A couple of minutes later, the EPIRB signal was picked up by satellite but it did not retrieve a position. It was not until 4:44 p.m. that the position was known. It was not until after that that the Gander search and rescue was notified of an emergency. However, the search and rescue personnel were gone home for the day, since it was after 4 p.m. and they were now on a two-hour standby. All eight of us men were still holding on, trying not to be swept off the overturned sinking vessel. We were scanning the horizon looking for a boat or an aircraft, but there was nothing to be seen. We all pitched in on some prayers and we even sang I'll Be Home For Christmas to pass the time. The upside-down vessel was getting lower in the water, and last words were given by some in case they didn't make it.
It was shortly after 5:30 p.m. that the Melina and Keith II slipped below the diesel-soaked waves and all the men plunged into the water. Two men drowned right away, and I'll never forget the look on one of the men's faces as he screamed in terror, trying to learn how to swim, smacking his hands all around and slipping beneath, never to be seen again.
A while later, an aluminum boat surfaced but was upside down with a hole in its bow. Five of us managed to swim to it without any aid of personal floatation devices. We all clung to that little boat, but it would not support all of us. A piece of styrofoam surfaced next to me and I tucked it under my arm. The other four held onto the boat; however, they drifted away from me. The skipper was off in the distance in his immersion suit.
Now it had been two and a half hours since we capsized and two men had drowned. Six men were clinging to life and a Cormorant helicopter was still not airborne. It was not until 6:10 p.m. that night that they did get airborne en route to the EPIRB position, not arriving for another hour and 13 minutes.
I figured it was a little before 7 p.m. when my mind was telling me it was all over. I had extreme cramping throughout my body and I was biting my teeth together so hard I thought they were going to crack. Memories of my childhood, family, and friends flashed through my mind. I finally made the decision to give up, since there was no one going to rescue us. I held my breath as long as I could. I saw this bright light, but I was still in the water. The light came from a boat off in the distance. I shouted out to the other men in the water, “There's a boat!” Adrenalin started pumping. But just as quick as she appeared, she vanished. My heart sank. I looked over to where one of the men was just a minute ago, but he was gone, and floating right where he had been was the piece of styrofoam he had been holding onto. I realized how unbearable it was for him to see our chance of rescue disappear.
All of a sudden, I looked over and there was the light again coming straight toward us. Igor started swimming towards them like there was no tomorrow. I could hear voices shouting, “There's one”. They rescued Igor around 7:20 p.m. I started waving a piece of board that I had managed to grab earlier, trying to make myself visible. It steamed right towards me and I heard someone say, “There's another”. They threw me a rope and I wrapped it around my wrist several times. As they were hauling me aboard, I heard the loud noise of the Cormorant helicopter flying over. I jumped up on the deck and told the crew of the Lady Charlotte Star there were eight of us. Bernard and the skipper were rescued shortly later. Unfortunately, the other four, Ivan Dyke, Anthony Molloy, Joshua Williams, and Justin Ralph, were gone.
The initial EPIRB was treated as a false alarm and was not assigned the proper degree of urgency for quite a period of time. It was not until the LEO satellite picked up the position at 16:44, an hour and 15 minutes after the initial EPIRB signal, that the event was treated as an emergency. The VMS, the black box, a device used for pinpointing a location of a vessel, could have and should have been used within moments of the EPIRB not giving a position. This would have determined that the Melina and Keith II was at sea, and since the search and rescue coordinator could not contact the vessel via satellite phone or radio, assumptions should have been made that we were in trouble and Gander alerted of an emergency before 4 p.m.
The last given position by the VMS, 48 degrees 56.36 minutes north, and 51 degrees18.92 minutes west, recorded at 2:30 p.m. local, was sufficient information to airborne the Cormorant and would have put it within a few miles from where we were actually rescued. That did not happen. They were not tasked until after 4 p.m. They were tasked at 4:50 p.m. local, and the search and rescue personnel were gone home and not airborne for another hour and 20 minutes after that.
This two-hour standby cost 50 minutes of valuable time, which to my mind was a major factor in the loss of life.
I saw a young man clinging to a piece of styrofoam just 20 minutes before I was rescued. He could not hold on any longer. I'm sure he would be here today if only the standby time was 30 minutes around the clock each and every day of the year.
What if? That's the question I ask myself time and time again. What if the mayday was sent? What if each department worked better with the others and made use of available technology to find out where we were at 3:30 that day? What if the VMS was used by the Marine Rescue Sub-Centre in St. John's and alerted Gander right away? What if we had an airborne Cormorant within 30 minutes?
I can answer this. All of these men would be waving, shouting, hugging, crying, and laughing on top of an overturned vessel as they watched the baskets and search and rescue techs lowered down from the big yellow helicopter in the sky. And even though I'm strong enough to do it, I would not have to relay the last words of some great men to crying eyes.
Thank you.