By Clay Evans, maritime historian and retired Canadian Coast Guard lifeboat coxswain

Next week, the IMRF will be holding its annual meeting at the RNLI College in Poole, UK. Prior to this meeting, on the 11^th of November, as part of its #SaferSAR initiative, the IMRF will also be hosting a ‘Safety in SAR Seminar’ with the overall theme being “Keeping Our People Safe – Together.”

It is perhaps fitting then that the next instalment in the history of the IMRF relates to the story of why safety in maritime SAR matters by reviewing a few examples of the human cost to the lifesaving community over the last century that have led to the continuing need to mitigate risk, not only to those in peril, but also to those who are risking their lives to save them.

Quillayute MLB Memorial. Caption: Memorial statue at Quillayute River, USA, for the three USCG crewmembers lost while responding to a SAR call in February of 1997.
Credit: USCG

From a personal perspective, the topic hits home. In 1989, I lost a colleague and fellow lifeboatman, Thomas Shelby, in a lifeboat accident during a SAR operation on the Nahwitti Bar at the north end of Vancouver Island. He was only 27 years old and left behind a wife and young daughter. In 1997, while working at JRCC Victoria, I flew down in an RCAF helicopter to the USCG Station at Quillayute River, Washington, to attend the service for three USCG lifeboat crew members tragically lost while trying to assist the crew of a sailing vessel in peril – that story is described below. Both incidents had a profound effect on the rest of my career in the Coast Guard and lifeboat communities, with safety considerations for my crew and in all operations remaining paramount.

Many significant measures to improve safety for maritime SAR personnel have been put in place in the marine rescue community over the last century, including vast improvements to personal safety gear and designs of rescue craft. Additionally, the standardisation of vessel types and improved training, as well as the implementation of standard and emergency operating procedures, such as those outlined in the International Shipping Management (ISM) Code, have been instrumental in protecting and saving lives.

Saving lives at sea is, by its very nature, an extremely risky business. Sometimes, in spite of all preventative measures such as equipment, training and experience, the lifesavers themselves can become overwhelmed. Despite modern technology, accidents continue to happen, both at sea and in the air.  In March of 2017, three crew members of an Irish Coast Guard Sikorsky S-92 helicopter tragically perished while responding to a night rescue operation off County Mayo. In June of 2019, the Société Nationale de Sauvetage en Mer (SNSM) in France lost three crew members when one of their all-weather lifeboats capsized while assisting a fishing boat in strong winds and rough seas off the beach of Tanchet aux Sables-d'Olonne. More recently, on the 26^th of September of this year, lifeboat crewmember Adrian Willyson Brask, of the Norwegian Sea Rescue Society (RS), tragically lost his life during a rescue operation in Norway's Lofoten Islands.

There are very few maritime rescue organisations globally that have not lost members in the line of duty. It would not be fair to discuss the last 100 years of the IMRF without giving the reader some idea of the losses which have occurred, nor would it be fair to the memory of the thousands of individuals who, throughout history, have sacrificed their own lives while attempting to save others in peril at sea.

The following excerpts describe a few examples of losses in the lifeboat community since 1924. Due to the limitations of sources, these stories come from Europe and North America and it is recognised that many life savers have been lost over the last 100 years in all corners of the globe. In addition, they focus on losses involving lifeboats, while there are many cases involving air and coastal SAR personnel. For the sake of brevity and clarity, in some cases, quotations have been taken directly from historical accounts, as well as from Boards of Inquiry.

Great Britain. Welsh Coast. Loss of the Mumbles Lifeboat. 1947.

In April of 1947, the 7,000-ton steamship Santampa, running light up the Bristol Channel, was caught in a strong onshore blow, unable to maintain enough steerage to avoid being driven ashore. Eventually, she was able to drop an anchor in the vicinity of Sker Point, but as the ship’s condition remained precarious, the 45ft Watson Type lifeboat from Mumbles was called out to assist. The Coxswain, William Gannon, and his crew of seven were last seen receiving signals regarding the position of the Santampa before pounding their way across the bay to Sker Point. According to all accounts, as the lifeboat headed towards Santampa, one of the large ship’s anchor cables parted and the ship was blown onto the rock ledge below the point. The ship immediately began to break up in the heavy sea, with the entire crew of 41 men huddling on the midships section. A Coast Guard rocket crew attempted to transfer a line, but to no avail. Unfortunately for the crew of the stricken ship, the midships section rolled off the ledge into deep water taking the entire complement with it. Ironically, the bow and stern sections of the vessel, the latter of which held the crew quarters, remained intact and were found the next day to have remained relatively dry. Unfortunately, the dawn’s light also revealed another element to the tragedy, for as the tide receded, the capsized hull of the Mumbles lifeboat was also found amongst the wreckage, along with the lifeless bodies of her entire crew. At the board of inquiry which followed the tragedy it was felt that the lifeboat had been overwhelmed by an immense breaking wave when Coxswain Gammon and his crew, in the finest tradition of the service, had bravely gone into the frenzied waters off Sker Point in a last-ditch attempt to save those on board the Santampa.

Mumbles LB Crew: Caption: RNLI Coxswain William Gannon (top left) and the crew of the RNLI’s Mumbles Lifeboat, all of whom were tragically lost attempting to save the crew of the ship Santampa in April of 1947. 
Credit: RNLI.

United States. Oregon, Columbia River Bar.1961.

On the 12^th of January 1961, the conditions on the bar at the mouth of the Columbia River were described as winds SSE at 55kts, with a heavy breaking sea on the bar. The area was well known by mariners in the northwest as one of the most treacherous bar crossings along the western seaboard. On that day, the fishing vessel Mermaid called the USCG via radio to advise them she had lost her rudder while attempting to cross the bar and was in danger of drifting into the breakers. A 40ft utility boat (UTB) and a 36ft motor lifeboat (MLB) from the Cape Disappointment Lifeboat Station on the Washington State side of the river were already on scene, but due to the immense sea conditions were unable to provide assistance to the stricken fishing vessel. A 52ft (Type F) MLB, the Triumph, from the Point Adams Lifeboat Station in Oregon was tasked to assist, and by the time she arrived on scene, the Mermaid’s situation had deteriorated as she drifted into the shallows off Peacock Spit, on the north side of the bar. Through skill and daring, the six crewmen on the Triumph succeeded in transferring a towline to the vessel and began to drag her to safer water. The surge of the towline in the great breaking seas caused it to snap, and in turning around to pass another line, the Triumph was struck by an immense comber, which capsized the large MLB, throwing most of her crew into the water. One of the crew managed to swim to the Mermaid and somehow made it onboard, and one of the engineers, Gordon E. Huggins, remained with the Triumph until she hit the beach. In the end, he was the only one to survive.

USCG MLB Triumph. Caption: The USCG MLB Triumph, one of two USCG lifeboats that were lost in horrendous sea conditions on the Columbia River Bar in January of 1961.
Credit: USCG

Meanwhile, the plight of the Mermaid, and the other two lifeboats, had become even worse. At about the same time that the crew of the Triumph had been swept away, the 40ft UTB, which was attempting to stand by the stricken vessel, was also hit by a large breaking wave and rolled over. The 36ft MLB, which had been struck by the same series of breakers, resulting in her stern compartment being flooded by the impact, was somehow able to retrieve the three crewmen from the UTB. The coxswain of the 36ft MLB then made a fateful decision. Realising that two lifeboats had already been lost, and that his own vessel had been seriously damaged, he made for the nearest safe haven, the Columbia River Lightship, and transferred his survivors and crew, before his own lifeboat sank. It would be a decision that would save all of their lives. Another 36ft MLB had been sent to assist the Mermaid, and she too had succeeded in setting up a tow in the extreme conditions. Unfortunately, this line would part as well, and the Mermaid and her hapless crew, along with one of the survivors from the Triumph, would be last seen disappearing into the breakers of Peacock Spit, into the black of night and driving spume, all onboard being lost.[i]

Germany. Heligoland. Loss of the Rescue Cruiser Adolph Bermpohl. 1967.

On the 23^rd of February 1967, the large rescue cruiser of the German Society for the Preservation of Life from Shipwreck (DGzRS), the Adolph Bermpohl, was tasked to assist the fishing vessel, J.C. Wriede, reported in distress in hurricane force winds. Her position was about 45 nautical miles northwest of the rescue cruiser’s homeport of Cuxhaven, on the Island of Heligoland. Sea conditions were said to be in excess of 20ft. Approximately one hour after she departed, the Adolph Bermpohl was diverted to assist another vessel, the Dutch fishing boat, Burgermeester van Kampen, reported to be taking on water to the north of Heligoland and in need of immediate assistance.

At approximately 17:13, the rescue cruiser arrived on scene, and in what must have been an incredible feat of seamanship, launched the small daughter boat, Vegesack, off the stern of the Adolph Bermpohl. The Vegesack had a crew of three onboard, and its mission was to come alongside the stricken fishing vessel and recover her crew. At 18:19, the coxswain reported by radio that the daughter boat had been successful in rescuing the crew and that the Adolph Bermpohl would escort the small rescue craft back to harbour, as the sea conditions were deemed to be too severe to attempt a recovery of the daughter boat. This would be the last communication ever received from the rescue cruiser or her crew. The Adolph Bermpohl was located the following morning by a passing freighter, her masts and rigging had been crushed, and there was damage to her superstructure. There was no sign of her crew. The Vegesack was also located the next day, capsized, and also missing her crew and passengers. She too had suffered damage to her superstructure.

RC Adolph Bermpohl. Caption: A historic photo of the DGzRS Rescue Cruiser Adolph Bermpohl secured alongside. Her entire crew and that of the Dutch fishing vessel she was trying to save were tragically lost off Heligoland in February of 1967.
Credit: DGzRS.

In the official enquiry that followed the disaster, the only clue to what may have transpired came from the lightkeeper on Heligoland. He advised that at around 18:45 on the night of the loss, the running lights of a small vessel were seen in the treacherous north entrance to Cuxhaven. The vessel also appeared to have its searchlights aimed down over its side. It was felt that one possible scenario was that the coxswain of the Adolph Bermpohl, being keenly aware of the nightmare that his crew and the survivors must have been going through on the small daughter boat, had decided to attempt to either transfer the personnel, or recover the boat itself, in order to get everyone to the comparative safety of the rescue cruiser. It was probably at this point, at the moment of transfer, when all were on deck and the most vulnerable, that an immense breaking sea knocked the two vessels over, throwing all the survivors and crew into the turmoil of sea and spray. The truth of what actually happened will sadly never be known, as there were no survivors to tell the tale, the entire crew of four from the Adolph Bermpohl and her daughter boat, and three Dutch fisherman, being lost.[ii]

The Netherlands. Loss of the Lifeboat Christiaen Huygens. 1975.

On the 26^th of March 1975, distress flares were spotted by the Dutch Coast Guard in the treacherous Haaksgronden, near the town of Den Helder. The flares were coming from the sailing yacht Hasco III, which was disabled and adrift amongst the treacherous sand bars and breaking seas. The large, 53-ton Lifeboat Suzanna, of the North and South Holland Lifeboat Institution (NZHRM) was dispatched from Den Helder, and her coxswain, J.J. Bijl, decided to tow the smaller, 8m Vlet Class lifeboat Christiaen Huygens along behind it. If the vessel in distress were in shallow water or too close to the beach, the Suzanna would not be able to render assistance owing to her draught, and the smaller boat would have to be sent in.

The wind at the time was reported as Beaufort force 4 to 5, with waves in the order of 2 metres.  The previous two days, however, had seen consistent winds of force 6 to 7 and the seas were probably much larger, as a strong ebb tide was working against them. When getting within visual range of the stricken yacht, Coxswain Bijl could see her lights in the dark of night but could not raise her on the radio. It was obvious from her position, however, that the smaller lifeboat would have to be sent in to attempt a rescue.