When a distress call goes out, the crew of CCGC Sambro aim to be on the high seas within 30 minutes. When a boat capsizes, every second spent clinging to the wreckage in icy water is an eternity, and death moves quickly – the coast guard aims to move quicker. With a rescue rate of more than 96 per cent, the coast guard usually wins.
The crew, based in Sambro, work seven-day shifts – and they’re on call 24 hours a day. That means at 3:58am, you’re sound asleep in your warm bed, and at 4:15am you’re speeding over black waves into the cold night, heart pounding, knowing that someone’s life depends on how fast you can find them.
On this day, the rescue is only a mock – but the swelling seas are real enough. The Sambro – a 52-foot Arun class lifeboat - cruises out of her base and heads along the coast toward Halifax. Waves that have had the width of the North Atlantic to work up a bad temper slam into her side, jostling the four-person crew around the small cabin. Captain Hally Hennenberry’s Sambro carries two rescue specialists (Bruce Flemming and Steve Tough on this trip) and an engineer (Randy Power).
They are the ocean’s firefighters, ready to respond to any crisis on the seas, from stalled fishing boats and search-and-rescue operations along the shore to medical emergencies on passing cruise ships and full-out wrecks. They also assist the RCMP with armed boardings of suspicious vessels – and while the cops get bullet-proof vests, “we don’t” says Flemming with a grin.
The Sambro is designed so that it can flip upside down in the water and right itself – a design feature no one is keen to test.
The day’s first mission is a man-overboard exercise (much more exciting than this reporter’s earlier “breakfast-overboard” exercise). Usually the task of jumping off ship falls to “Oscar” – the dummy possibly named for his award-worthy ability to act like a person in distress – but today it’s a real person.
It takes a certain amount of courage to capsize your own boat on the Atlantic, but it’s better to do it when the Sambro’s on hand. A group of coast-guard trainees do just that, then take turns climbing on top of the upturned Fast Rescue Craft (FRC). After catching their breath, it’s back into the water to show off the FRC’s party trick.
A trainee swims under the boat and triggers its self-righting mechanism. Within seconds, the submerged roll bar inflates, pushing the boat partially out of the water and finally flipping it back right-ways up. The crew clamber back onboard.
Then, Johnny Drake, a search-and-rescue preparedness officer, jumps overboard in a bright survival suit. As he bobs in the gloomy Atlantic, the boat speeds away, leaving him alone on the wintry afternoon. He appears confident, and so he should be - he trained his would-be rescuers. After a few minutes, a second FRC zips up alongside him, pulling him aboard; a few minutes later, he’s tossed back into the ocean. It’s time for the Sambro to have a shot.
The cutter slows as it nears the orange speck rolling on the grey waves. The waves are high and lift the bow into the air, then push under the boat so the nose goes
crashing back into the water. Normally, not a problem - but when you’re trying to pull a 42-tonne ship alongside a small man in a big ocean, the pilot needs strong nerves and great skill to bring the ship within inches of him – but not on him.
We skillfully ride the rough waves, Henneberry bringing the nose down within feet of the Drake as we sidle up next to him. Flemming and Tough lower the rescue strap and scoop Drake aboard.
Working for the coast guard is exhilarating and dangerous – because, on those stormy night-rescue missions, if something goes wrong, there is no one to rescue the rescuers. Flemming, 44, has been with the coast guard for 15 years. A strong man with an easy demeanor, his face is one you’d be glad to see after your ship’d gone down. He says many of the crew also work as fishermen – and no one knows the value of the coast guard’s work better than fishermen.
Flemming was one of many who came out when Swiss Air flight 111 went down off Peggys Cove. They were at sea for 38 hours without a break, or a place to lay down.
The Sambro “ain’t built for comfort,” jokes one of the crew.
The Sambro has plenty of high-tech tools to get the job done. In addition to defibrillators and
other first-aid equipment, she has night-vision goggles to scan the dark waters, “rocket lines” to fire at stricken vessels to pull them off the rocks, and tracking devices to find lost ships.
On a recent rescue, a pleasure vessel hit rocks and sent an SOS – giving the wrong location. The tracking device told the truth, and the crew saved the family with minutes to spare.
So next time you hear on the news that a missing person is being sought by search-and-rescue, give a thought to these heroes of the high seas. You’ll hopefully never meet them – but if you do, you’ll soon be there No. 1 fan.