To the rescue

Photos: Grahame Cox

New Zealand Coastguard, above, Below, coast watchers Mark Raubenheimer, fourth from left, and his regular crew, Petr Houkal, Jane Adams, Gert Visser and Werner van Staden.

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TUMBLING SEAS, fog-torn visibility, boats crashing against each other in urgent rescue – that's the well-known image of Coastguard volunteers on the job. But there is another scenario: boredom, the kind that comes with a calm sea and not even a broken fuel line to set the VHF radio a-chatter with calls for help.

The forecast had issued a warning for 35 knots from the north-west around noon on the Saturday when the Sunday Star-Times joined the New Zealand Coastguard to watch them in action at one of their busiest times of the year. On board NZCT North Shore Rescue, a 9.5m RIB (rigid inflatable boat), frankly, we were dubious. We drifted off Coastguard's base at Browns Bay while the crew chatted and the photographer and I rather guiltily hoped something, somewhere, would go wrong for a boatie on the water that day.

Our skipper was Mark Raubenheimer, who emigrated from South Africa nine years ago. Tall, decisive, with thick grey hair and physically fit, he looks the part. An ex-army man, he had barely set foot in a boat, but his wife noticed he missed the adventure of army life and suggested he join the Coastguard. He worked his way quickly through the 13 training modules and 750 hours on the water to make skipper.

On his regular crew are compatriot Werner van Staden, New Zealander Jane Adams, Petr Houkal from the Czech Republic and Gert Visser, also a South African, in training for Coastguard. All crew are volunteers and their motives are similar: they enjoy boating and want to put something back into the boating community. They are expected to attend training, including first aid, mechanical and navigation every second Wednesday, with an optional maintenance night every other Wednesday. They crew at least one day a month. Optional commitment includes shifts on comms (communications), and help with fundraising activities, since Coastguard receives no direct funding from the government.

Coastguard has 75 rescue vessels in 68 units throughout New Zealand. Every year, 1800 volunteers provide more than 230,000 hours of their time. Nine units are based in Auckland, making for tough competition for sponsorship and donation dollars. The annual fuel bill on NZCT North Shore Rescue is around $36,000. A typical day's fuel is $300 but Raubenheimer has had two $1000 days.

Coastguard boats are on-call seven days a week. Some crew can attend a callout at any time; others are restricted by their jobs. Raubenheimer is a teacher and is often the first to attend a callout during school holidays, but, he says, "I get frustrated when the pager goes off when I'm in the classroom and I can't leave".

THE BOAT'S Maori name is Kura Ariki Whatu Manawa, reflecting the courage of a Maori queen on the oceans. As the duty boat for the day, the boat would be on the water from 8.30am to 6pm and would be the first dispatched by Coastguard Marine Rescue Centre if a boat called for help. At 11.30am, the need for the skipper to have a smoke led us to a wharf on Rangitoto, and we could make the short walk to the toilets – a facility not available on the Coastguard boat. Adams called in our intentions: "Coastguard Marine Rescue Centre, this is ZMY9001 NZCT North Shore Rescue, we are proceeding to Rangitoto Wharf."' It is Coastguard protocol but the team at the rescue centre could see our whereabouts on their Trackplus screen, thanks to our transponder which relayed our position via satellite.

Finally, we had a job, sort of. The organisers of surfboat championships at Murrays Bay were keen to do a rescue exercise as practice for both parties. Raubenheimer put Adams on the helm to give her some helming practice. As she took us back into open water, the channel was restless. The breeze had built, raising chop on the water and powering a fleet of yachts down the harbour under full, colourful spinnakers.

We passed Eliphunk, a small Elliott yacht, with a spinnaker in shreds around the mast. They didn't flag us down so we pressed on to our meeting with the surfboats.

Within minutes, it was clear that the MetService had been spot-on. Showers of rain sped through, the wind was building to more than 20 knots and we hung on tight as the boat bounced towards East Coast Bays. The deteriorating conditions had an immediate effect on the radio traffic, as boats began reporting problems. Raubenheimer took over the helm and warned us that Coastguard crew need to develop "radio ear" – the ability to listen to up to three broadcasts at once. VHF channels 16 and 80 are monitored constantly, and a UHF station allows exclusive, Coastguard boat-to-base transmission – useful when passing on confidential medical information, for example.

At 12.15pm a call came in from a boat described by its skipper as "a Grand Banks style" with two p.o.b. – people on board, in maritime-speak. The engine was overheating so he had dropped anchor off Devonport Wharf. We were too small to tow a boat of that size, so a bigger boat was dispatched.

Next came a more urgent call: a woman had phoned Coastguard to report a call from her husband. He and his friend were in a 12ft tinnie, or aluminium runabout, unable to start the engine and drifting off Browns Bay Reef. Adams wrote down the cellphone number provided on a small whiteboard; Raubenheimer cancelled the training exercise with the surfboats and we headed for Browns Bay, searching for a tinnie in the reduced visibility. There was no reply on the cellphone.

Meanwhile, Eliphunk reported a snapped rudder and requested assistance; Raubenheimer slowed, awaiting instruction on whether to head back to Eliphunk or continue on to Browns Bay. When comms dispatched another Coastguard vessel to Eliphunk, Raubenheimer pushed the throttle forward.

Off Browns Bay, van Staden spotted a small dinghy with three people on board. They were wearing wetsuits and trying in vain to row back to the shore against the strong breeze; the freeboard was minimal, as water slopped in. The reef was metres away. They happily accepted our offer to take them onboard and tow the dinghy closer to shore. There was no mucking about, as both boats were close to the reef. The men were laughing, but embarrassed. Eager for a dive, they hadn't checked the forecast.

As we headed in, Adams completed an incident report – names and addresses, the boat details and the nature of their predicament. Coastguard members pay an annual fee of $98, which entitles them to one free assist every year. Non-members needing rescue are invoiced at the rate of $280 an hour, with a membership included. For minor levels of assistance, there is discretion. Apparently, those assisted often give a false address to avoid paying.

Raubenheimer clearly loves the role, citing that burst of adrenalin when the M-word, mayday, comes over the radio, but is frustrated that many people assume Coastguard is a government-provided service, and that Coastguard crew are paid. "People are often embarrassed about being rescued," he says, "and it shows up as aggression."

After offloading the men close to shore, Adams and Raubenheimer began some detective work on the radio and cellphone. We had been looking for two men in a 12ft tinnie off Browns Bay Reef and had instead helped three men in a fibreglass, 8ft dinghy. That meant a 12ft tinnie could still be in trouble – but where?

The calls soon revealed a common problem: an inaccurate location. The twin Yamaha 250hp outboards took us at 43 knots, nearly top-speed, across Rangitoto Channel. Houkal soon reported a "target" at one o'clock on the radar screen, closer to Rangitoto Island than Browns Bay, and there it was – a 12ft tinnie bashing into the waves. As it was making way under engine power, Raubenheimer was dubious about whether we had the right boat this time, but changed course to check it out. Both VHF radios were still busy with boats sending in trip reports, and co-ordination of other rescues. Adams kept notes of unfolding dramas on the whiteboard, so that we had the relevant details if dispatched.

As we pulled up alongside, the two men were clearly anxious about the conditions. Communication was difficult. They confirmed that they had phoned for help, but had got the engine started and were heading for Browns Bay.

Problem: Browns Bay had disappeared. So had the East Coast Bays and Rangitoto Island. The sudden descent of white murk had disoriented the men in the tinnie and they had set off in the wrong direction. We led them in, which allowed them to use the flatter water of our wake. Safely off Browns Bay, we sent them on their way with a lecture about the need to open the valve when changing over to a new fuel tank.

The storm passed through and, with it, the flurry of chatter on the radio. At 2.30pm, we headed into Maritime Rescue Centre for a coffee before our last call for the day: a Beale 33 yacht named White Heat had lost power outside Westhaven Marina and needed assistance berthing in the strong breeze. Of all the boats assisted that day, this was the only one which was a Coastguard member.

By 4pm, the photographer and I accepted Raubenheimer's offer to go back to our cars at Browns Bay. The shore crew reversed the tractor and purpose-built trailer into the sea and Raubenheimer drove aboard. It would be an interesting exercise with breaking seas coming from behind.

After a day with Coastguard crew, we'd experienced three hours of inactivity, followed by two hours of radio-transmitted confusion that, mostly, made perfect sense to the crew, and bounced a giant criss-cross pattern around the Hauraki Gulf, followed by another period of low activity. Through it all, the crew had been alert, ready to navigate, advise on a mechanical problem, apply first aid, pump out a sinking boat and even save a life or two. And they do it for love of the sea.

- © Fairfax NZ News