If you've ever had reason to call 9-11 to report a dire emergency, you know the frustration of having someone on the other end grill you with endless, niggling questions.
Instead of asking the two important questions: where are you and how many people are in peril, they ask unnecessary things like "who are you and what is your house made of?"
It's an emergency, dammit.
Ask me the color of my cat later.
~
During the summers, I listen to the radio a lot.
My fishing season requires me to stand-by a radio a lot.
Weather updates, fishing announcements, emergency closures, tender advisories, calls from other vessels and about a gazillion other things reach me by radio and usually only via radio.
While the lion's share of that traffic is on Marine VHF radio, some of the most important stuff is on SSB (Shortwave Side-band) -- particularly the Emergency Frequency 4125 khz, which is the primary hailing frequency for all radio marine traffic as well as the main gateway to reaching authorities like the Coast Guard, Alaska State Troopers or medical emergency teams.
Because I monitor 4125 so often, I've gotten very accustomed to hearing the occasional sound of vessel A calling vessel B and Communications Station (ComSta) Kodiak calling its aircraft and cutters in an otherwise endless sea of 'nothingness' on that radio.
Mostly static.
Lots and lots of static.
Noise.
More static.
More noise.
When, however, that rare moment arises when something truly important comes across, there's no mistaking the sound of a real emergency . . .
A man's voice during a cataclysmic event is unlike anything else you'll ever hear.
The urgency -- the panic! -- is unmistakable and it's palpable.
Worse :: occasionally, while listening, you know you're hearing the last earthy sounds from the guy making that call.
That was the case late Tuesday afternoon, as the MV Northern Belle made it's MAYDAY call.
The Northern Belle is a Seatlle-based vessel that, as it happens, was on its way to Bristol Bay for the summer season, just as I will be in a few short weeks.
As routinely happens, vessels contracted to tender seafood products for the summer are also expected to leave Seattle fully loaded, carrying supplies for the canneries (and sometimes for the fishermen) in addition to their own larder stocked to last the entire season.
Crewmen say that Captain Robert Royer suspected the vessel was being overloaded -- and not properly balanced -- long before reaching the MayDay point in the central Gulf of Alaska, 150 miles south of Valdez -- and said as much.
Deadlines being deadlines, the skipper left Union Bay in Seattle and ventured forth anyway. Things seemed to be riding fine until they encountered rough seas in the gulf when, suddenly, something popped and the load shifted.
[Crewman] Robert Jack was at the wheel when he says the ship was hit by a surge to starboard.
"We had a load of freight on, we were headed to Dillingham, Alaska," Jack told KING-TV in Seattle on Wednesday. "Our load was a little heavy and the weather was supposed to pick up. We were in anywhere between 6- and 8-foot swells.
We just finished dinner and I went up to the wheelhouse to drive while the captain went up to his room and all of a sudden the boat took a very large surge to the starboard side and panic started to happen.
"I couldn't recover the ballast on the boat, it was extremely listing and it got worse and worse.
I called the crew members up to the wheel house and we decided to put on our survival suits."
KTUU Channel 2 Television Anchorage 21 April 2010
At sea, when things go terribly wrong, they go wrong in a hurry.
Once he was sure the crew was safe, the skipper fretted about the safety of the ship's boat dog, "an 8-year-old cocker spaniel named Baxter, a beloved pet that went everywhere with Royer." Anchorage Daily News 21 April 2010 After making the frantic call and being assured the Coast Guard knew the ship's position, Royer left the wheelhouse and sought to don his own survival suit. While attempting to leave the ship's deck -- which, at this point, had gotten weirdly angular, with the ship's stern deep and starboard rail (the right side) already underwater, his attempt to push off was unsuccessful and he was struck by falling debris.
Royer was the last off the ship, returning twice to the bridge to make the MayDay call that alerted the Coast Guard.
Royer's decision to make a last-second mayday call before the vessel sank likely saved the lives of his crew, [crewman Robert] Jack said, but may have cost him his.
As the boat suddenly turned onto its side, Royer, rather than immediately jumping ship with the others, stayed in the wheelhouse to make a frantic mayday call and give their position to the Coast Guard, because the boat's Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon (EPIRB) had not activated.
Seattle Times 21 April 2010
The western Alaska summer fishing season hasn't yet begun and already tragedy has struck.
My anger, oddly, is with the clueless Coast Guard dispatcher who continued to prod for more details and -- quite honestly, this part struck me dumb when I heard the recording -- after hearing the initial frantic MayDay call, even had the audacity to ask if the ship was in need of assistance.
That wasted time might well have been the minutes Robert Royer needed to save his own life.
When an emergency strikes, details of ships construction or length are best found on the registry log, not wasting precious minutes of radio time.
My reaction to this is a combination of anger and sorrow.
The Coast Guard is such a sorry mess that they anger me more every year, and I grieve that one of my fellows has tragically died . . .
. . . needlessly so, I would say . . . .
. . . and this, coming just days, before my own great annual bereavement.
Saturday marks the 2nd anniversary of my mother's death.
~
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