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| A RESCUE STORY THAT WILL AMAZE YOU
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November 17, 2006. This article appeared in the October 2006 edition of Mariner Life, a British Columbia magazine covering commercial marine on the B.C. coast. Tugboats are Mariner Life’s meat and potatoes, but the magazine covers boat builders, repair yards, and the general commercial waterfront as well. It also profiles the people on the boats and around the waterfront, bringing a dimension that most publications lack. In many ways, the magazine is a newsletter circulated among the close-knit fraternity of those who live and work on the salt chuck. Simon Hill is the editor.
Mariner Life and the author graciously granted permission for this article to appear on waggonerguide.com. The opening paragraphs aren’t exciting, but they provide important background. When the rescue begins, we think you’ll stay to the end, even if dinner gets cold.
On The Job
Les Palmer, First Officer
Canadian Coast Guard
Interview and article by Margaret (Amaryllis) Boyes
Les Palmer, a veteran Coast Guard officer, was recently named as one of Canada’s very few Cross of Valour recipients. Mariner Life sat down with him to learn about his career in the Coast Guard and the harrowing rescue that earned him the Cross of Valour. It’s a story he tells in the matter-of-fact, unadorned manner of a true professional.
Mariner Life: Tell us about your current position with the Coast Guard. How long have you been in the Coast Guard, what does it involve and what are the challenges?
Les Palmer: I’m currently a First Officer with the Coast Guard, working aboard the Point Henry. I’ve been in the Coast Guard for 21 years total. As far as challenges go, anything to do with search and rescue brings all kinds of challenges. The main challenge is that you never know what’s going to come up; you have to deal with everything from a simple tow, to fires, to sinkings to medevacs.
ML: What does it take to succeed in your position?
Palmer: One key to success is to stay on top of your training. In Bamfield there’s the RHIOT course (Rigid Hulled Inflatable Operator Training), which teaches you how to run the Fast Rescue Craft, the Hurricane inflatables. It’s part of the rescue specialist program. It teaches you how to manoeuvre, how to go alongside vessels, how to navigate in heavy weather, and there’s also a Medic A course as part of it. In my position as First Officer you require a watchkeeper certificate.
ML: What other kinds of education and work experience have you had?
Palmer: I am part-owner of a family business in which I have learned to operate tugboats and logging equipment. The business was originally called Husky Marine Towing but is now called 4 Season Maintenance Ltd., and this involved everything from falling trees to towing log booms.
ML: Can you tell me more about the boats you use?
Palmer: The Point Henry is a 75-foot cutter with five crew members and 2,100 horsepower. She carries a 4.5-meter rescue inflatable in the back. We cruise at 18 knots. The Point Henry has been in this area for 24 years, and was built in 1980 by Breton Industrial and Marine back east. I believe she has five sister vessels, two on the west coast and three on the east. One of them, the Point Race, is stationed in Campbell River. The Point Henry has a large patrol area that it covers.
She’s a tough boat — she’s been in 30 to 40 foot seas in the Hecate Straits, involved in SAR incidents, and we have always made it home safe.
ML: What do you like best about your job?
Palmer: I enjoy being part of the Coast Guard and helping people, whether it’s a boat broken down or a medical emergency. I get a good feeling from helping mariners in trouble, and I also like meeting and getting to know the people in my area.
ML: You’re going to receive the Cross of Valor on October 13 of this year for your part in a rescue. Tell us about that.
Palmer: I am very honored to receive the Cross — I think it will be one of 20 given out since 1973. But it’s important to understand that I was one part of the incident that evening, and it takes a lot of people, from Coast Guard radio to R.C.C. to other Coast Guard vessels with their own officers and crews to secure a successful outcome.
The incident took place in January 2004. The rescue centre paged us at about 4:30 that afternoon because an EPIRB was going off from the south end of the Grenville Channel, so we went down to the Point Henry to get going. When we got to the dock it was pitch black, blowing 40 knots and snowing hard. We knew it would take about five hours to get from Prince Rupert to where the signal was coming from. After an hour, off the mouth of the Skeena River, the winds were up to 60 knots and the sea conditions were up to 12 feet and we were icing up because the temperature was dropping. The only view out of the wheelhouse was through the Clearview screen, so we were basically navigating blind by radar and the electronic chart program.
After three and a half hours of this we were southbound in Grenville Channel, and rescue centre told us a freighter going northbound in the Channel had seen a flicker of light on the beach. The winds were gusting up to 100 knots now because we were in the outflow of Douglas Channel, and the temperature was minus-30 Celsius or worse. The wind was blowing the tops off the waves, and there was an inch of ice all over the Point Henry, which affected our stability. There was even ice forming inside the wheelhouse windows.
Two other Coast Guard ships — the John P. Tulley and the Sir Wilfred Laurier — and a DND Buffalo were also tasked to the area. It was 9:30 at night and while we were searching the Buffalo had to stand down due to the conditions. An ETA from the Tulley had them arriving at approximately 3:30 in the morning. We kept searching close to where the freighter had seen a light but had no success, so we sent up three illumination flares that lit up the whole bay. Visibility was so poor that even though we had strong spotlights we couldn’t see the beach, which was 300 feet away.
Then we saw a flicker of light on the beach, so we knew someone was there. The wind was blowing directly onto the beach, and we manoeuvred as close as we could to the shore but still couldn’t see a boat or people or anything, we could only hear the breakers. We decided to launch the inflatable rescue boat, but it was too rough to launch where we were, so we moved about half a mile south to Union Pass, where it was safe enough to launch the boat. It was decided that I’d go out with Bill Robb, a rescue specialist. I got bundled up — fleece thermals, Ocean Class suit, gloves, two balaclavas — and got my hypothermia bag ready. Then we had to break about six inches of ice off the inflatable before we could launch it.
After we launched we couldn’t see the shoreline so the captain, Don Lee, pointed the direction. At 75 feet away we saw the shoreline and I made it to shore and told Bill I’d stay there and make sure he made it back to the Point Henry before I started out. We both had handheld radios and flashlights. I told Bill that if we had radio problems I’d signal three flashes with my light to indicate I was OK, or flash continuously if I got into trouble.
Once Bill was back I started down the beach to where Union Passage enters Grenville Channel, with winds gusting 80 to 100 knots. Freezing spray from the surf was hitting the beach — it was hard to see where I was walking because it was hitting me in the face. My eyes were burning from the salt water and my balaclava was icing up.
I thought if I went into the bush I’d be out of the heavy wind and freezing spray. But once I was in the bush there was three feet of snow, and a lot of branches and tree tops were breaking off because of the heavy wind and freezing temperatures. I decided I’d rather be back on the beach, so I went back and started walking along the shoreline.
The tide was three-quarters of the way up and a lot of the shore was covered with ice. Traction was difficult and I was slipping. So I crawled on all fours along the edge of the bank under the tree line in some places — it was steep in spots, and I was worried about sliding down. On the top of one bluff the wind blew me right over. That made me realize how tired I was, so I went behind a big sweeper log to get out of the wind and have a rest. My heart was pounding and I was sweating profusely. I was gathering my thoughts, and then when I tried to open my eyes I found my eyelids had frozen together. At that point I started to wonder if I’d reached my limitations, and then I thought “If I’m in this condition, what are the people I’m trying to help experiencing?”
So I pushed on. About 40 minutes into my hike, visibility was so poor that I thought I might have passed those guys. Every once in a while I’d call the Point Henry and ask if they could see me when I flashed a light. Sometimes they could and sometimes they couldn’t. When they saw me they said I was about three-quarters of the way there and to continue on. Then I came over the top of a knoll, shone my light 75 feet ahead of me and saw Lorne, one of the seamen off the fishing vessel Larissa. He had a survival suit on and jumped up and down when he saw me. It was a very emotional time.
Getting there had been the tough part, and now that I was there I could finally start to help them. It was blowing so hard Lorne and I had to yell to communicate. He was saying, “My captain! My captain! He’s not doing good.” So we went down the beach approximately 200 feet to where Ray and the life raft were. A green tarp was stretched over the life raft and logs were piled up on one end to keep it from blowing away in the wind. The door entrance to the life raft was on the opposite side of the wind.
I put my head in and saw Ray, who was all iced up. I yelled at him, with no response. After determining his level of consciousness I knew he was in serious trouble. Lorne was complaining that his hands and feet were frozen and he was hypothermic too.
I called the Point Henry to tell them I’d located the two people from the Larissa and both needed to be evacuated as soon as possible. But I wondered how I could get them back to the Point Henry. Ray weighed 290 pounds, and after checking him out I realized that his suit was filled with water. The life raft also had four inches of water in it, which Ray was lying in.
I think they’d flipped over at three in the afternoon. The Larissa had iced up and gusts of over 100 knots had pushed her onto her side. Ray and Lorne had climbed out of the wheelhouse window and got into a skiff that washed ashore. I called the Point Henry again and told them I needed more medical gear, blankets, and gloves, but most importantly another survival suit for Ray.
They said they would set off illumination flares and use a rocket gun to shoot a transfer line to shore — that way we’d be able to transfer the medical bag I needed. They tried three times, but I couldn’t see anything because it was snowing and blowing so hard. Then my handheld radio froze up so I couldn’t transmit, but I heard them say that they would put my bag together with a life ring and a light on it, take it as close to shore as possible, throw it over and hopefully the bag would end up close to me.
I watched them throw this over the side and told Lorne and Ray I was going to try and get it, and that I’d be back — they needed moral support badly! It was hard to see with the wind blowing, and sometimes I’d see the light and then I couldn’t, and it finally washed ashore almost where I had started the hike. So then I got the bag and started back.
When I reached them again I was totally exhausted, and at this point I noticed the life raft was deflated and they were basically lying under a tarp. By now neither one was moving much or talking.
After I’d caught my breath I climbed into the life raft, and when I tried to talk to Lorne I had to scream because the wind was blowing so hard and loud, and the tarp was flapping in the wind. It’s hard to describe what it was like in there. I wondered how the hell I was going to get Ray out of his survival suit which was frozen tight on him. I told Lorne I’d need his help to change Ray or he wasn’t going to make it.
Hypothermic as he was, Lorne stood up and kept the life raft from hitting me. I decided to cut Ray out of his suit with a knife. But I worried about cutting him and making things worse. I cut him out feet first and when I started, water rushed out of the bottom and I could see steam. The temperature was about minus-30 and I had to work quickly to get him out and into the dry suit. I put heat packs all over him and covered him with blankets. Then I gave Lorne and myself two heat packs. By now I was extremely tired, and we sat and waited. I knew when I’d left the Point Henry that the Tulley would arrive about 3:30 in the morning.
I was soaking wet from sweat inside my suit, and both Lorne’s and my core temperatures started to drop. After a while I could hear Ray. He was in a lot of pain from re-warming but had regained consciousness. I kept telling Ray and Lorne, “More help is coming . . . we’re going to make it through this night.”
An hour later I told Ray and Lorne I could see the lights of the Tulley. We knew then we had made it! We all got pretty excited. I watched the Tulley launch a 733 Hurricane inflatable, and I tried to find a good place for it to land. The tide had changed, the sea was down to a five-foot swell, but the wind was still blowing 40 knots. An officer and five rescue specialists were in the inflatable.
When I went down to the beach I saw the Larissa for the first time, lying on her side, even though I’d been only 100 feet above her the whole time. Waves crashed over her and there was debris from the vessel and from her lifeboat, which was about 50 feet away and was all smashed up. Four guys got off the 733, then it had to back off and maintain a position. We helped Lorne into the life raft and put Ray on a stretcher and took them both back to the Point Henry. We got back to Prince Rupert at nine in the morning.
The entire crews of the Point Henry and the Tulley and the Coast Guard rescue centre helped with the rescue. It was overwhelming that, under those conditions, everything worked out well. But it’s great for the Coast Guard to be recognized. In all my years in the Coast Guard I’ve worked over 700 SAR incidents and seen many serious incidents causing fatalities, but I’ve also seen many positive outcomes too.
ML: What are your thoughts about the future of the Coast Guard?
Palmer: Our resources like the rescue specialist program get better every year. More people train every year. With the conditions in Hecate Strait I sometimes wonder if our vessel is too small, but I’ve never known the Point Henry to turn around because of bad weather.
ML: Do you have any advice for young people who want to do what you do?
Palmer: There are different ways for young people to get into the Coast Guard. There’s a four-year program at Coast Guard College in Sydney, Nova Scotia, where they can study so they end up working as a officer on deck or in the engineering side. I know a young man who I coach in hockey who’s in his second year at the Coast Guard College and is enjoying the program offered to him. Apart from that, young people should obtain their MED (Marine Emergency Duties), then put out resumes to the marine industries looking for work.
Interviewer Margaret (Amaryllis) Boyes is a Vancouver Island-based freelance writer and speechwriter. She can be reached at mboyes@islandnet.com.
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