Southwinds - April 1999

The north Atlantic rescue of the crew of Kampeska -- Part II

By Capt. Thomas B. Service

In the March issue of Southwinds, Part I of this story followed the southward trek of the Tayana 42 Kampeska as fate and Hurricane Mitch crossed the path of the vessel with a crew of four aboard. The story resumes following a knockdown and dismasting.

Although the day began with the passive and irreversible act of turning their EPIRB on, Kampeska's crew bravely worked together with determination and purpose to preserve their tenuous situation until help arrived. The first order of business was to clear the bilge. Considering the blow that Kampeska had been dealt, there was surprisingly little water inside the boat. Although Roy Olson kept a good clean bilge, the unsecured floorboards allowed books, food, and the contents of the galley sink to enter the bilge and foul the pumps. Karen Olson and sister-in-law Judee Olson, both painfully injured, worked systematically in the lurching cabin to repeatedly clear the bilge pump strainers.
         Although the engine would start and run, the electrical system had been damaged during the capsize, and the alternator would not charge the batteries. With the remnants of the rigging hanging over the side, using the rudder and engine to head her up into the wind and seas would immediately foul the propeller. Roy had kept the batteries charged up during the storm, so they had adequate power to run the pumps and dewater the boat--if they were not holed.
         Once cleared, the pumps were able to keep up with the minimal ingress of seawater. Apparently the hull was still sound. The rechargeable battery for the handheld VHF was low, but the inverter was out of commission and could not be used to charge it. When the first Coast Guard C-130 appeared overhead, Kampeska used the radio to receive their instructions, but were very limited on power to transmit.
         They had all the necessary tools aboard to clear the wreckage of the mast and rigging; however, with no way to steady the boat as she lay in the trough across the heavy seas, her motion was so violent that neither of the women could go forward on the wrecked deck to work without danger of going over the side. Kampeksa's hull would just have to withstand the beating from the mast until they were rescued. There was no other option.
         Kampeksa's violent motion made it very difficult to recover the radios the C-130 dropped to them, but on the second try they were successful and established two-way communications with their rescuers. Likewise, when the M/V Northern Progress saw their flares and approached the wreck, the rough seas and Kampeksa's excessive motion made working on deck and recovering the messenger line an impossibility. The heavy seas made it extremely dangerous for Kampeska to get too close to the high steel sides of M/V Northern Progress. Without a life raft, the crew of the disabled boat were grateful that M/V Northern Progress, S/V Elixir, and S/V Alexia were standing by them. The Kampeska crew had been informed by Northern Progress' captain of the Coast Guard's plan to take them off by helo early the next morning, but first they had to get through another night on the stormy north Atlantic.
         With a tenacious faith and discipline that few individuals could muster in such a dangerous and uncomfortable situation, Karen maintained the morale and strength of the crew by feeding them. Their last meal aboard Kampeska consisted of cereal, fruit, crackers, and orange juice. Those four souls spent that long night bathed in Northern Progress' searchlight, wearing large offshore life jackets and praying the hull could withstand the battering from her mast.
         Just prior to dawn on the morning of November 7, the second C-130 called Kampeska on the radio. The plane and the HH-60 rescue helo were inbound to their position. The crew prepared to leave Kampeska for the last time.
         By now they had spent 26 difficult hours in a drifting 42-foot hulk on a tumultuous sea. Despite the women's best efforts, the crew was worn out both mentally and physically. Kampeksa's location southwest of Bermuda required that the HH-60 helo crew fly a 440-mile round trip, with only 60 minutes of fuel available for time on-station to complete the rescue of four people from the deck of a small boat in 30 knots of wind and 15- to 20-foot seas.
         With the C-130 overhead flying cover and providing a communications link ashore, the HH-60 approached Kampeska and splashed down a Coast Guard rescue swimmer. The rescue swimmer boarded Kampeska and began briefing her crew for evacuation. Roger Olson (Roy's brother), Judee, and Karen were individually hoisted from the cabin top to the helo in the rescue-transfer basket.
         Getting Roy, with a broken back, off the heaving deck of Kampeska without further injury required the finest technique by the rescue swimmer in the most arduous of circumstances. Roy nearly passed out from the pain of moving from the cabin sole to the cockpit, but there was no alternative. The rescue basket was lowered into the violently rolling cockpit, and Roy was snatched off Kampeska for the final time. The swimmer was hoisted back aboard the helo...it had taken over 40 minutes on station to complete the rescue. The sailing vessel Kampeska, once the trim and secure seagoing home of Roy and Karen Olson, was now an abandoned derelict--adrift and at the mercy of the mighty north Atlantic.

The 1-1/2 hour flight back to Bermuda was a difficult time for Kampeksa's crew. Although they were now safe from the rigors of the sea, and the dangerous situation aboard Kampeska, Roy's condition was cause for serious concern. Ambulances were waiting on the tarmac for the Coast Guard Jayhawk helo as it touched down in Bermuda. With less than 10% of their fuel left and a maximum load of passengers aboard, the helo's crew had completed this challenging rescue at the outer limit of their aircraft's operational envelope.
Kampeksa's crew was transported immediately to the hospital in Hamilton where the doctors advised that Roy had to be evacuated to the mainland for extensive medical treatment as soon as possible. Karen made the telephone call that she never wanted

By now they had spent 26 difficult hours in a drifting 42-foot hulk on a tumultuous sea.

to make, but was so thankful that she was able to as she notified the folks at the Blue Water Lifeline Worldwide Assistance Services that she and Roy needed to be evacuated to the United States as soon as possible.
         An air ambulance Lear jet, with a medical evacuation team aboard, was dispatched to Bermuda. Roy and Karen were flown to Baltimore where Roy was admitted to Johns Hopkins Medical Center for treatment. Roger and Judee were treated for their injuries in Bermuda, and returned home to South Dakota by commercial airline.
         All four survivors are now back home convalescing. Roy is up and about, his broken back on the mend. Roger has fully recovered from his concussion and is back to work. Karen's broken ribs are healed, as are Judee's cuts and bruises. Kampeska was last reported seen a week after the incident by the 20,000 ton Indonesian bulk carrier M/V Pooja about 65 miles southeast of where she was abandoned.
         The Olsons had Kampeska covered under the Blue Water America's yacht insurance program. She has been given up to the vicissitudes of the sea, declared lost, and their claim has been settled in full. Likewise, all of the evacuation expenses were fully covered under the Blue Water lifeline program. But what of Roy and Karen's shattered dream...to live aboard Kampeska and sail the grand oceans of the world? How can that be replaced?
         As a former commanding officer of a U.S. Navy salvage and rescue ship, I have participated in several high seas rescue and towing operations. I can tell you from firsthand experience that the Olsons were indeed very lucky. Events like this are usually reported simply as "vessel has gone missing in heavy weather and presumed lost with all hands." As cruising sailors, I suggest that we all take a few moments and think about the Olson's experience aboard Kampeska--caught between two storm systems in the north Atlantic.
         What should have been a routine passage, which typically includes some heavy weather, turned into a major search and rescue operation. Other boats were exposed to similar conditions during that same storm and survived intact. Time and again, we read the accounts of sailing yachts caught in heavy weather and damaged or lost. Yet, it is not at all unusual that nearby vessels were exposed to the same conditions with a far different-- and more successful--outcome. Why?
         I believe that part of the answer is luck. Rogue waves do form and cause havoc in their path. But mostly the differences can be explained by the storm management plans of the individual boats.
         A vessel laying ahull and beam-to in breaking seas is in grave danger of being knocked down and capsized. The weather systems that produce such conditions are not rare, and can be experienced on almost any ocean passage--even those conducted during the "right season." We should all review our own situations: our boats, our gear, our personal training and experience and have a realistic storm management plan in which we have actually drilled if we intend to sail offshore.
         I found Heavy Weather Sailing by Coles and Bruce, and The Storm Tactics Handbook by Lin and Larry Pardee to be excellent guides on this subject. I believe that both books, based on the actual experience of riding out many storms at sea by the expert seamen who wrote them, make an airtight case for using storm trysails and sea anchors to safely and comfortably deal with conditions like those which capsized Kampeska. Sailors have been using the "safety valve" of heaving to in heavy weather for hundreds of years. Are you and your vessel prepared to effectively heave to? Think about it...before you sail offshore.

From 1987 to 1991, Tom and Jean Service circumnavigated with their teenage daughters Dawn and Jennifer aboard their CSY 44 cutter Jean Marie. Jean is the business manager and accountant for a law firm; Tom is a retired Navy diving and salvage officer and a licensed Merchant Marine Master. Together they own and operate their maritime professional management and consulting firm, the WhiteStar Marine company, in St. Petersburg, FL.

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