by Jim Wellman
Fishing vessel Goldorak I, one of the vessels standing by
Although it seemed like hours, it was probably no more than twenty minutes when the fishing vessel Goldorak I pulled alongside. However, seas were still high and transferring the five men from a small rubber life raft on board the larger vessel in those conditions would have been very dangerous, especially for Steve Coombs, who was not feeling well. Someone explained that an offshore oil industry supply vessel was only a few minutes away and it might be best to wait. The Burin Sea was even larger than the Goldorak I, but the ship had a fast rescue craft (FRC) on board that they could launch and get close to the life raft with much better chances of transferring the men.
The plan worked, and a few minutes later the men were on board the large supply vessel and soon steaming through the St. John’s Narrows.
Shawn said it was a bit surreal when he and the crew were in the galley of the Burin Sea watching live TV coverage of their rescue ship as it entered the harbour—it was almost like an out-of-body experience, he said.
A dozen or more media reporters were waiting to interview the crew, but the men agreed that no one should say anything at that time. However, Shawn Hughes, always conscious of good safety culture, couldn’t resist getting a plug in for the way the crew followed the proper procedures. Little Steve chimed in and agreed that had it not been for the safety drills by Shawn and Paul, his first-ever fishing trip might have been his last.
“Practice, practice, practice,” Shawn said. “That’s what it’s all about!”
And it could very well be that had it not been for their good safety procedures, Shawn Hughes, Steve Hickey, Yves Marshesseau, Steve Coombs, and Captain Paul Caines might have made their final voyage on May 4, 2010.
No Nine-to-Five Jobs for Him
Wayne Ledwell has never taken the well-beaten career path. After high school, Wayne fished with his father in Calvert on Newfoundland’s Avalon Peninsula, but he was also continuing his education and working at earning a university degree. “I’d fish in summer and go to university in winter.” Even with a degree, Wayne was still “tied to the community” and, like his brothers and other family members, he fished full-time for several years.
Wayne Ledwell (Photo courtesy of Wayne Ledwell)
Wayne liked fishing. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, most of his young friends were still in Calvert, also fishing. “Times were pretty good then. We had a bigger boat than my father traditionally fished—we had a thirty-five-foot longliner type of boat and everything was going fine,” he says.
But in the early 1980s, Wayne started to think about a different kind of life—something a little more adventurous than fishing in Calvert. In 1984, a federally sponsored program caught his attention. The Canadian University Services Overseas (CUSO) organization was looking for candidates to teach people overseas how to fish. The program that struck his fancy was in Vanuatu, one of a series of small islands in the south Pacific. He was naturally a little apprehensive about going to a small island halfway around the world with strange people who didn’t speak English, but the idea was exciting and, in 1984, Wayne was on a plane to a place where he could apply both his fishing skills and his education degree to help needy people.
Map of Vanuatu
Vanuatu is a string of eighty-three Melanesian islands surrounded on three sides by the Solomon Islands, Fiji, and New Caledonia. An airplane ride from Brisbane, Australia, would take about two hours. The islands have a total population of 240,000. By western standards the country is poor and, in the area where Wayne was sent, people lived from day to day on what they could gather off the land or in some cases a few fish caught in near-shore waters. “More or less what you could eat was what they caught from the beach,” is the way Wayne describes it. The only boats natives owned were dugout canoes made from grapefruit trees.
Wayne’s job was to research the waters farther offshore to see if there were different species available and then devise ways to catch them. While at first that might sound a little upscale, Wayne had nothing but a tiny, fifteen-foot speedboat with an outboard motor and basic fishing gear to work with.
Typical near-shore dugout canoe in Vanuatu
(Photo courtesy of Wayne Ledwell)
At first Wayne wondered what he had gotten himself into. He was the only white person in a region of about 2,000 people, and no one spoke English. “They spoke a little bit of what we call pigeon English—a mixture of French and English,” he says with his own distinctive Irish/Newfoundland accent still very prominent. Later he learned that the locals were afraid of him too because they had very little experience dealing with white people. To add to Wayne’s apprehension, the little boat that he was given was so tiny that, at first, he was afraid to go more than a few feet from the beach. However, the people were friendly and wanted to learn how to fish a little farther offshore than they had previously, so after testing his boat’s abilities and limitations day by day, he soon realized that the little Australian-built Hartley speedboat was capable of much more than he first thought. “It proved to be an amazing little boat—I used to go out in it in all kinds of weather—sometimes I’d go as far as a hundred miles in a day and fished from it in very deep water,” he says.
It took a little while, but Wayne soon got the hang of things and made several small outrigger mechanisms to run fish lines through, and before long he was finding some interesting schools of fish in deep water. “The deep-water red snapper were amazing,” he says. “The snapper were really big fish and really good to eat—the locals had a name on them which translated in English to ‘chicken.’”
Growing up in Calvert, Wayne remembered his father and other older fishermen explain how they would “mark” a good fishing ground before the days of advanced technical equipment. That memory proved to be a huge help for him in Vanuatu. When they found a significant aggregation of fish, they would set their location by lining up headlands as landmarks in various directions so that, when they would go back to fish later, it was relatively easy to find where they caught fish. Wayne also encouraged the locals to use the Newfoundland custom of naming various fishing grounds. They even adopted some of the Newfoundland names he told them about, and soon they would be telling him they were going to the Horse Rocks and other names that Wayne talked about from back home.
Vanuatu inshore fishermen (Photo courtesy of Wayne Ledwell)
When they became proficient enough to catch more than they needed for their own villages, the local fishermen started selling to people around the islands. “They would light a fire on the beach and people would see the smoke and that was the message that there was fish for sale in that location,” Wayne explains.
Sometimes they caught species unknown to them and some people were afraid that it could be poisonous, as many Pacific warm-water tropical fish species are. But basic native ingenuity was used to test the fish. One local practice included placing small pieces of the fish near trees to see if the ants would eat it. If so, it generally meant the fish was safe for human consumption. “When the fishermen sold large fish like those big 200-pound grouper, they would cut them in pieces because no one had enough money to buy the whole thing. They’d cut it in pieces and someone would want the head, another one would want the tail, etc.—it was really interesting,” Wayne remembers.
Wayne was only paid a living allowance for his work, but there was a strong sense of satisfaction from helping others, and at the end of his two-year contract in 1986, he asked for, and was granted, an extension for another two years.
The second half of Wayne’s four-year term in Vanuatu was a little different than the first. He was given a larger boat through Japanese Aid and became involved in projects with people in the entire archipelago. “We had a thirty-five-foot decked boat and would go as far as 400 miles up north—I’d be gone for a couple months and then I’d leave that and go d
own south for several weeks.”
Wayne’s living accommodations were sparse by any standards. On the island that was his home base, he lived in a hut with a thatched roof and bamboo sides. He had a little propane stove and ate all local food—the same as the villagers. When he was travelling, he would share a house with the natives. “They had dirt floors with mats—they keep a smoke fire going to keep the mosquitoes away at night and I’d sleep in their home.” Meanwhile, he did contract malaria three times.
Wayne Ledwell surrounded by fishermen friends in Vanuatu
(Photo courtesy of Wayne Ledwell)
At the end of his second term in 1988, Wayne considered staying on again for another two years, but he thought about it and decided he didn’t want to get so entrenched that he would become a “lost soul in the Pacific,” so he decided to come back home to Newfoundland.
Wayne Ledwell’s next career is very different from his days in what some would call a tropical paradise, but equally as interesting. Now known as “Wayne the Whale Man,” Wayne Ledwell still lives and works outside the nine-to-five routine.
A Silent Killer Terrorizes Fishing Crew
Like most “heroes,” Lisa Heffern plays down that designation when friends introduce her as one. In fact, she is still not totally aware of everything she did, because some of the life-and-death events that she found herself thrust into seven years ago are still a blur in her memory.
But Lisa is indeed a true hero in the purest sense of the definition of the word. Her quick thinking and action saved her brother’s life and the life of a fellow crew member on the fishing vessel Rebel’s Pride.
Built in 2005, Rebel’s Pride was no ordinary longliner. Described as a state-of-the-art, multi-purpose fishing vessel, it was considered by some as the flagship of the Newfoundland crab and shrimp fleet.
One writer described the large sixty-five-footer this way:
“Its size and versatility allows it to fish where others fall short. A fishing trip is no longer confined to a single species but is now a two-or-more-species affair. The refrigerated sea-water section of the fish hold allows for a capacity of up to 60,000 pounds (27,000 kilograms) of in-water snow crab; plus, the dry part of the hold allows for a capacity of about 40,000 pounds (18,000 kilograms) of shrimp. The bulbous bow design allows for the engine to be positioned all the way forward in the bow with an auxiliary engine room directly above it, which boasts an off-the-work-deck washroom. A not-totally-enclosed sheltered deck allows for comfortable working conditions, with an adjacent galley on the port side just to the left of the huge working area. This vessel brags a full twenty-five per cent more working space over a conventional sixty-five-footer. The sleeping accommodations for a crew of eight are located in the stern through an access way in the galley. Access to the wheelhouse can be had from the galley or from the main deck at the rear of the wheelhouse itself. The wheelhouse has its own full washroom and sleeping accommodations for another two people. A new keel and hull design offers increased stability, which allows the boat to work in more adverse weather conditions. The artist deserves some recognition because of this wonderful masterpiece . . .”
On the morning of September 6, 2006, Rebel’s Pride left the port of Bay de Verde, located on Newfoundland’s east coat, to fish shrimp. Captain Chris Peddle, his sister Lisa (Heffern), his then girlfriend Leslie Peddle, crewman Robbie Royal, and two young men who had signed on at the last minute as deckhands were enjoying the nice weather as they steamed toward the fishing grounds about 100 miles northeast of St. John’s.
Everything had gone according to plan that morning. The crew loaded ice into the fish hold and then headed out through Bay de Verde harbour shortly after breakfast. Sometime around mid-afternoon, Leslie relieved Lisa on watch and Lisa decided to go to her bunk for a rest. This was just the beginning of what would probably be a five-day fishing trip, and crew members catch a few hours’ sleep whenever they can before reaching the fishing grounds, where opportunities for sleep were few.
Shortly after Leslie started her watch, Chris, Robbie, and the two young deckhands were preparing to lower a pump from the deck of the vessel into the fish hold, but first they needed to move some ice around in the hold to position the pump properly. All four climbed down the ladder into the hold, and within a couple of minutes something was going terribly wrong.
As part of the Rebel’s Pride’s advanced technology, surveillance cameras were strategically positioned so that the person on watch in the wheelhouse could see what was happening at all times on most of the vessel. As Leslie watched her shipmates who had been working on the pump, she noticed something she thought was strange. Robbie and the two deckhands were back on deck, but because Chris was nowhere to be seen, she figured he must have been still in the fish hold. At first she wasn’t concerned about not being able to see Chris, but the deckhands and Robbie appeared to be in a high state of anxiety about something, so she decided to investigate what was going on. Pulling the engine out of gear, Leslie left the wheelhouse and headed for the deck. Looking into the fish hold, she was startled to see Chris lying on the floor. Glancing at Robbie and the two young deckhands nearby, she noticed they appeared to be in some kind of a daze. Assuming Chris had fallen from the ladder and was injured, Leslie yelled out to Lisa for help. “Get me a rope!” she called, and then proceeded to climb down the ladder to assist Chris.
Fortunately, Lisa had not been in the bunk long enough to have fallen asleep, and she could tell by the urgency of Leslie’s voice that someone was in trouble. Jumping from her bunk, Lisa was on deck within a minute.
“I was in such a hurry that I even forgot to put on my sneakers,” she says.
Lisa was shocked when she looked into the hold. Not only had her brother Chris passed out, Leslie, despite sounding strong and well when she called out just a couple of minutes ago, was also unconscious. Lisa says both were sprawled across the fish hold floor like rag dolls.
“It was like a scene from CSI on television,” she says. “Their arms and legs were everywhere—that’s the way they were.”
Lisa had done a Marine Emergency Duties (MED) course as part of basic training for her Class IV fishing certification, and as soon as she realized that Leslie had passed out so quickly, she had an idea what was going on. “I knew right away it was gas—I didn’t know what kind of gas, but it was the only thing that made sense,” she says. “I figured that Leslie was trying to drag Chris to where she could get a rope around him to haul him up, and working hard and breathing hard, she passed out within a minute or so.”
Lisa’s hunch was right. An investigation determined that something called R2 Refrigerant was leaking from the vessel’s internal refrigeration system into the hold. R2 is a heavy gas, heavier than air, and, if inhaled, it replaces the oxygen in the lungs and brain. Lisa says she’s heard it described as a gas that “eats” oxygen, and because the hold was half-filled with ice and also partially sealed to keep the ice frozen, it was likely that there was little or no oxygen left in the hold. Whatever the case, Lisa knew that she had to do something, and do it quickly, because both her brother and Leslie were already lifeless, and obviously a few minutes more could be fatal—if in fact they were still alive.
The sight of her brother, twenty-nine-year-old Chris Peddle, and her shipmate, Leslie Peddle, lying unconscious at the bottom of the fish hold of Rebel’s Pride shocked Lisa Heffern. One glance at their lifeless bodies sprawled on the floor, when only minutes before that they were fine, meant that whatever was happening was catastrophic and Chris and Leslie didn’t have long to live. That realization numbed her thought process. “For example, time and how long it took from one event to another after that meant nothing to me—I had no idea whether it was five minutes or five hours, and there are some things that I still can’t remember any details about at all—but I can remember noticing that both Chris and Leslie weren’t wearing any sneakers or boots and
I thought it was strange,” Lisa says. Lisa didn’t dwell on that oddity, though she knew that she had to do something very quickly and she knew she needed help. Standing beside her were Michael Oliver and Denis Royal, the two young deckhands who had climbed from the hold just minutes before, but the dazed look on their faces told Lisa that they were in no condition to help. Robbie Royal, who had also been in the hold, appeared in reasonably good shape, and Lisa figured that whatever rescue attempt was going to happen, it was up to her and Robbie. From there, Lisa has memory blanks. She remembers that one of them, perhaps Robbie, went down into the hold and tied a rope around Chris, and then quickly the two hauled her brother to the deck. “I have no memory whatsoever of who went down and tied the rope around him,” Lisa says. “All I remember is me and Robbie pulling on the rope.” As soon as Chris was secured on deck, they hauled Leslie from the hold.
Lisa Heffern paid close attention to her Marine Emergency Duties (MED) courses during her Class IV Fishing Master’s training program, and because she did, her brother and Leslie are alive today. As soon as Chris was on deck, Lisa began aggressively performing CPR on her brother. Lisa was elated when she heard Chris finally gasping for breath. “At first it was very short breaths, but then he started coming around and then Robbie went down [into the hold] for Leslie.”
Because Leslie was not in the hold as long as Chris, Robbie and Lisa figured she might be in better condition, but when they had Leslie on deck, Robbie’s first assessment was that she was already dead. “Lisa, she’s gone,” Robbie said. But Lisa was not one to accept defeat easily and, angrily dismissing Robbie’s remarks, she started to apply CPR on her friend. For a couple of long, agonizing minutes, it looked like Robbie was probably right. Leslie had what Lisa described as a deadly, pasty colour and showed no signs of life. But Lisa would not accept that Leslie was dead and stubbornly continued to perform CPR vigorously. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Leslie started giving short gasps for air.