Harrowing Bering Sea rescue

Coast Guard Magazine, March-April, 2008 by Kurt Fredrickson

The Bering Sea is perhaps one of the most unforgiving, harsh and dangerous places in the world, and although the risk is high, many mariners depend on it for their livelihood. But in the dark winter months when things can quickly go from bad to worse, they rely on the Coast Guard to be there. For one Coast Guardsman, his lifesaving actions in the midst of a brutal winter storm earned him a prestigious award and public recognition for heroic achievement. The award recounts his actions as an individual, but the rescue, like so many others, displays the elements inherent in all Coast Guardsmen willing to put their lives on the line so others may live, exposes the teamwork necessary to accomplish the mission and reveals the often unseen and true reward of saving lives at sea.

The 378-foot CGC Mellon was moored in Dutch Harbor, Alaska, on its Bering Sea mid-patrol break Feb. 9, 2007. AST1 Wil Milam, two pilots and a flight mechanic were deployed from Air Station Kodiak to crew an HH-65B Dolphin helicopter stationed aboard the cutter for its several week patrol of the Bering. As an aviation survival technician, Milam was a key part of a four-person rescue team deployed seemingly to the ends of the earth.

At 11:22 p.m., Coast Guard Rescue Coordination Center Juneau received an unlocated first alert signal from a 406 emergency position indicating radio beacon registered to the 42-foot fishing vessel Illusion. The Coast Guard attempted to determine the vessel's possible location by contacting family members of the crew and the harbor master in Dutch Harbor. Reports indicated that the Illusion was most likely fishing somewhere in Makushin Bay near Unalaska Island. At 12:01 a.m., the location was verified by the receipt of a second emergency signal.

With nothing more than a point on a map, the helicopter took off into the darkness. With turbulent winds of 40- to 50-mph and gusts in excess of 60-mph, low clouds, horizontal rain and visibility of one-quarter of a mile, the danger for Milam and his crewmembers had already begun.

"I wasn't too keen on going flying because I knew what the case was," said Milam. "Nine times out of ten we go out there and tell some boat, 'hey your EPIRBs going off.'"

Several minutes into the flight the pilots spotted and headed for a steady light on the water. Suddenly, the eerie red glow of a flare illuminated the clouds and mist around the helicopter, immediately changing the tone of the situation, Milam explained. Everyone knew this case was now a rescue.

Soon after the flare, the helicopter flew over a raft and Milam heard his queue from the pilots, "rescue checklist part one for a swimmer deployment." The process was as they had trained, Milam noted, and despite the severity of the weather and situation, the whole evolution was routine.

Milam moved into position at the edge of the helicopter's open door. Below him, through the rain and darkness, he could make out the small raft being tossed in the stormy 15-foot seas. After 20 years of service, Milam jokingly recounted his last vivid thought before heading out the door, "I pulled my retirement letter for this?" Ironically enough, Milam's first rescue swimmer experience was not much different from the one now below him.

In 1985 at the age of 19 while serving in the Navy, Milam and a friend took a boat out of bounds looking for a good surf spot near the cliffs of Point Loma, Calif. Shortly after leaving the protection of the bay, the small boat was swamped by a series of large waves and they found themselves in need of rescue.

"About 20 minutes later this H3 Coast Guard helicopter comes flying over the top of Point Loma," Milam explained. "I remember looking up at the guy sitting in the door and saying to myself, 'I'm getting that guy's job.'"

Now, after 14 years as a rescue swimmer, Milam has flown on more than 100 missions and found himself sitting on the edge of a Coast Guard helicopter door an unimaginable number of times. But it would be on this rescue that things would be brought into perspective as never before.

Milam was lowered to the water within 10 feet of the raft and disconnected from the hoist cable. Immersed in the tossing swells, he lost sight of the raft several times. Upon reaching the raft he found four men wearing no survival suits. Having been exposed to the wind and 40 degree seas, one survivor was already severely hypothermic. Individuals who fall into the Bering Sea may only survive a few minutes, and reaching a raft without a survival suit is no guarantee of survival.

Milam radioed for the rescue basket to be lowered as close as possible to the raft to minimize exposing the already hypothermic survivors to the frigid water. To increase their chances for survival, the air crew's survival suits were lowered to be worn by the survivors. Although battling harsh weather conditions, darkness and cold, the rescue evolution was going by the book; that is until Milam reentered the water from the raft to get the guide line attached to the survival suits being lowered from the helicopter.