Our expectations of a quiet and non-eventful crossing to Vancouver did not materialize.
We all expected lousy weather, snowsqualls, heavy seas, rolling and pitching, icy decks but not a serious medical evacuation.
We were pasing south east of Kodiak Island when the Captain announced that due to a serious medical situation concerning one of our guests, one that could not be handled aboard the ship hospital, we were changing course for Kodiak Island. A US Coast Guard helicopter, supported by a rescue airplane would meet our ship somewhat south of Kodiak. All access to forward decks and the bow were off limits to guests to make things as safe as possible.
I checked the ship's public GPS display, and sure - we were steaming flat out at almost 23 knots at a north-easterly angle from our intended Great Circle route towards Kodiak, not too far away.
Outside, one snow squall after another, wicked winds, big rollers, the ship raising and falling, being battered by the sea. This was not going to be easy...
An hour later, the Captain announced that the helicopter and aeroplane were in range. Of course I barely saw them arrive during another one of those snowsqualls with almost nil visibility, horizontally flying snow, and severe pitching and rolling of the ship. They retired from the immediate vicinity to wait for the next clear time span.
The entire bow area had been cleared (nothing beyond the basic structure of the ship, even the electrical light garlands were gone) I went first outside onto one of the 'permitted' decks - slithering through slush in my dinner shoes, dressed kill, and protected only by a windbreaker - very cold indeed. I photographed the squall, the first hover attempt - and then realised that I was shooting blanks - no memory card inside my camera.
The back up plane kept circling the ship, and ever so often entered the line of vision and disappeared again into the sky, the helicopter hovered at a safe distance.
I went to the ship's Gym, not exposed to the raw weather outside, with glass outside walls, under cover and warm at the very bow of the ship, I watched the precarious second hovering of the helicopter above the bow. He was taking advantage of a temporary lull in the snowsquall, but of course, there were continuously heaving seas.
A woman rescue operator was lowered first, and then the recue basket followed suit - from the helicopter to the forward deck. The whole business took place so close to the Gym windows, that one could almost see the colour of the pilot's eye. I just hoped, that a sudden lurch of the ship would not slam the helicopter into the ship's superstructure - but, these guys and girls know their job extremely well...I understand that the 'action persons' on the rescue are deep sea divers as well, clothed in full diving gear....just in case the rescue basket ends up in the sea instead of the helicopter.
Ship's crew in fire-fighter outfits and rescue worker disappeared below decks with the basket to get the patient.
Meanwhile, being in the gym, the entertainment group of the ship was practising for some future show routine, jumping and singing and dancing to the grating sound of broadway hits, giving a reverse performance: the guests watching from this vantage point were packed against the windows, looking out towards the foredeck below, with their backs to the practising artistes, who seemed to be totally oblivious to their inattentive audience and the death defying actions beyond the large windows of the gym.
I retrieved my memo card from my cabin, and reclaimed my little viewing spot. another snow-squall obscured the horizon, the sun and almost the bow of the ship. We could feel the ship making a drastic course change, as suddenly the snoflakes seemed to be passing the windows from a different horizontal direction. And what we could see of the mountainous seas hit the ship from ever changing angles. Now, how long was that going to last - no helicopter would attempt a close-operation under those circumstances.
As if by magic, the pale disk of the sun re-appeared, as did the horizon. Our Captain performed another 90 degree course correction (best aspect for wind and wave for the helicopter maybe?) and - blue sky almost everwhere. But winds and swells - they blew and hit with undiminished strength.
In a short time, the Coast Guard rescue worker and ship's crew emerged onto the foredeck carrying the rescue basket, now occupied by the unfortunate patient. He was bundled up in warm clothes and blankets under his life jacket and strapped securely into the light weight basket. The helicopter approached again, hovered, lines were lowered to the deck, and the basket attached speedily. Cliff hanger tension!
Up he went without further ado - I would not want to be in that basket for anything! It took some wiggling around because of the wind, before the unwieldy load finally disappeared into the fuselage. Another line thrown towards the deck and the Coast Guard woman hooked herself up, and she as well rose into the air and quickly climbed into the helicopter.
Success...they departed without a second's delay. Headed for mainland Alaska and a hospital in Anchorage.
The patient - a young man (Russian immigrant I hear), 27 years, invited on this cruise by his God parent. Well recognized on the ship, as he as he was a permanent seriously inebriated fixture at the bars and in the Casino. Critical attack of something to do with cirrhosis of the liver and hepatitis....
The God parent is still aboard....I don't know who deserves more consolation, the patient or the generous old man.
In closing: the US Coast Guard performed admirably, executing a successful evacuation under extreme circumstances, and we all thank them for that.
The patient - last notice - is now in an Anchorage hospital - getting better we hope - and we wish him well.
