“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is the Motor Vessel Little Missie…”
Well that got our attention! It was a nice warm day, with a 10 knot breeze from the east. We were sailing south just outside the south gap in Milwaukee, when the Mayday call came through the radio loud and clear on channel 16.
“…Little Missie, Little Missie, we have a…”
And then, mid sentence and blocking their transmission:
“Vessel in distress, Vessel in distress, this is United States Coast Guard Sector Lake Michigan. Do you have a GPS position? Over.”
Once the Coast Guard officer released the transmit button, the very end of the Mayday call could be heard:
“… east of the south gap of the harbor.”
Most distress calls I’ve heard on the radio are clearly hoaxes, or involve someone who has no idea what they’re doing on a boat or how to operate a radio. The skipper of Little Missie did not fit that description. They sounded slightly stressed, but still attempted to communicate effectively by using terms like, “Mayday,” and including their position. Kristin and I took the Mayday call seriously.
It had sounded like the Coast Guard radio operator didn’t realize the Mayday caller was still transmitting when they transmitted on the radio. The building for Sector Lake Michigan is actually in very close proximity to the South Gap of the Milwaukee Harbor, less than a mile from where we were. However, they have a huge network of antennas, allowing them to monitor the southern ¾ of Lake Michigan (hence, “Sector Lake Michigan”). While this gives them great capability, it also burdens them since they’re monitoring lots of simultaneous, separate conversations. It must be hard to sort through all that “noise,” even on a weekday like this one. Also, as far as I can tell, the nearest antenna for the Milwaukee Harbor is not at the Coast Guard building… it’s ten miles south in Oak Creek. The Cudahy shoreline extends into the lake between that antenna and the harbor, potentially further interfering with communication.
Kristin looked at me as if to say, “Did you hear that?” We looked around for any boats, and Kristin noticed a powerboat about a mile east of us that was slowly headed towards us and the south gap. We wondered if that was the boat in trouble.
There was silence on the radio. If I jumped on the radio too quickly I might block either the distressed vessel or the Coast Guard… I’d be getting in the way of communication. I wondered if the boat in trouble had somehow been able to communicate on a different channel, or via phone. I also knew I couldn’t wait too long to find out… since we had heard the distress call, and the Coast Guard might not have, I felt it was our duty to take further action if needed.
Since we were out for a “pleasure cruise,” with no intended destination, and since the powerboat just happened to lie on the starboard lay line, we tacked and headed directly for them while I waited for the Coast Guard to respond.
Kristin put her life jacket on and asked me, “Shouldn’t we start the motor?” I didn’t think motoring would help the situation yet. Sailing towards the boat ahead would close the gap very quickly anyway, and any engine noise might hinder communication. If needed, we could start the motor to increase our boat’s electrical voltage and maybe improve our transmitting power… but that seemed like overkill.
Several years ago I got in the habit of keeping a small notepad and pen near the cockpit microphone for an event such as this. How frustrating would it be to hear someone’s last fleeting distress call with accurate position, only to forget all those numbers? It could also be used for noting slip assignments and other odds and ends. Of course, I didn’t use said notepad for a few years, and removed it from the cockpit area during a “boat cleaning” a while ago. I never put it back. D’oh!
Kristin grabbed some paper and a pen for me, since I might need to write some things down if I got on the radio.
About a minute after the first distress call ended, with no further communications received, I decided it was time to get involved. I often try to be discreet on the radio and only use low power (1 watt) for routine communications, but using all 25W of high power seemed justified here.
“Coast Guard Sector Lake Michigan, Coast Guard Sector Lake Michigan, this is Sailing Vessel Priorities, Sailing Vessel Priorities on one six, over.”
Immediately the Coast Guard responded:
“Sailing Vessel Priorities, this is Sector Lake Michigan, go ahead, over.”
“Sector Lake Michigan, this is Sailing Vessel Priorities, did you receive that Mayday call about a minute ago?”
I teach a VHF Radio class at the Milwaukee Community Sailing Center in the winter. I try to emphasize proper phraseology without getting too hung up on the exact details. From most of my research for that class I’ve found the word “over” should conclude most marine transmissions. Unfortunately, I talk on a VHF radio at work all the time as an airline pilot, and we never use the word “over.” As anyone who has taken my class will attest, I have a very hard time remembering to use that word!
“Sailing Vessel Priorities, this is Sector Lake Michigan, we only heard a partial transmission. What is your position? Over.”
“Sector Lake Michigan, this is Priorities, we’re just east the south gap of the Milwaukee Harbor. The transmission was very clear to us. We see a boat nearby, so stand by.”
With only two of us aboard a sailboat, we weren’t that capable of providing much assistance to a vessel in distress. Our options were limited to plucking people out of the water after a sinking, spraying seawater on a fire with our washdown pump, or merely offering communication assistance. Powerboats can have a difficult time transmitting very far since their antennas are so low to the water. Sailboats usually have a VHF antenna on the top of their mast… on Priorities, it is mounted 58 feet above the water, giving us considerable transmitting range.
I continued:
“Vessel hailing Mayday, vessel hailing Mayday, vessel hailing Mayday, this is Sailing Vessel Priorities, Sailing Vessel Priorities on one six, over.”
“Sailboat Priorities, this is Little Missie, that was us, we made the call.”
“Little Missie, this is Priorities, what is your position, and please include the city name, over.”
“Priorities, this is Little Missie, we’re near the south gap of Milwaukee and you’re heading right for us.”
“Sector Lake Michigan, this is Sailing Vessel Priorities, did you copy that? Over.”
“Sailing Vessel Priorities, this is Sector Lake Michigan, negative. Can we get a name and phone number we can reach you at? Over.”
I get why the Coast Guard wanted to talk on the phone. Most boaters are more comfortable talking on a phone, which probably reduces stress in what often can be stressful situations. Of course, my phone was nowhere near the helm, and I didn’t want to waste time juggling a cell phone when we still needed to communicate with the boat in distress!
“Sector Lake Michigan, this is Priorities, stand by. Little Missie, Little Missie, this is Priorities, state the number of souls on board, make sure everyone is wearing life jackets, and state the nature of your emergency, over.”
“Priorities, this is Little Missie. We blew an exhaust manifold and are taking on water. My crew is currently bailing, but we can’t tell yet if we’re keeping up, over.”
Now we were getting somewhere! While I didn’t press the issue of how many souls were aboard, the scope of the crisis was more clear. It was likely that instead of engine cooling water going overboard with the exhaust, it was flooding the boat. If they tried to go faster, it would flood the boat faster… maybe faster than they could bail. If they shut the motor down, they would not get to safety. Their situation definitely required immediate action, but there wasn’t much we could do on Priorities besides assisting with communication.
During the whole process, the Coast Guard operator ashore was unable to clearly hear any of Little Missie’s transmissions, but clearly heard mine. I acted as a relay between the two, relaying their difficulties, intended destination, and contact info, taking notes on paper as we went along. We tacked just after passing them to follow them to the harbor in the event things escalated, but a Coast Guard vessel arrived on scene and took over in less than 5 minutes. It appeared Little Missie was towed to safety.
It’s disappointing a power boat with an operational VHF radio wasn’t able to communicate with the Coast Guard when so close to the very busy Milwaukee Harbor. They were within sight of the Coast Guard building! I later found out that friends in the office of the Milwaukee Community Sailing Center, over 2 miles away, heard the distress call on their radio as well and were just about to get involved before I beat them to it. My understanding of the design specs of the Coast Guard’s “Rescue 21” VHF system is that a handheld VHF radio just a few feet above the water should be able to communicate with the Coast Guard from many miles offshore… most of the way across the lake. It makes me wonder how many communication “holes” in their system exist near other busy harbors.
Until this incident occurred I hadn’t put much thought into what it would be like being a Coast Guard radio operator monitoring almost the entire lake. On a busy weekend, I wonder how easy it would be to miss a Mayday call through all the other chatter on channel 16. It reinforces my decision years ago to take the time to set up the DSC features of my VHF radio on Priorities… including registering for an MMSI, and connecting the GPS. If I were in a real distress situation, I wouldn’t hesitate to use the “DSC DISTRESS” button on my radio. Pressing it sets off attention-getting alarms on many VHF radios, and includes my boat’s identification and position nearly instantly.
{The name of the vessel in distress was changed for this blog post for privacy reasons, and the radio transmission content was edited for flow. It is not a transcript.}