, the shattered
Stand Aside
was all they had to keep them alive.

The crew cut away the mast and rigging, and bailed with buckets and manual pumps. To lighten the boat and create a debris trail for rescuers, they threw everything overboard that was not critical to survival. Sorting through the lifeboat ditch bag, they found a handheld radio and began sending Mayday calls. A waterproof camera floated out of the detritus, and their subsequent ordeal was documented in a series of extraordinary photographs.

The crew used every intact piece of safety and emergency equipment they could find.
Stand Aside
was equipped with an EPIRB (Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon) device designed to transmit a distress signal to the satellite system run by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA). The crew activated the EPIRB and deployed a red parachute and orange smoke flares. Fearful and anxious, they waited for someone to respond.

The handheld radio had a very limited range, but a helicopter from the Australian Broadcasting Company (ABC) had been filming the race and picked up their distress signal. The pilot, Gary Ticehurst, had a reputation as one of the most skilled chopper pilots in Australia. He had flown helicopters in combat during the Vietnam War, and he attributed his skill to his previous experiences. Over a drink, he had once told a friend that “you get good at flying when some bastard is shooting at you.” Fifteen minutes after
Stand Aside
's Mayday, Ticehurst was hovering overhead, relaying transmissions and coordinating rescue efforts.

Nearby, skipper Iain Moray had been fighting the waves in an even smaller boat, the 38-foot
Siena. Siena
was struggling but continuing south and still racing. Moray and navigator Tim Evans—who had been monitoring the radio—heard
Stand Aside's
distress call. When no one else responded to the Mayday, Moray felt he had no choice.
Siena
changed course in an effort to locate
Stand Aside
and render assistance.

Because of the size of the waves, no one on
Siena
could see
Stand Aside
. But Moray could see the ABC chopper hovering overhead. They steered toward the helicopter and finally spotted the dismasted yacht.

Moray radioed Ticehurst, trying to figure out what
Siena
could do to help. The conversation was short and to the point.

“ABC helicopter, this is
Siena
, over.”

“Siena
this is the ABC chopper. I have a message for you from Maritime Safety, over.”

“ABC helicopter, this is
Siena
. Yes, what is the message, over?”

“Roger, from the Maritime Safety. They are wondering if you feel able to hold in the area of the
Stand Aside
here in case persons need to take on into a life raft or abandon the ship, abandon the boat prior to the rescue, over.”

Moray agreed to stand by, and the crew of
Siena
did their best to assist in the rescue effort. They circled the stricken vessel, trying to hold their position. But even with the help of a 20-horsepower engine, it was an extraordinarily difficult task. Then it happened.

Siena
was knocked down by a massive rogue wave. Moray was almost thrown out of the boat, and Evans was tossed across the cabin. The top of
Siena's
mast slammed the water. Evans suffered three broken ribs and a punctured lung. Other crew members were injured, and Moray realized that
Siena
's safety was in jeopardy. He radioed the ABC chopper, requesting permission to leave.

Ticehurst told Moray that a rescue helicopter would be on the scene shortly, and
Siena
turned and headed north. Nearly twenty-four hours later, the boat arrived in a small fishing port, and Evans was rushed to the hospital for surgery. By this time he had lost 60 percent of the use of his lung, and pneumonia had set in.
¹
His recovery would take months.

A
s Gary Ticehurst had promised, soon after
Siena's
departure, the rescue chopper
Helimed One
arrived on the scene. Aboard the helicopter was Peter Davidson, a paramedic with the Victorian Air Ambulance Service. Davidson had served with
Helimed
for eight years and was one of their best. He had extensive experience with rescues and had practiced in lakes, in the mountains, and even in the Bass Strait. Davidson would need all of his experience and strength for the task ahead.

Looking down at
Stand Aside
, it was clear to Davidson what had to be done. Rescue swimmers can't land directly on a vessel, especially in bad conditions. Either they or the person being rescued could be seriously injured by the erratic movement of the boat. Even worse, the helicopter's winch cable could become entangled in the rigging of the boat and the helicopter itself pulled into the water. To avoid these catastrophic scenarios, the crew was instructed to put the first two men to be rescued, including the most seriously injured, into the life raft.

The waves were over 50 feet high, and the life raft was flooded with water and repeatedly rolled by the sea. Davidson went down the cable into the chaos and swam to the terrified sailors. It took a full ten minutes of bobbing up and down as “live bait” and an extraordinary amount of energy to rescue the first man. Unbelievably, Davidson repeated this feat seven times. He ultimately pulled eight of
Stand Aside's
crew into the
Helimed
helicopter.

After his last rescue, Davidson was so exhausted that he couldn't lift his arm to signal the crew to winch him up. When he was finally retrieved and pulled into the chopper, Davidson could barely move. He had completed as many rescues in one afternoon as he had in his entire career with
Helimed
. It was a superhuman accomplishment.

Eight of the twelve stranded crew members on
Stand Aside
had been pulled from the water, but the remaining four were desperately awaiting rescue. A second helicopter,
SouthCare
—from the ACT Ambulance Service—was hovering, ready to make a rescue attempt when the
Helimed
chopper left. Aboard the
SouthCare
chopper were pilot Ray Stone, crew member Mark Delf, and two paramedics.

Unlike Davidson, the paramedics in the
SouthCare
chopper did not have extensive training in ocean rescue. Both Michelle Blewitt and Kristy McAlister were experienced paramedics, but they had been with the
SouthCare
helicopter unit for only a few months.
¹

Kristy McAlister had been an Australian national champion in rowing and had joined the ambulance service after her brother was involved in a serious farming accident. She was so impressed by the ambulance officers who came to his rescue that later, when McAlister saw an advertisement for an opening with the Ambulance Service, she applied and was accepted.

It took three years to become an intensive care paramedic, and helicopter work required further training. Kristy's water winch experience was done on Lake Burley Griffin in Canberra, a very flat lake. She had practiced three or four winches, all in calm water and in perfect conditions. Kristy had never done an emergency water rescue.

Blewitt and McAlister started their shift at 8 a.m. that day and had flown to Jervis Bay to treat a patient with a spinal injury. After dropping the patient off in Sydney, the chopper was flying back to Canberra when the crew received word to stand by for dispatch to a serious car accident.

That mission was canceled, and the crew began joking about being diverted for a Sydney to Hobart rescue. Ten minutes later they received another communication telling them to head to the base in Canberra, refuel, and pick up their wet-weather gear. There was a yacht in distress in the Sydney to Hobart Race. The joking stopped abruptly.

On the trip to Canberra, the wind buffeted the
SouthCare
helicopter violently. By the time they landed, both Michelle and Kristy were airsick. They injected each other with shots of Maxolon, an antinausea drug, picked up their equipment, and flew on to Merimbula, where the crew did a “hot refuel.”

With the rotors still turning and cameramen and refuelers gawking, Michelle and Kristy changed into their wetsuits. Wearing skimpy underwear, they worried briefly about the possibility of an unwanted television appearance. Then they quickly turned their attention to the more important issue of the rescue. By the time the
SouthCare
helicopter took off, the mission was clear: They were going to do a sea rescue for a yacht named
Stand Aside
, located about 55 miles off the coast.

The
Helimed
chopper had more favorable winds for getting to the rescue and was already in the process of winching when Kristy and Michelle arrived. The pilot of the
SouthCare
chopper, Ray Stone, flew in tight circles around
Stand Aside
. He wanted to give
Helimed
as much time as needed to get survivors off the stricken vessel.

The air was so turbulent that Michelle and Kristy got airsick again. They stood by, vomiting, while Mark Delf—the crewman on their team who would coordinate the rescue—opened the doors of the helicopter so they could see what was going on below.

The rain was pelting in, the skies were black, and the waves were enormous. As Delf watched Peter Davidson attempt to winch up the survivors, he was astounded by the enormity of the task. Worried about what Kristy and Michelle were about to undertake, Delf blurted out, “Oh, God…. Oh, no.”

Michelle and Kristy didn't know exactly what he was responding to, but they knew that he was watching winches in progress and his commentary wasn't encouraging. Kristy finally said, “Delfy, just shut up, you know? I mean, I'm about to go out there and the last thing I need to hear you saying is these sorts of things about what's happening. I'm going to be doing that.” He understood and shut up.

Delf stopped reporting on the chaos, but they then made a discovery that created even more anxiety. In the scramble to refuel and get their equipment, major pieces of safety equipment had been left behind. They were missing fins, specialized helmets, and buoyancy vests.

Paramedics always have a choice about whether to attempt a rescue, and Blewitt and McAlister now contemplated the danger. They were both missing critical safety equipment. But the situation was truly life-threatening for the crew on the sinking boat. If the rescuers left the four men on
Stand Aside
, they would almost certainly die. Kristy and Michelle weighed the options and made a decision: They would attempt a rescue in spite of the danger.

Kristy was the first to go down. As she was being lowered, she surveyed the horrifying scene. One survivor was still aboard
Stand Aside
. Two had been thrown out of the life raft and were hanging on the sides of the raft. Another was in the water, floating off into the storm. Attached to nothing, he was clearly the priority person to rescue.

Prior to the winch, Kristy had been petrified. Now she was focused. She forgot about how sick and scared she was and concentrated on the physical challenge of doing the job. It was a daunting challenge.

One minute she would be buried underneath a huge wave, and the next she'd be rocketed out at what felt like a million miles an hour. Without fins, it was extraordinarily difficult to swim to the survivors. Her energy was being drained.

At one point Kristy found herself lying on her back and looking up toward the sky. Buried under the waves, she could see nothing but water. To calm herself, she thought,
I know that they'll eventually pull me out of here. I'm underwater, but I'll be out of here soon
.

The massive waves, some close to 100 feet high, were a challenge not only for Kristy but also for Delf. He had to let out just enough slack to get her down into the water—but with no excess that could create tangles.

The troughs of the waves were so high that a lot of cable needed to be let out and it was hard to control. With the continual movement of the ocean, one minute Kristy would be under the water and the next minute she'd be dangling in the air. This chaotic motion was complicated by the unstable position of the aircraft. The autohover was inoperable in the extreme winds, and the helicopter was constantly bouncing up and down.

Except for expending an enormous amount of energy swimming to the survivor, the first rescue went well. Kristy reached the sailor drifting away from the life raft and explained what she was going to do. To be heard above the noise of the wind, the rain, and the helicopter, she had to yell. “Put your arms up in the air!” she shouted. The sailor lifted his arms, and Kristy managed to get the
rescue strop
—a strap formed by a flat foam loop—over his head and under his armpits.

Her instructions were clear. “I don't want you to try to lift your arms at all, or you'll fall out of the strop. If that happens, you could die. I'm going to hold you so that you can't do it, but please don't struggle. Just let me do what I have to do. Even if you want to lift them—don't!”

With that, Kristy gave the signal to start the winch, and they went up together. Delf pulled the sailor into the helicopter, and Kristy strapped him in so he couldn't fall out. Rescue one was complete, and Delf looked at Kristy. Knowing what she had just been through, he asked, “Are you all right to go back down?”

“Yep, no worries. I'm right to go,” she responded. Realizing she could do something that she'd never done before was a huge relief and a confidence boost. Down she went again, this time swimming toward the two survivors in the life raft.

The second rescue did not go as smoothly. A huge gust of wind hit the life raft, picked it up, and wrapped it around the winch cable. Just as Kristy thought,
Oh God, what am I going to do?
, another huge gust blew the life raft free of the cable. It was an incredible stroke of good fortune.

She went after the closest man and started putting the strop over him. His panicked partner began shouting, “No, don't take him! Don't take him! Take me! I can't hang on anymore! I want to go next!”

Kristy's response was matter-of-fact: “We're not going to leave you here, but I'm taking this man, he's the one I got to first.” Once again, she calmly repeated her instructions and gave Delf the thumbs-up signal. The cable pulled tight. But as it straightened, the cable hit Kristy, scraping and gouging her neck. She was exhausted and injured, but once again McAlister had flawlessly executed a water rescue. It was the second in her life.

Michelle hadn't seen much of what had happened during Kristy's rescues. Her head was buried in a vomit bowl during the first winch, and she decided she would rather not watch the second.

Michelle had seen the
Helimed
paramedic being thrown around, and she knew she was going to have to go through whatever he and Kristy had experienced. Delf looked straight at Michelle, checking to see if she was willing to go down. Michelle gave the thumbs-up. As they had previously agreed, now it was her turn to go down the wire to retrieve the last two survivors.

As Michelle hit the water, Kristy was on the floor of the helicopter, retching out the door. As she watched what was going on below, Kristy was shocked to see Delf's face at her level. This shouldn't be happening. She was lying flat, and he was supposed to be standing up, conning the aircraft and controlling the winch.

After a moment, Kristy realized what had happened. With the rain, wind, and slippery floor, Delf had fallen out of the helicopter and was hanging by his safety harness. Dangling in the air, he was still focused on only one thing: taking care of Michelle. Delf was responsible for directing the movement of the aircraft and controlling Michelle's winch, and that was the only thing that mattered.

Kristy was acutely nauseated from the combination of seawater she had swallowed during the rescues and the turbulent air. But she realized that something had to be done, and it needed to be done quickly. Delf couldn't get back in the helicopter by himself because the floor was too slippery. It was up to her.

Mobilizing her last reserves of willpower, Kristy summoned the strength to get up off the floor. She grabbed Delf by his harness and dragged him back into the aircraft. Kristy lay exhausted, amazed that he had flawlessly continued the job while hanging outside the aircraft in this tempest.

As Delf's drama unfolded above, Michelle swam to the third sailor who was hanging onto the side of the life raft. Because his life preserver was so bulky, she fought to get the strop over his head. When that didn't work, Michelle told him to float on his back and lift his legs. He complied, and Michelle threaded the strop up over his waist and under his arms.

The sailor had survived the roll and was in the strop, but it wasn't over. Panicked, he screamed that he was terrified of heights and was afraid of the winch into the helicopter. Michelle realized that in order to get him into the chopper, she would need to reassure and comfort the exhausted sailor—while in the midst of massive waves and unrelenting noise. After a brief conversation, his spirits were bolstered, and Michelle gave Delf a thumbs-up.