- How they battle waves the size of a house to save lives
- How the fly missions in ferocious storms over the Bering Sea
- How to train for the impossible
- How they are able to breeze through even the most testing work day
Read this and you will be able to survive anything.
Alaska, 8am: it’s a chilly May morning, and rescue swimmer O’Brien Starr-Hollow stands in front of the US Coast Guard base in Kodiak, squinting at the sun, which sits low in the sky.
Survival training is due to start in a few minutes. “We’re practising the Star Run,” says the 42-year-old, who is dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. Starr-Hollow is a man with the face of a boy, but the physique of a triathlete.
The Star Run is a mountain course that all the Kodiak rescue swimmers must tackle. A gravel path with spruce trees on either side, it winds its way up Old Womens Mountain in narrow turns. The course ends at the town’s memorial to fallen military personnel – a five-pointed steel star.
The rescue swimmers must run 400m, gaining 115m in altitude, four times in a row as a drill. It’s not uncommon to see one of the runners vomit by the time they reach the monument, yet Starr-Hollow has brought along an item of fitness equipment to today’s training session that will increase the challenge further.
“It’s a mooring line,” he says, holding the frayed end in the air. “We use it to tie a cutter to the landing stage.” The rope is as thick as an anaconda, 15m long and weighs 50kg. Starr-Hollow plans to lug it along as he runs uphill.
“The point of the exercise is to not give up,” he says. Starr-Hollow lifts the end of the rope up onto his shoulders and dashes off past the spruce trees, trailing it behind him like an animal’s tail. It leaves a drag mark in the gravel.
This is just a morning workout for Starr-Hollow, which says a lot about the demands of his profession. As an Aviation Survival Technician with the US Coast Guard, his will and stamina might determine whether or not he makes it to the end of the day. His job is to descend from a helicopter hovering above the ocean and save all those who have got into difficulties in American waters and ended up shipwrecked.
Coast Guard rescue swimmers have to lug fishermen weighing 100kg and wearing slippery dry suits into rescue baskets, and battle through waves the size of a house during Arctic storms.
The training that rookie rescue swimmers go through is as tough as anything else the US military has to offer, with 18 weeks of water drills at a swim school in North Carolina, followed by a seven-week course in emergency medical services. The dropout rate at the swim school is more than 50 per cent; not many can cope with the combination of endurance swimming, psychological stress and little sleep. In some classes, every recruit fails.
On the hill overlooking Kodiak, Starr-Hollow is lugging his mooring line up to the monument for the second time. He’s now clutching the end of the rope in both hands, his gaze frozen on the steel star. Behind him, five other rescue swimmers are torturing themselves as they make their way up the mountain. Many of them are wiry and tenacious; some have a wrestler’s physique.
Up on the hill, you have the best view of the US Coast Guard base. The white roofs of the hangars reflect the rays of the morning sun, and the dark grey ocean starts just beyond the airstrip. The water stretches as far as the eye can see.
Kodiak Island is an hour’s flight from Alaska’s largest city, Anchorage, in the North Pacific. It is a mountainous island with thick coniferous forests. Fat pick-up trucks with bull bars trundle up and down the few roads. The sportswear store in the capital, Kodiak, sells pepper spray to ward off attacks by brown bears.
The Coast Guard Air Station occupies one whole bay on the east of the island. There are three hangars for helicopters and transport planes, and a huge, wood-panelled central command building. The airstrip runs right alongside the ocean. It’s the gateway to the most dangerous waters in the US.
From Kodiak, rescue helicopters fly north to the Arctic Ocean, where ice floes the size of football pitches can be seen floating in the water. To the west, the Coast Guard watches over the Bering Sea, where Arctic storms transform the waves into dark blue walls. Air Station Kodiak covers an area of some 10 million km2; it’s such a large expanse that on some days there are two different weather systems within its confines.
It’s 11am. Starr-Hollow heads through the helicopter hangar, having just got out of the shower. He finished his workout half an hour ago with some chin-ups. Oh, and he had the mooring line round his neck the whole time.
This life suits Starr-Hollow. The son of a Navy SEAL, he grew up in Montana and studied natural resources management. While at boot camp, he played the saxophone for the Coast Guard band. He has now been flying out into the Bering Sea for eight years, longer than any other rescue swimmer on the base.
The Coast Guard crews respond both day and night. If human life is on the line, they’ll go out in the worst weather imaginable. Pilots talk of whiteouts, where it’s snowing so hard that all the search lights will reflect is snow. From the cockpit, it looks like you’re flying through a snowball.
The standard crew onboard a Sikorsky MH-60T Jayhawk helicopter consists of a pilot, co-pilot, flight mechanic and lifeguard. The pilot steers the copter, the co-pilot calculates fuel use, and the flight mechanic operates the rope winch at the door on the right-hand side. The lifeguard hangs on the end of a steel cable that’s as thick as a finger.
“Good communication between all the members of the team is vital for survival,” Starr-Hollow explains.
So, how does good communication work? “You have to treat everyone with respect. Look your colleagues in the eye. Give honest feedback.”
Rescue teams operate according to a ‘just culture’ principle, a system of trust and accountability that is also used in the world of medicine. The aim is to create an environment where you can comment on mistakes without fear of punishment, in order to improve the performance of the whole team.
“I recently noticed after a mission that my flashlight was broken,” Starr-Hollow says. “I hadn’t checked before we took off. Nobody knew of my mistake. But I brought it up at the debriefing. Admitting to a mistake is a weight off your mind. And at the same time it reminds all your colleagues to always check their flashlights.”
Just culture is a great system for improving at whatever job you do, says Starr-Hollow. “Say you’ve annoyed a client because you’ve used the wrong form of address in an e-mail. If you keep silent about your mistake, the same thing might happen to your colleagues. But if you share it, then the whole team profits from the gain in knowledge.”
These are the fundamental Coast Guard principles that Starr-Hollow quotes: always be ready to make demands of each other every day. Perform every task, however small, with care. Like sewing a harness, for example.
“Every rescue swimmer is trained how to use a sewing machine, because we maintain the cargo parachutes for the Coast Guard,” says Starr-Hollow. And, true enough, there are four sewing machines on workbenches in the studio on the first floor of the hangar. Each of these machines has a crimson cloth cover. The bravest men in the Bering Sea have tailor-made the covers and sewn on US Coast Guard logos.
Down in the Air Station Kodiak pool the next day, training is taking place. Rescue swimmer Jon Kreske is sitting on the edge of the 5m dive tower, preparing to jump into the water below. He’s practising free fall from the helicopter, the quickest way to get to the scene if the rescue mission is happening in calm seas.
Kreske stretches his legs out in front of him and pushes himself off the side forcefully with both hands. He lands in the water feet first. Although pool training isn’t ever going to be as extreme and potentially hazardous an experience as a real-life sea rescue, it’s still far from easy. Kreske, who is nine years younger than Starr-Hollow, still remembers swim school well.
“They wake you up at 3am and make you work out for four hours,” he recalls. “Then you have to rescue six people playing accident victims in a pitch-black swimming pool. Two have stopped moving and the other four are flailing about.”
A scout and competitive swimmer in his youth, Kreske has broad shoulders and an incredibly gentle voice. Despite his obvious strength, he instantly comes across as caring. How did he cope with the brutalities of rescue swimmer school?
“It’s 90 per cent mental,” says Kreske. Turns out you don’t need to be a bodybuilder or be able to swim particularly fast to become a rescue swimmer. “The people training you have just one aim: they want to see if you crack under pressure.”
One exercise they’ve developed to help answer this question is the “bullpen”, which is essentially a panic drill in the water.
The recruit swims, with his eyes covered, towards a group of trainers, who have formed a circle at the deep end of the pool.
A US Coast Guard rescue swimmer has to be able to pull a person through heavy seas for 30 minutes, then get them out of the water.
To ensure they’re at peak fitness, the rescue swimmers train twice a week in the pool, as well as working on their endurance.
The most valuable and important exercises for a rescue swimmer are: towing colleagues playing the role of a victim (known as ‘buddy tows’), swimming with equipment (flippers and a snorkel), and using rescue holds on survivors in a panic.
Once the blind recruit reaches the circle, the first instructor forces his snorkel down into the water. He then throws himself on the recruit, like a panicking, drowning man, clutching his arms and pulling him down to the bottom of the pool.
The recruit has to free himself from the instructor’s tight grip and then get them both safely back to the surface.
Once the recruit surfaces, the next instructor ambushes him and pulls him back under the water.The attacks are repeated. Three times. Five times. Seven times. There’s no set end to the drill.
“They want to see if you’ll give up,” says Kreske. Kreske didn’t give up. Instead, he developed a strategy for the long days of basic training. “I divided my working day up into sections,” says Kreske. “During the morning drills, you don’t think further ahead than breakfast. You block everything else out. At breakfast, you only think as far ahead
as the end of breakfast.
“After that comes your first sub-goal: getting through the first pool session. This method of dividing the days helps you complete huge tasks that, if they were tackled together, would put too much pressure on you mentally.”
Kreske says his strategy works for elite training, too, and for working days that include four-hour meetings. “But even the best training is only a pale shadow of the reality,” explains Kreske. “Ask Starr-Hollow about what happened to him.”
At 3am on Easter morning 2008, Starr-Hollow was asleep in a camp bed in barracks on St Paul Island, a Coast Guard outpost in the Bering Sea, approximately 1,100km west of Kodiak, when he was rudely awoken by a rescue pilot. Starr-Hollow was part of a team keeping watch from the base during the crabbing season.
Eight minutes earlier, a trawler, the Alaska Ranger, had put in an SOS call. There was a leak at the ship’s bow. The Alaska Ranger was sinking 370km south of St Paul Island.
Starr-Hollow leapt out of bed. “I knew right after the briefing that the situation was going to be serious,” he remembers. “In most cases, we’re rescuing crews of just three to five men from small fishing vessels. But the Alaska Ranger was a 58m trawler; there were 47 people working onboard.”
Starr-Hollow had his things packed within minutes, and he and his pilot dashed to the airstrip in an SUV. It was a pitch-black night, snow was falling, and the temperature was -24°C.
Once in the hangar, the pilot and co-pilot climbed into the cockpit of the Jayhawk helicopter and put on their night-vision goggles. Starr-Hollow squeezed in next to the mechanic in the hold at the back, which is no bigger than the interior of an SUV.
The Jayhawk was hovering over the scene of the accident just after 5am. But there was no sign of the stricken vessel, the Alaska Ranger. “The ship had sunk,” Starr-Hollow explains. “The crew were strewn a mile wide across the ocean. All you could see were the flashing lights on their life jackets in the water. They were like the lights on a runway at night.”
Starr-Hollow donned his equipment: dry suit, life jacket, radio, flares, GPS, flippers and snorkel.
The Alaska Ranger’s sister vessel, the Alaska Warrior, and the US Coast Guard cutterwouldn’t arrive at the scene until an hour later.
The helicopter crew were on their own and there were 47 people stranded below them in the water. According to the instruction manual, there’s enough room in the helicopter’s hold for five survivors. Or, in case of an emergency, as many as you can somehow squeeze onboard.
The mechanic started the winch and clicked the metal hook at the end of the rope into the steel ring on Starr-Hollow’s chest harness. “He pointed to a flashing light,” says Starr-Hollow.
The mission began with the man who the current had taken furthest away. The rescue swimmer descended into the ocean. He was waist-deep in water as he grabbed the survivor. He attached the fisherman to his chest harness. He gave a thumbs-up to the helicopter, the signal the flight mechanic had been watching out for. Both men were winched onboard. Starr-Hollow helped the survivor into the hold.The mechanic then pointed to the next flashing light in the water.
Starr-Hollow would pull 16 men out of the Pacific that night. The crew onboard the Coast Guard cutter, the USCGC Munro and the Alaska Warrior saved another 26. Five seamen didn’t survive the night.
The Alaska Ranger mission remains one of the largest rescue assignments in the 226-year history of the US Coast Guard. “The mission went on until mid-morning,” recalls Starr-Hollow, sitting in the classroom of the Coast Guard base. Outside, flight mechanics are pushing a Jayhawk onto the airstrip. Snow-white mountaintops glisten at the other end of the bay.
“You function like a machine during a rescue mission,” he says. “You keep on going. You can’t give up. It’s like when you’re carrying a mooring rope up a mountain.”
How has his job changed him?
“You understand that we’re all only human,” says Starr-Hollow. “It’s changed my view of people. Anybody can get into a life-or-death situation, and no matter their place in life, their life matters. They all have somebody who will miss them. We all have that in common.”