SAR Helos in the Storm

We published an overview of shorebased hurricane SAR in the February issue ("Rescuing the People At Home"). Here's a variation on the great work many squadron crews did in this most difficult of domestic emergencies in recent years.

Hurricane Floyd was threatening the northeastern coast of Florida, so the carrier headed out to sea to ride out the storm. Our squadron was supposed to depart on cruise in a few days, so we flew all seven of our Seahawk helicopters aboard the ship and hastily assembled a hurrevac det. Leaving my family to fend for themselves, especially with my imminent departure on cruise looming, had been hard to do, but little did I know that there were eight people who were in much greater need of our help at that moment.

Early on the morning of Sept. 15, 1999, the carrier got an urgent request for help from Coast Guard Station Miami. At 0730, the oceangoing tug Gulf Majesty had transmitted a mayday as it foundered in heavy seas approximately 300 miles off Jacksonville. Within minutes, all eight crew members were forced to abandon ship into a 15-man life raft amid immense waves and howling winds.

Our det OinC and I met with the admiral, his staff and key ship personnel. Weather in the vicinity was the worst I'd ever seen, but we decided to try a rescue in these hurricane-like conditions. The carrier mined back into the storm from its position about 450 miles off the coast of Jacksonville. Waves breaking over its 70-foot-high deck made the ship lose eight of its life rafts as she turned back toward the rescue site.

We had two HH-60Hs, each with a crew of four: two pilots, a hoist operator and a rescue swimmer. Our helicopters had been safely tucked away in the hangar bay, and our maintainers and ship's personnel did a great job of preparing them for flight and quickly moving them to the flight deck. We briefed the mission as we closed to within 130 miles of the datum and launched from the carrier about 1030. As we got closer, the direction-finding equipment on the lead helo led us toward the raft's emergency locator transmitter (ELT). We reached the datum around 1145 and spotted debris in the water, then continued to home in on the signal from the ELT. I was the HAC for Dash 2.

As we flew toward the signal, one of my crewmen spotted an orange smoke set off by three survivors in the water. We immediately turned to mark on top of their position and dropped a marine smoke marker next to them. Then Dash 1 approached the survivors to pick them up. The 50-knot winds and 20-to-25-foot seas pummeled the rescue swimmer and survivors, but all three survivors were soon in the helicopter. Dash 1 radioed that these survivors had gotten separated from the raft when its tether line parted as they tried to abandon ship. They had miraculously held onto each other and the ELT for more than four hours in the mountainous waves. Now, there were five more survivors still adrift in a raft with no ELT.

We made a sector search of the immediate area, but alter 30 minutes, we hit bingo fuel and both aircraft returned to the carrier to refuel and drop off the survivors.

Lead refueled first and departed on the second rescue attempt around 1400, and we launched five minutes later. I had an extra rescue swimmer to provide an additional set of eyes in the aircraft, now that we would be doing a purely visual search.

As we approached the datum, the weather began to deteriorate. We were forced to descend from 1,000 feet to 500 feet, then to 300 feet. The winds were now 55 knots sustained, gusting to 70, and the seas were over 30 feet.

As we flew around one of the thundercells, we spotted the 750-foot barge that the tugboat had been pulling before it sank. We circled the barge several times to make sure that no one had gotten aboard her, but it was abandoned.

While our wingman searched another sector, we decided to search for the raft upwind, figuring a barge broadside to the wind would blow farther than a small raft with a sea anchor.

We made the barge the new datum and did a ladder search with 2-mile legs back upwind toward that morning's survivor-pickup point. Our search altitude was still 300 feet, and we tried to keep our airspeed about 70 knots to maximize our power excess to battle the winds.

Flying crosswind to 55 knots of wind was hard as we made turns in the search pattern. We were in and out of driving rain as we searched with visibility going from 3 miles to less than one-eighth of a mile, testing our crew coordination and flying skills. I got vertigo at one point, and my copilot talked me through that while we continued to update the search plan in those challenging conditions.

After 45 minutes of searching, the minor miracle we needed occurred as we flew through an area of less than one-eighth of a mile visibility and happened to spot the raft directly below us. My copilot yelled, "On top, on top!" and we dropped a smoke marker, then turned back toward the raft into the wind and entered the hover.

Now it was time to earn our flight pay as the aircraft's automatic flight-control system (AFCS) began to malfunction. My copilot backed me up on instruments in the IMC hover as the radar altimeter fluctuated over 30 feet and huge waves passed under the aircraft. The AFCS would also kick off from time to time as the helicopter tried to maintain a steady hover.

My copilot took over the radios so I could listen exclusively to the hoist operator and concentrate on manually flying the hover. The rescue swimmer elected to stay attached to the rescue hook because of the severe conditions. First, we tried verbal control to put the swimmer near the raft, but that didn't work because of the high winds. I couldn't correct the aircraft fast enough, based on the hoist operator's directions. Next, we tried letting the hoist operator position the aircraft, using the crew hover joystick at the rescue station, but its authority was too limited in those conditions Thus, we were forced to revert to manually hovering with the raft at the 2:30 position.

The swimmer got a survivor out of the raft and into the water. 1 followed them as they were tossed by the waves until they gave a pickup signal and were raised up by the hoist. Finally, I eased the aircraft back toward the raft, put it at 2:30, then did the whole routine again.

After 35 minutes in a hover, the combined efforts of both rescue swimmers brought all five survivors aboard. We rendezvoused with lead and returned to the carrier, mission accomplished.

There is no substitute for good crew coordination. It's definitely a force multiplier. When everyone pulls together, you can accomplish difficult missions, despite the conditions. We had several junior crewmen on board both aircraft and some pilots who had never flown actual rescues before. Our fearless rescue swimmers were the true heroes of the mission. We combined thorough knowledge of aircraft capabilities and the mission, with great crew coordination in the cockpit. Coordination between aircraft and all rescue-mission command and control elements were the other reasons we could rescue eight men from the clutches of Hurricane Floyd.

Lt. Pesile flies with HS-11.

COPYRIGHT 2000 U.S. Naval Safety Center
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group