For 26 years, Coast Guard cutters spent 21-day deployments roaming remote areas of the ocean called Ocean Stations, providing a wide range of services. Ocean Stations were both the best and the worst of the Coast Guard. They were the best in that the cutters and men demonstrated the Coast Guard’s ability to perform a wide variety of missions (navigation assistance, weather reporting, search and rescue, and oceanography) under the most adverse circumstances. They were the worst in that the duty was long, lonely, frequently tedious, often boring, and usually conducted in the worst weather conditions imaginable.
On paper, the Ocean Station cutters’ assigned duties looked vital and exciting:
► Provide radar and radio navigation assistance for aircraft and ships
► Conduct frequent and detailed weather data collection
► Perform special oceanographic assignments
► Be constantly prepared for any type of search and rescue (SAR)
The actuality, however, was often quite routine. The deployments were so far out into the ocean that sometimes a cutter would complete an entire 21-day patrol without even sighting another ship. Aircraft fly-overs occurred infrequently. Most of the actual gathering of weather data was performed by Weather Bureau personnel on board the cutters for that specific purpose. Oceanographic sampling usually involved only one or two persons, leaving the other 150 crew members with nothing to do. SAR was exciting, but considering the number of days and manhours spent at sea, the SAR cases were few and far between.
It was search and rescue, however, that provided the ships and sailors with some of their most glorious moments. At-sea aircraft ditchings and rescues of crewmen from foundering ships make up some of the brightest spots in Coast Guard history.
Ocean Stations have been described as “44,000 square miles of bad weather.” No one who ever pulled an Ocean Station patrol would argue with that. The stations were in some of the most inhospitable waters in the world. Stations in the far North Atlantic, between Newfoundland and Greenland, were repeatedly assaulted with ferocious winter storms. Those in the south, such as “Echo” between Bermuda and the Azores, could be as calm as a lake until a summer hurricane swept by with its monstrous seas and howling winds.
Vessels on station were supposed to stay within a small grid contained inside the station’s 210-mile sided square, but the cutter did not often lie adrift in the middle of this grid. The cutter was usually under way making bare steerageway, holding her bow into the wind and seas just to stay afloat. At speeds of about six knots, the entire bow of a 300-foot cutter would plunge into the swells, as wind whipped around the superstructure and blew spray well above the ship’s masts.
The 21-day deployment actually meant at least a month 8 away from home port since it took three to seven days to " transit each way between home port and station. And if a relief was late arriving or if a homebound cutter was diverted for search and rescue, the length of time under way increased. Finally, most ships were scheduled for four to six patrols a year, plus yard availability and refresher training. Consequently, most Ocean Station cutters were out more than they were in.
A deployment on an Ocean Station vessel was not like a six-month WestPac or Med deployment; liberty ports were rare and short-lived. Bermuda beckoned those going to Ocean Station Echo though the entrance was rock-strewn and tricky. For the rest of the Atlantic stations, liberty was mostly restricted to either Halifax; St. John’s, Newfoundland; or the Navy facility at Argentia. The Argentia stop was a logistical one to obtain water, fuel, and other necessities; the other two ports provided some decent liberty, if only for a few hours. For men who had spent three or more weeks pounding in the North Atlantic even a few hours of liberty were important.
Pacific Ocean Stations offered better liberty, but longer deployments as vessels would conduct “double-Victors.” The ship would go to Ocean Station Victor for 21 days, steam to Japan for liberty, then return for another “full tour” on Victor before going home. The time in Japan was a nice break in the routine, but the separation was arduous for those with strong ties Stateside.
The Ocean Station vessels were all “major” Coast Guard cutters—i.e., 255-foot Owasco (WHEC-39) class, 311-foot Casco (WHEC-370) class, 327-foot Campbell (WHEC-32) class, and, starting in 1967, 378-foot Hamilton (WHEC-715) class high endurance cutters. Consequently, Ocean Station sailors were quick to distinguish themselves as “white ship” sailors as opposed to those assigned to the black-hulled buoy tenders. The combination of long deployments, infrequent liberty, and monotonous routine caused poor morale on many Ocean Station vessels.
Aircraft ditchings became the primary reason the Ocean Stations existed. The Ocean Station program started out as a weather service. (As a matter of fact, it was originally known as Weather Station, a title that some “old-timers” used up to the end of the program.) As World War II heated up in the early 1940s, U. S. ships were more reluctant to send in weather information to the Weather Bureau by radio for fear of divulging their positions to submarines. As a result, the President directed that the Coast Guard send ships to the North Atlantic to obtain weather information. When the war ended, so did the need for this service, and the weather patrol nearly disappeared.
However, in 1947, the International Civil Aviation Organization (ICAO) was established, with the United States as a signatory power. Part of the agreement stipulated that Ocean Stations were to be established to provide navigational assistance as well as SAR coverage for aircraft on long over-water flights. The duty of manning these stations fell to the Coast Guard in 1948.
During the first decade of Ocean Station patrols, Coast Guard cutters were responsible for saving the lives of more than 100 persons from ditched airplanes.
A classic example of an aircraft ditching is the flight of Pan Am Clipper 943, which terminated on Ocean Station November in October 1956. The aircraft was en route from Honolulu to San Francisco when it lost two of its four engines, at 0300. Past the point of no return, the pilot elected to ditch alongside the Coast Guard cutter Pontchartrain (WHEC-70) manning Ocean Station November. The aircraft pilot and ship’s captain decided the best solution was to have the airplane orbit the ship during darkness and make a landing in daylight. This decision would make the landing easier for the pilot and would simplify the problems of rescuing passengers and crew once the aircraft was in the water.
The sun rose, the plane ditched, its tail broke away, and the well-instructed passengers and crew were soon out of the aircraft. All 31 persons were safely on board the Pontchartrain before the airplane even had time to sink—21 minutes after impact.
The ditching of Clipper 943 had taken place under nearly ideal circumstances with the sun up and the weather calm. Conditions were much different in the Atlantic in 1947 when the Bermuda Sky Queen, a seaplane, was forced to ditch near Ocean Station Charlie, manned by the Coast Guard cutter Bibb (WHEC-32). Seas were running 20 feet, whipped into a fury by the very winds that had held back the Bermuda Sky Queen and caused it to run low on fuel. Nonetheless, the plane made a successful landing. However, the severity of the weather conditions made removal of the people from the aircraft a long and arduous task. It took the Bibb several hours to evacuate the passengers and crew of the ditched airplane using pulling boats, motor surf boats, rafts, and the collective ingenuity of her crew. In fact, this successful ditching added impetus to the creation of the ICAO agreement.
Although with improved aircraft technology airplanes eventually stopped ditching on Ocean Stations, SAR work did not cease for ships. Much of the Coast Guard professionals’ worldwide reputation as lifesavers and skilled seamen stems from heroic rescues performed by Coast Guard cutters on station.
Late fall is a bad time to be in the North Atlantic. Therefore, it is not surprising that in late October 1956 a German merchant ship, the Helga Bolten, had her two forward hatches stove in by heavy seas some 400 miles east-southeast of Cape Race, Nova Scotia. The Bolten sent out an immediate distress call as the ship took on water and began to list. The Coast Guard cutter Chincoteague (WHEC-375), on Ocean Station Delta, heard the call and headed for the scene. Pounding her way through 40-knot winds and 25-foot seas, the Chincoteague struggled through the 150 miles separating her from the Bolten. In the meantime, the liner Mauretania had responded to the call, along with the cutter Rockaway (WAGO-377) on Ocean Station Charlie to the north.
By the time the Chincoteague arrived on scene, winds were gusting to 65 knots, and the seas showed no improvement. Launching a boat from the Chincoteague to rescue the Bolten's crew was out of the question. The only possibility was to pass a line between the two ships and haul rafts back and forth. The Chincoteague passed as close as she dared to the foundering ship and fired five line-carrying projectiles. All were carried away with the wind and missed the sinking ship. A sixth projectile reached its mark. The Chincoteague passed two of her rafts across to the Bolten and laboriously pulled them back filled with the 35-man crew, no mean feat under the circumstances. But the Chincoteague's work was not over.
As she headed back to her home port of Norfolk, the Chincoteague was diverted to help conduct a search for a Navy airplane that had crashed. After three days of fruitless searching, the Chincoteague was released from her duties and finally returned home. For her efforts on behalf of the crew of the Helga Bolten, the German Government awarded the Chincoteague a bronze plaque.
A similar bronze plaque was awarded by a German city to the Chincoteague's sister ship, the Absecon (WHEC-374). In September 1957, the German sail training ship Pamir, a barque of more than 3,000 tons, was laid on her beam-ends by Hurricane Carrie in the Atlantic while the Absecon was on Ocean Station Echo. Of a total complement of 86 on board the Pamir, only 30 were regular crew; the rest were cadets training for the merchant marine. The Pamir sank before anyone could arrive to assist her.
Nonetheless, the Absecon, which had been diverted from the Ocean Station patrol to aid the sailing ship, was assigned to act as on-scene commander during the search for survivors. The hurricane had created havoc on the seas, and the searching vessels had no easy time of it. The Absecon found one lifeboat with one survivor. A merchant ship located a second boat with five survivors. Days of search yielded no further survivors. For finding that one young man and for conducting a search under the most trying of circumstances, the city of Liibeck presented the Absecon with a testimonial plaque.
The Rockaway, which had missed out on rescuing the crew of the Helga Bolten, earned her place in history in December 1964. The steamship Smith Voyager had been carrying a cargo of wheat that apparently shifted in heavy seas, causing the vessel to list and take on water. The Rockaway, along with the steamship Mathilde Bolten, managed to save all but four of the Smith Voyager’s crew before the ship sank.
That same year, the Coast Guard cutter Coos Bay (WHEC-376) became involved in one of the most difficult rescues in modern Coast Guard history. The Coos Bay was on her way home to Portland, Maine, following a North Atlantic Ocean Station patrol when she responded to a call for help from the British merchant ship Ambassador.
The weather was bad. The Coos Bay’s problems were compounded by 30 or more knots of wind and high seas. The Ambassador was listing and sinking with 12 crewmen on board. Faced with much the same situation the Chinco- teague had encountered eight years earlier, the Coos Bay decided the best way to remove the Ambassador’s crew was to follow the Chincoteague's example and float across a raft to the ship and haul the crewmen back through the storm-tossed seas.
The Coos Bay passed her line and floated a raft across. Five men jumped in the raft and braced for the long haul back to the cutter. But just then high waves washed across the raft and carried all of her passengers away. Three of the five were somehow swept back aboard the Ambassador, the other two were saved by some Coos Bay crew members who leapt into the surging ocean.
After further attempts with the raft, the Coos Bay decided that the only way to evacuate the Ambassador successfully was to have her crew tie individual lines to themselves. The Coos Bay crew members could then pull the men through the water to the cutter. This rescue method was especially risky in the kind of weather the Coos Bay was encountering.
The long, hard pull began, and when the operation was finally completed 11 of the 12 members of the Ambassador’s crew were safely on board the Coos Bay. The last man had died while being pulled from the merchant ship to the cutter.
Through the 1950s and into the 1970s, ships continued to meet with catastrophe on the high seas and the Ocean Station vessels continued to rush to their aid. In March 1971, the tanker Texaco Oklahoma broke in half about 200 miles east of Norfolk. The ensuing multi-day search for survivors involved four Ocean Station vessels which had been transiting or serving on stations—the Rockaway, Gresham (WAVP-387), Mendota (WHEC-69), and Es- canaba (WHEC-64).
The Gresham spent a lot of time serving on Ocean Station Hotel; she was peculiarly equipped to do that job. Hotel had been established as a “special” Ocean Station in 1970 just before the rest of the Ocean Station program was terminated. Severe winter storms had ravaged the northeastern United States in 1968-69, and the Weather Bureau stated that such storms would not be able to surprise the New England states if it had an accurate and reliable reporting station about 250 miles northeast of Norfolk. Consequently, the Gresham was equipped with special radar and given a schedule that called for her to man the station almost continuously during the winter months. In April 1973, the Gresham was decommissioned and the Taney (WHEC-37) took her place. Ocean Station Hotel was finally terminated on 30 September 1977; by then, the Weather Service could obtain accurate reports and forecasts through satellites and large, specialized buoys located well out at sea.
The rest of the Ocean Station program came to a halt in 1974, and few in the Coast Guard shed tears at its termination. There were many reasons for its abolishment.
The requirement to assist aircraft had long since become a convenience rather than a necessity. Greatly improved aircraft navigation made the positions supplied by Ocean Station vessels augmenting information rather than crucial navigation fixes. There were no more ditchings by major aircraft by the late 1960s. Some small private aircraft are still forced to put down at sea, but these incidents usually happen close enough to shore that coastal search and rescue units can respond quickly and ably.
Oceanographic work had always been a sort of collateral duty for the Ocean Station vessels, and they were only minimally equipped for such tasks. Other Coast Guard cutters were specially equipped for these duties, and thus supplanted the Ocean Station vessels.
Finally, there was offshore search and rescue. Ships still sink far out at sea, and the crews still need to be rescued. However, with all other ocean station duties reduced, it became increasingly difficult for the Coast Guard to justify maintenance of a fleet of ships as search-and- rescue standbys. Moreover, the acquisition of high-speed, long-range, increased endurance aircraft had all but eliminated the need for ship-to-ship rescues at sea. With helicopters that can travel hundreds of miles to sea, recover survivors, and return to shore, there is little need to keep a ship far at sea for emergency rescues.
With the end of the program came the end of many of the ships that had made Ocean Station history. By the late 1960s, many of the World War II-vintage cutters had outlived their usefulness. Life had not been easy for any of the Ocean Station ships. While on Ocean Station Bravo in the far North Atlantic in January 1962, the cutter Owasco had been forced off station by weather, but only after the ship had lost all her stanchions and lifelines forward, lost one of her small boats, damaged the other boat, cracked her radar antenna, and suffered severe icing while battling 65-knot winds and 30° water temperatures. The Gresham, while on Station Hotel in 1973, lost one boat and four rafts, had an engine failure, and suffered a small fire aft and flooding forward, while engaged on a search-and-res- cue mission in winds gusting up to 80 knots and seas of up to 35 feet.
Consequently, many of these ships had become maintenance problems, and some were sold off for scrap, sunk as target ships, or mothballed. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, the Coast Guard gave some of the 311-foot Casco- class ships to the South Vietnamese, as part of the war effort. In 1967, the Coast Guard began acquiring the Hamilton-class cutters, but the 12 ships of this class would never replace the full Ocean Station fleet, which numbered close to 50.
The ultimate dispositions of some of the Ocean Station ships give a good idea of what happened to “the great white fleet.’’ The Chincoteague and her berthmate, the Absecon, were both decommissioned in 1972 for subsequent turnover to the Vietnamese, primarily as parts ships for the cutters that already had been given to the South Vietnamese Government. The Coos Bay was sunk as a target in 1967. The Gresham was decommissioned in 1973 and placed in the Navy’s “dead fleet” in the James River in Virginia. The Pontchartrain was also mothballed and laid with some of her sister ships at the Coast Guard Yard in Baltimore until the winter of 1977-78, when she was sold for scrap. One of the last Ocean Station veteran ships, the Taney, was decommissioned in December 1986 after 50 years of service.
The Ocean Station vessels served and represented the Coast Guard well. Most came to inglorious ends, after sometimes sparkling careers. They will not be missed by those who endured the Ocean Station patrols, but history will remember these ships fondly.