Authors: Rob Mundle
As Ticehurst hovered down closer he established communications with the damaged yacht. He didn’t have winching capabilities aboard his chopper, so he radioed AusSAR and told them
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’s condition and position and that there were injured crewmembers aboard. Ticehurst was told a rescue helicopter was on its way.
It wasn’t the first time Ticehurst had been frustrated his helicopter wasn’t fully equipped to conduct rescues. His concern had been such that he made his own, unofficial plans and had installed a homemade ladder. While the ABC chopper hovered like a guardian angel over
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, waiting for the rescue team to arrive, Ticehurst offered words of encouragement to the beleaguered crew below.
The Northshore 38 fibreglass production yacht
Siena
, owned by Iain Moray, was 30 miles south east of Gabo Island when the 14:05 sked was broadcast. The crew was elated, having covered some 230 miles in 25 hours. They heard the forecast for winds of 45 to 55 knots, but they were already seeing 75 knots, so, as well as the euphoria there was a growing anxiety about what might be ahead.
Siena
’s navigator, 50-year-old Tim Evans, was struggling to keep himself jammed into the nav station on the high (starboard) side as the yacht was pounded by wind and waves.
Suddenly a mayday burst through the airwaves. It was
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Moray and his crew waited deliberately for a few seconds to see if anybody else responded. That didn’t happen. Evans then grabbed his radio microphone and acknowledged
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They worked out the yacht was ahead of them and, after making contact with the ABC helicopter, proceeded to the location to lend what assistance, if any, they could.
“We found them right on the button,” said Moray. “Initially, because of the size of the waves, we couldn’t spot them. But we did see the helicopter and that gave us our goal. In fact we didn’t see the yacht until we were about 100 metres away. We told the helicopter we were putting our engine on. Our plan was to stand by and help pick the guys off the yacht if the helicopters couldn’t get some or all of them. We just had the storm jib up and for about the next hour we were tacking up and down around the yacht. We still weren’t clear whether the helicopter could actually get to them. I was one of two guys on deck when this huge wave hit us and knocked us flat – with the mast in the water. Tim, who was still on the radio talking to the helicopter, didn’t hear the call from the deck of ‘Bad wave!’. The noise of the storm was too great.”
The force of the sudden knock-down was such that Evans was hurled like a sack of potatoes across the cabin and into the stove in the galley. The pain was instant and excruciating; the result, it would later be learned, of three broken ribs and a punctured lung. He regained his feet and his composure and, despite being in agony, went straight back to his radio to continue monitoring the situation. On deck Moray made sure that the helmsman was still aboard. He then checked on the situation below. Evans’ injuries soon proved too serious and he staggered to a bunk. Pain-killing drugs were administered in a bid to make him as comfortable as possible. Lifting him in a sling or harness would be out of the question. They decided to head for Eden.
The engine and storm jib were being used for propulsion – until the engine died – the consequence of seawater forcing its way into the fuel tank via the breather tube. Twenty hours later
Siena
made the best possible landfall, Bermagui. Evans was rushed to Moruya where he was stabilised and prepared for surgery. Doctors discovered that pneumonia had already set in and it was suggested he may not have lasted another 24 hours without medical attention.
Above the mayhem, Gary Ticehurst was starting to have problems of his own. Because the cloud cover was so thick, darkness was descending more rapidly than usual. The fuel gauge on his chopper was also starting to remind him that the time to return to shore was fast approaching. But he didn’t want to leave
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before the rescue chopper arrived.
The Helimed chopper team had done a remarkable job in reaching their target little more than an hour after being directed to the rescue. They arrived to find the broken yacht taking on water at an alarming rate. The
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crew kept bailing to keep their yacht afloat, all the time watching as the big chopper moved around them like a jumbo-sized dragonfly. What the sailors didn’t know was that their apparent saviours were actually discussing forsaking the mission because it was too dangerous. After much deliberation the Helimed team decided to make an attempt at a rescue and reassess the situation after that. Forty-year old Peter Davidson, father of two teenage children and a Helimed airwing crewmember for eight years, was to be the “live bait” – the man lowered from the chopper to make the rescue.
The
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crew was asked to put the first two men to be rescued – the worst injured – into the liferaft and then let it drift a considerable distance away from the yacht on an extended line. That way the chance of Davidson being slammed into the side of the yacht was minimised. It was also easier for the pilot, Peter Leigh, to concentrate on the raft and not the yacht. Davidson clipped onto the wire winch cable and began the descent. Gary Ticehurst watched from the controls of the ABC chopper, fearing for Davidson’s safety but lauding his courage.
“It was unbelievably difficult for the chopper to hold station with the yacht coming up at him in the 50-foot seas,” Ticehurst said. “There were two survivors in the liferaft which was tethered to the yacht. It was flicking around all over the place, being washed over and rolled. The crewman on the wire had to be placed in a position near the raft. It was a nightmare trying to get him there. He was being rolled and dragged across the ocean surface by the wire from the chopper, sometimes on top of the
water, sometimes under. At times he was just snatched out of the water because the trough was deeper than the cable was long. It took 10 minutes for the first survivor to be taken out of the liferaft. The energy the crewman had to apply was amazing. That guy is a real hero. He went and did another seven rescues. I think it took forty minutes to get the rest of them.”
Davidson was the next best thing to a human tea bag. After several unsuccessful attempts to get him into the raft he was winched back up to the helicopter for a rethink. He was placed into the water as close as possible to the raft so he could swim to it. It was a procedure that worked and once Davidson had his first rescue complete all the confidence that was needed was there. It was a perilous mission for both the chopper crew and Davidson – the chopper pilot was forever concentrating on the approaching waves because the cable on the winch was barely long enough. At times he would have to gain altitude rapidly to allow a rampaging wave to roll underneath. Mike Marshman and Simon Clarke, the two crewmembers with the most severe injuries, were sent to the chopper first. They were about 50 metres from the yacht when an enormous wave rumbled in towards them. As it curled at the top the lanyard securing them to the yacht went tight and flicked them through the top of the wave. They were shaken, stirred but had survived. Davidson’s effort continued until he had his full bag of fish – eight of the
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crew in the chopper.
“There were two very bad moments for me,” Davidson recalls. “One was when the helicopter was buffeted by a wind gust. I’d just managed to get the harness around a guy when suddenly it felt like we’d been caught in an explosion. It was as though we were standing on our feet one minute then the next second we were being picked up and hurled across the surface. We
were both launched out of the raft and as we hit the water one of the monster waves – a 50- or 60-footer – broke over the top of us. I just didn’t know what was going to happen. I thought I’d broken my back but then realised I could still feel my legs. The impact was incredible. I thought I’d lost the guy out of the harness – but he was still there. I managed to wrap my arms and legs around him and hang on.” The next instant the helicopter suddenly climbed and Davidson and his man were launched from the water like a missile.
While the Helimed team was completing their part of the rescue the SouthCare rescue helicopter out of Canberra came into the circuit over
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Its task was to rescue the four crewmen remaining aboard. The pilot was Ray Stone, the crewman was Mark “Delfie” Delf and the two paramedics were Kristy McAlister and Michelle Blewitt, both helicopter rescue rookies. A few hours earlier the SouthCare chopper was on a return flight from Sydney to Canberra when it was tasked to another emergency in the NSW country town of West Wyalong. As they prepared to head to West Wyalong the job was cancelled. The four crew joked that they would probably get a rescue job with the Sydney to Hobart race. Ten minutes later that’s exactly what happened. AusSAR told them they were needed in Mallacoota.
The chopper returned to the SouthCare base at Canberra airport to refuel and be equipped with special rescue gear. It wasn’t until they were in the air and heading for Mallacoota that they were re-routed to Merimbula. They were to do a “hot refuel” – not shutdown – then head 60 nautical miles off the coast to back up Helimed on the
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rescue.
Thirty-year-old McAlister had been brought up on a
sheep and wheat property near Quandialla in western NSW, and had joined the Ambulance Service in 1991. In 1994 she became a paramedic with SouthCare and was selected as one of 13 paramedics to work on the helicopter when it joined the ambulance service. McAlister had been airsick for the first time in her life on the way out to Merimbula. The worsening weather wasn’t helping.
“I was feeling fine until we found the yacht and started doing tight circles waiting for Helimed to finish their winching. It was really turbulent and next thing both Michelle and I were sick. I was also feeling scared. It was my turn to go down the wire. I was watching what Peter was doing and how much he was getting tossed about. Delfie was just continually making little comments like, ‘Oh…oh…oh…oh shit…oh no!’. In the end I said to him, ‘Look, will you please stop it! I’m petrified already and you’re making it worse for me’. Delfie just said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ and he didn’t say another word.”
Once the Helimed chopper had completed its rescue the SouthCare machine moved into a hover situation just astern of
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and 100 feet above the water. McAlister, who was wearing her wetsuit, put on her swimming fins before Delf handed her the winch cable. She clipped it onto her harness and moved to the open door, and almost instantly the immediacy of the situation cured her of her airsickness. While she was looking down a large set of waves pummelled the liferaft and one of the men was separated. McAlister signalled she was going to go for him. As if it was an initiation ceremony for someone making their first open ocean rescue, McAlister was pounded by a 50-foot breaking wave as soon as she hit the water. It pushed her under for 15 seconds and rolled the liferaft. Before she had a chance to catch her breath, yet another wave dumped her. When she surfaced again she was miraculously only 10 metres away
from the
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crewmember. She reached him, told him what needed to be done then both were winched to safety.
Andy Marriette and Bevan Thompson were in the liferaft when it rolled while McAlister was descending. Thompson then drifted off but was picked up by McAlister. John Culley then jumped into the raft.
“I went down again and by this stage there were two guys hanging onto the liferaft,” recalls McAlister. “I didn’t realise it had been capsized again. The waves were tossing the raft everywhere and the guys were getting thrown all over the place. I made my way over to one of the guys and had the strop half on him when the other guy started saying, ‘No, don’t take him, take me. I can’t hang on any longer.’ I could only say, ‘Look mate, I’m sorry but I’ve already got this guy about ready to go. We’re not going to leave you. You’re just going to have to hang on.’ What else could I do? The guy I was with then started saying, ‘It’s OK, you can take him.’ I said, ‘No, I’m taking you. You are it.’
“Just before we began to winch up we got hit by another set of waves and the liferaft became tangled around our winch cable. I didn’t realise this until we started to be winched up and the liferaft was coming with us so we got plonked down into the water. As we hit the water the winch cable got caught on the side of my neck and carved a welt into it. At that moment another set of waves came through. It was just sheer luck that the waves untangled the liferaft from around the winch cable. As soon as I realised we were clear I gave the thumbs up and we were gone.”
She then handed over the winch wire to Michelle Blewitt, a mother of two, who had spent the last few minutes being sick. By the time Blewitt got to the water Marriette was understandably distressed. She had to
struggle with him to get the rescue strop over his safety harness and inflatable life jacket. It was soon apparent Marriette would have to float on his back so Blewitt could put his legs through the ring and then move it up to the proper position around his chest.
“As soon as they started the lift I began saying to this wonderful woman, ‘Will you hurry up and get us out of here. I hate heights, I’m the biggest chicken you could ever have on a rope’,” Marriette recalls. The pair were lifted about 20 feet above the water with the liferaft tether wrapped around the winch cable. The chopper crew lowered them back into the water so it could be untangled. As Blewitt tried to clear the rope, the liferaft was caught by another savage gust of wind and flung into the air. The metal cylinders that supply the gas to inflate the raft when it is deployed, and which hang on a strap, flipped up and smashed Blewitt on the side of her head, knocking her out for a moment. When she regathered her senses Marriette suggested that they try again to untangle the rope. He was concerned because there was still one crewmember, Charles, on board the yacht and the raft would be needed for his rescue.
“I said to the paramedic, ‘I’ll try to untie the rope, so we can keep the liferaft and get it untangled’. She said ‘No, No, No,’ and with that ripped out her knife and sliced through the 10mm Kevlar line as though it were butter,” Marriette recalls. The liferaft bolted like a wild horse freed from a tether. It immediately flipped up onto its edge and took off at around 80 knots, bouncing from wavetop to wavetop. Marriette could not believe what he had just seen. He arrived at the welcoming door of the helicopter “absolutely knackered”. Blewitt then went down again and did a water rescue of the last sailor. He had to jump into the water with his life jacket on and clutching a safety line still attached to the yacht. That way, if something went
wrong, he could haul himself back aboard. This rescue turned out to be relatively quick and simple.