The morning of May 24, 1998, my sweetheart and partner, John, received a call from the U.S. Coast Guard (USCG) District 17 office in Juneau, Alaska. The conversation was brief and to the point. They said I would not be on the flight from Petropavlovsk, Russia, to Anchorage later that day. It was implied the delay was weather-related. No further details were provided, even though there was much more to be said….
This saga began when I was invited by the USCG and the Marine Pollution Control and Salvage Administration of the Russian Federation to participate in a joint Russian/Japanese/United States (U.S.) Oil Spill Symposium and Exercise to be held May 18-21, 1998, at Sakhalin Island, Russia. I would never have guessed that this would become one, if not the most, memorable business trip of my life.
The scheduled events were the culmination of over ten years of discussions between the USCG in Alaska and their counterparts in Russia. Those conversations initially resulted in the first joint U.S./U.S.S.R. oil spill exercise conducted in the U.S. Held in Anchorage in 1988, I was a member of the exercise design team. By 1998, I had eleven years of oil spill preparedness and response experience. This included taking the lead role in developing oil spill-related guidelines for dealing with the protection of wildlife and historic properties in addition to serving as the U.S. Department of the Interior On-Scene Representative for the T/V Exxon Valdez Oil Spill.
Now the 1998 exercise and symposium would be the first to be held in Russia and to also include the Japanese. This coincided with the pending development of significant oil reserves off the coast of Sakhalin Island in the Sea of Okhotsk, immediately north of Japan and just east of mainland Russia.
On May 16, 1998, a contingent of USCG personnel and I boarded a Reeve Aleutian Airlines 727 on our way from Anchorage to Sakhalin Island. We landed twice to refuel. The first stop, which was unscheduled, was at Anadyr, Russia’s easternmost town. During the latter part of the cold war, Anadyr was home to a military complex housing ballistic missiles that could reach Alaska. On the ground for over an hour, a number of local residents took pictures of themselves by our plane. We were now four hours into our trip.
Our second stop was on the Kamchatka Peninsula at Petropavlovsk, the headquarters of the Russian Far East military. We taxied past bunkers with military aircraft, including Soviet MiGS, parked outside. According to the USCG, it was only recently that any U.S. planes had been given permission to land here, and when they did, the shades on all passenger windows had to be closed. On the ground for another hour, we were allowed to look out the windows, and no one told me not to take pictures….
After traveling over nine hours and almost 3,000 miles, we were happy when we touched down at Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk (Sakhalinsk) about 25 miles north of the southern tip of Sakhalin Island. Instructed to stay in our seats, we waited for Russian immigration and customs officers to come aboard to review our documents. Almost an hour later, we were allowed to deplane; however, for some unknown reason, our luggage would not be released until Noon the next day. Met in the terminal by USCS personnel, we immediately boarded a bus, where we settled in for an approximately 30-minute ride to the port city of Korsakov at the southern tip of the island.
One of the USCG’s two icebreakers, the Polar Sea, had already transited the Pacific Ocean from Seattle to participate in the exercise and provide billeting for U.S. exercise participants. After arriving at Korsakov, we learned that the Polar Sea was anchored two miles offshore, due to “bureaucratic issues,” rather than being tied up at the dock.Trips to and from the Polar Sea, which took about twenty minutes aboard a small Russian vessel with a somewhat “sketchy” captain, were scheduled by the USCG. That was the easy part compared to getting on (and off) the icebreaker by climbing up (and down) a rope ladder tossed over the side. Negotiating this transfer with waves moving both vessels up and down at different rates, required concentration, impeccable timing, and a little luck.
Onboard the Polar Sea, we were briefed on upcoming activities and protocols before settling into our billets. Since I was the only female guest and a civilian, I had my own quarters complete with a bunk bed, desk, and head.
The following day, we were up early for the trip back to Sakhalinsk to participate in the symposium, which was scheduled to begin at 10:00 a.m. That plan quickly went awry when Russian immigration officers held us onboard the Polar Sea until 11:00 a.m. because we were missing our passports. A USCG officer had taken them to the airport to retrieve our luggage. It was Noon when we finally arrived at the symposium.
Fortunately, my presentation was scheduled mid-afternoon and I had packed my notes and overheads in my carry-on luggage. Speaking on behalf of U.S. Federal and State resource agencies, I discussed environmental considerations in oil spill response. Because the audience of around fifty people included both Russian and Japanese officials, I gave my presentation literally one sentence at a time to allow for the translation into both languages. Symposium participants were smartly dressed. That was in contrast to what I was wearing; namely, the same Chicago Bulls sweatshirt and blue jeans I had on when I left Anchorage the day before. At least I wasn’t the only speaker that afternoon who was in the same predicament…
The Japanese Coast Guard had also sailed one of their vessels to Korsakov to participate in the exercise. This caused a bit of a scandal. Following the occupation of the southern part of Sakhalin Island by the Japanese from 1905 until World War II, I understood that no Japanese vessels had been to the island since the Japanese were expelled in 1945. Because of the political sensitivity of the situation, the Sakhalin Island Governor had flown to Alaska prior to the exercise to avoid having to officially welcome the Japanese.
The evening after the symposium, we were invited to attend a reception aboard the Japanese vessel. Fortunately, our luggage had arrived by that time, and we had the opportunity to change into clothes appropriate for the occasion. As I boarded the vessel, I walked past a long line of Japanese Coast Guard officers, each of whom saluted me. It was at that moment I realized my USCG friends had forgotten to brief me on the proper protocol for this situation. Fighting back the urge to salute, instead, I smiled and nodded my head as I walked down the line. The reception was a pleasant event with the hangar decorated with bunting and Japanese lanterns; the buffet table included copious amounts of sushi, sake, and Sapporo beer.
On the day of the exercise, I worked with my environmental counterparts from Russia to discuss the potential environmental impacts of various response options for dealing with the specific oil-spill scenario presented. After working through the options, we provided our input to our respective responders, who were in the field conducting real-time fire suppression, search and rescue, and dispersant use exercises. That evening, the USCG hosted a reception in the hangar onboard the Polar Sea. The buffet included ice sculptures and cold shrimp, along with numerous bottles of champagne and Russian vodka. Our last night on the island, we were guests of the Russians at a celebratory dinner at a Korean restaurant where more bottles of vodka were consumed.
Prior to the trip, the USCG had invited me to make the 850-mile transit from Sakhalin Island to Petropavlovsk on the Polar Sea, and then to fly back to Anchorage from Petropavlovsk rather than Sakhalinsk. I didn’t have to think twice about my response. Who in their right mind would turn down such an offer? On Friday, May 22, I was, in fact, onboard the Polar Sea when it departed Sakhalin Island for the Kamchatka Peninsula.
Of the 180 people onboard the Polar Sea, eighteen were guests, including two young Russian Border Patrol officers, who created another bit of history by making the transit with us. It didn’t take long to settle into our routine, which included being accounted for twice each day, once in person on the flight deck at 12:30 p.m. We whiled away the time with visits to the bridge, which stretched eighty feet across the front of the vessel, and trips up a series of steep ladders to the lookout fifty feet above the bridge, where the Polar Sea was controlled during ice-breaking operations. We also made good use of the Ward Room, where movies were shown every evening. Of course, we always made sure we were on time for our three meals each day.
Our second day out, our group was “volunteered” for Saturday-night pizza duty. I was quick to point out that just because I was the only female guest, not to expect that I was going to lead this effort. Fortunately, before the vessel’s cooks turned the galley over to us, they had already prepared thirty-six batches of pizza dough.We then invaded the galley, wearing jeans, T-shirts, and baseball caps and proceeded to make thirty-six pizzas. The evening was stamped into my memory. Someone turned on a boom box and then cranked up the volume. There we were, rolling out dough, slapping on pizza toppings, and rocking to the music just like in the kitchen scene of the movie, “The Big Chill.” For much of the evening, up to my elbows in sausage, olives, and pesto, I worked between the two Russian officers. The thought, “Don’t make war, make pizza…” kept looping through my mind.
Earlier that day, as we were gathered on deck for our 12:30 p.m. muster, the Polar Sea’s Commanding Officer (CO) announced that a USCG reconnaissance plane had spotted several vessels fishing illegally off the east coast of the Kamchatka Peninsula, and that the USCG was considering diverting the Polar Sea to the area. Everyone was asked to let the CO know if, and how, this diversion would affect them. Ironically, earlier in the transit, I had been joking with the CO saying, “If the Russian Border Patrol gives us a difficult time once we arrive in Petropavlovsk, we will miss our flight to Anchorage and will have to stay aboard the Polar Sea all the way to Nome…and wouldn’t that be just too bad!”.
Now as I was standing on the flight deck, I couldn’t imagine telling the CO that I needed to get back to Anchorage simply because I had meetings scheduled the next week…. To no one’s surprise, the decision was made to divert the Polar Sea. After transiting around the southern tip of the Kamchatka Peninsula and into the Bering Sea, the Polar Sea turned north toward the fishing trawlers. A Russian Border Patrol vessel, the Dzerzhinsky, was also under full power heading to the same location. In addition, the USCG cutter, Boutwell, whose mission included maritime law enforcement, had been directed to turn around and head to the area as well. Because we were now part of a law enforcement mission, communication with anyone outside the Polar Sea was strictly limited to prevent messages from being intercepted. Thus, the cryptic call by USCG personnel to John.
The waters had been amazingly calm throughout our transit; that was soon to change. The Polar Sea, like other icebreakers, did not have stabilizing fins, since any fins would be destroyed when breaking ice. From our briefings, we knew the vessel could roll in excess of 50 degrees in heavy seas. Sunday night (May 24th), I did not sleep well as the vessel’s rolls required me to grab onto the bunk rails to stay put. Early Monday morning, we took one very deep roll that nearly knocked me out of bed. Anything that was not battened down slammed against walls and metal furniture. That made for a restless remainder of the night.
On the bridge the next morning, Monday, May 25th, I learned that as the Polar Sea was steaming along at full power at 12:15 a.m., when lookouts saw two buoys attached to drift nets. The severe roll happened when the officer on duty took evasive action in an attempt to go around, rather than between, the buoys. At first light, both Polar Sea helicopters were launched on a reconnaissance mission. After we continued on our way, we could see a fishing vessel on the horizon and many more buoys and illegal drift nets, some of which were six to nine miles long.
The Russian officers were on the bridge in their uniforms. They were all business; there was no thought of making pizza…. When the Dzerzhinsky arrived on scene the same day, three of the five trawlers ran in different directions. After consultation with the USCG, both the Dzerzhinsky and the Polar Sea embarked on a high-seas chase of one of the trawlers, the Zong Hong 37. At the direction of the Russian officers onboard the Polar Sea, the Dzerzhinsky fired a warning shot across the bow of the fishing vessel and launched a boarding party. The trawler took evasive action and began tossing fishing nets overboard. I was also on the bridge, staying out of the way, but observing what was happening and listening as a USCG representative translated Russian into English and vice versa.
The Dzerzhinsky ended up firing six, 30mm rounds into the Zong Hong 37; a plume of white smoke was visible on the horizon. Our high seas drama took a dramatic and serious turn when we learned the shots had killed the captain and one crew member and injured three others, one seriously. Shocked at this turn of events, I had two primary thoughts coursing through my mind. One was how it could be that people were being killed because of fish. The other was that this was as close to being in a war zone that I ever wanted to be.
The USCG offered to bring the injured Chinese crewperson onboard or send someone to the trawler to provide medical assistance. I was still standing within earshot of the Russian officers, these young men who had helped make pizza just a few days before. Their response will be forever engrained in my memory. It was the one Russian word I understood without translation, “Nyet!”
Instead, attention was turned to retrieving nets and buoys as evidence against the trawler. USCG personnel threw grappling hooks over the side of the Polar Sea to hook, and then retrieve, abandoned nets. The Polar Sea’s launch was also lowered to collect still more nets, which were in abundance. In the end, more than a ton of fishing gear was hauled onboard.
Participating in a mission that resulted in two fatalities and several injuries was definitely not what the USCG had imagined when it diverted the Polar Sea to assist the Russians. Not surprisingly, soon thereafter, the USCG District 17 Commander decided it was time to move the Polar Sea on to Nome, where it was scheduled to pick up scientists and head into the Arctic for the summer. Before that could happen, however, both the Russian officers and the evidence pulled from the sea had to be transferred to the Dzerzhinsky. This in turn, required the Dzerzhinsky sail close to the Polar Sea.
During the transfer, which occurred that evening and required two trips by the Polar Sea’s launch, passengers and crew from both vessels were out on their respective decks taking in the moment and snapping photos. I couldn’t help but think that just a few short years ago, the USCG would never have placed an unarmed ice breaker in such a vulnerable position opposite a Russian Border Patrol vessel and its heavy guns.
With the transfer completed, we began our journey east across the Bering Sea to Nome. Everyone settled into their daily, and more subdued, routine. One of USCG District 17 representatives and I asked the CO if it would be possible to drop off the sixteen remaining guests on Attu Island. Located at the western tip of the Aleutian Chain, it was, in fact, on the way to Nome when you looked at the Bering Sea chart. While the trip had been quite the adventure; it had lasted longer than anticipated and there was, in fact, work waiting to be done at the office.
By the time the request was granted by District 17 two days later, we were 1,800 miles from Korsakov. We went to bed that night expecting to wake up at Attu. Instead, the next morning, we were anchored off Shemya, fifty miles east of Attu. After gathering our gear and saying goodbye, we were flown to shore by helicopter and taken to the U.S. Air Force base, where we checked into our quarters and had lunch.
Then plans changed…once again. We were hurried back to the airfield where we boarded a UCCG C-130 that was on a search and rescue mission from Attu. Approximately 6-hours and 1,500-miles later, we landed at Elmendorf Air Force Base in Anchorage at 10:00 p.m. on Wednesday, May 27th. After our arrival, I caught a taxi to our condo, climbed the stairs with my gear, and rang the doorbell. When John opened the door with a surprised look on his face, I greeted him with, “Hi, I’m home!”