Declaration of Darrell Blomberg
September 10, 2014
Chronology, Wind Tree, August 31, 2014
Recently, I was in the San Diego area visiting my God-daughter, Kelsea and a long-time friend Frank Fitzgerald. On Sunday, August 31, 2014, the three of us went sailing on Frank’s 45’ 1973 Columbia, the Windtree. At mid-morning, we gathered on the Windtree for a day on the water.
Frank took about 10 minutes going over the details of his boat; certain features he wanted us to know about, how to use the basic systems that he thought we might need to use while enjoying the Windtree and general safety practices including specific instructions on how to use the radio in the event of an emergency.
We soon departed the California Yacht Marina in Chula Vista, CA and motor-sailed through the entire San Diego harbor over the next few hours. The sights were fabulous as this was a “Tall Ships” weekend. Frank gave both Kelsea and I an opportunity to practice our skills at the helm of the Wind Tree.
In the early afternoon, we reached the SD1 buoy, the buoy marking the entrance to the channel that would assist an arriving boater safely into the San Diego harbor. At that buoy, we turned the boat around planning to turn off the engine and sail back into the harbor.
Within minutes of turning the boat around the SD1 buoy, Frank and I were discussing setting the staysail. I offered to complete the task unassisted but Frank wanted to participate.
I tended the staysail’s furling line on the starboard side of the boat while Frank uncoiled the staysail sheets on the port side. Frank came over to assist me. Just as I started to draw the sheet, Frank said, “I’m going to sit down.” I said, “OK.” I thought Frank meant that he was going to sit down and winch the sheet. This made no sense as operating a winch from the sitting position is very difficult. Seconds later, I noticed that Frank was sitting on the port side of the boat not the starboard side. I thought that was odd considering the task at hand.
Within seconds of Frank sitting down, I looked at him and immediately noticed that his head was slumping, his mouth was slightly open and his eyes had glazed over and slightly rolled. I immediately dropped the sail sheet and approached Frank. Frank was ashen pale, not breathing and his body was very rigid to the touch.
I tried to communicate with Frank but he was non-responsive. We had a life-threatening emergency on our hands! I notified Kelsea, she immediately left the helm for the radio, on her way to the radio she told me to start performing CPR on Frank and got on channel 16 of the radio in an attempt to raise Vessel Assist; just as Frank had instructed us to do in an emergency. Frank was still not breathing and I could not find any pulse. I hefted Frank forward onto the bench he was sitting on in an attempt to get him into a lying position. Kelsea communicated our emergency situation to Vessel Assist while I initiated and maintained chest compressions. I was just about to start mouth-to-mouth resuscitation when Frank’s body gasped and lurched. It seemed like he had been kick-started on one cylinder.
Kelsea dictated our present position on the radio. Frank’s breathing was very erratic, long delayed and labored but he was at least gulping oxygen on occasion. I took that as a good sign but not a situation that was likely last long. Frank needed help; he had a long way to go before he was stable. Kelsea and I tried communicating to Frank but he was definitely non-responsive. I continued to monitor him for breathing and a pulse.
The San Diego Harbor Police were responding to our call and saying that they were on their way to assist us. They asked Kelsea numerous times if we could see them approaching. We could not. That is when Kelsea adamantly and repeatedly pointed out that we were approximately ¼ miles off the starboard side of a large US Coast Guard vessel. Kelsea continued to make that fact very clear to the operator on the radio. It seemed that the US Coast Guard was ignoring us.
A V-hull white over blue, inboard/outboard boat with two occupants pulled up on our port side and offered to take Frank in to shore upon transfer. That would have been ideal but I politely declined as I feared we would drop Frank in the water which would have further exasperated his predicament.
Eventually, there was a bright orange US Coast Guard rib in the water near their stern end of the large US Coast Guard vessel. Upon looking up again, the rib was not in sight. Eventually, the rib reappeared and came toward us. After initially heading to a different sailboat, the rib arrived at our boat. I opened the port side and David and Orlando came onboard with basic medical equipment and a bottle of oxygen. David immediately administered oxygen to Frank and placed a monitoring device on Frank’s torso.
The San Diego Harbor Police arrived and said we should motor in to their dock at the close end of Shelter Island and transfer Frank to an ambulance. Kelsea took the helm while I secured the boat and furled in the flailing staysail Frank and initially set to work on. Kelsea wound the old engine up to just under redline and headed for the dock with the Police escorting us to the port side.
I searched through Frank’s boat looking for contact information for his immediate family. I couldn’t find anything, not an address book nor his i-Phone and I remember that the sign-in log didn’t ask us for phone numbers, so that wouldn’t have helped. I remembered that Frank had a laptop. I dug it out and wondered what he would use for a password to log on. I could think of a myriad of passwords Frank might use. I was in luck; Frank’s laptop didn’t have a password. I spotted and old Palm contact program, I hoped it still worked. The program opened and I immediately went searching for the Fitzgeralds. I didn’t know who to choose until I saw a 360 area code. I knew his Air National Guard son was in the northwest and that 360 was a Washington area code as far as I could remember. I called two cell numbers and a home number. I had left messages for Paul and Vanessa, the home number was out of service. I tried a few of the other Fitzgeralds to no avail.
David and Orlando were working diligently on Frank. They were being loud and direct but Frank was not being responsive. Kelsea and I were still gravely concerned and knew that Frank wasn’t doing very well. Time was working against us but we were making progress toward the dock.
I decided to try again to reach some of Frank’s relatives. Just as I grabbed for my cell phone it rang. It was Paul Fitzgerald, Frank’s son. I communicated the situation; Paul said he would transmit an update to the rest of Frank’s family and that he’d have them call me if they had any questions. I knew there was too much going on for me to field a rack of inquiries. I requested that Paul let me update him once things settled down on the boat and that he be the point of contact for all of the calls. He agreed and that worked out great.
I wondered why Frank wasn’t transferred to a faster boat. That became obvious later as the US Coast Guard didn’t have a board to put Frank on to make a safe transfer. When this was mentioned later, the Police said that they had some type of board device (I don’t remember the name.) with them. I should have spoken up.
Frank had sucked dry the first bottle of oxygen, the US Coast Guard rib approached and transferred a radio and a fresh bottle of oxygen. Kelsea kept the boat steady while the rib approached and departed.
Kelsea was doing great navigating through increasing traffic. She diligently followed the Police escort.
As we entered the harbor proper, Frank had regained and surpassed his natural color. Frank was definitely a rosy pink due to all of the oxygen he had siphoned.
Nearing the dock many things were going on. The most important of which is that Frank was starting to be responsive. He was very agitated.
Kelsea continued to motor toward the dock and I wanted to prepare the boat for docking however the police never told us where we’d be docking. I didn’t know which side of the boat to prepare the lines for and I could not see any available docking area from our vantage point. Kelsea slowed the boat but the boat carries a lot of momentum and started to slide past the leading side of the dock. At that point, I could see that we were docking on the starboard side. I prepared the lines and Kelsea worked to navigate the boat to the dock. Many people were yelling orders to Kelsea at the time. She says that she finally heard someone shout, “Reverse, hard to the right!” That did it. Kelsea got the stern of the boat toward the dock and we were able to throw the lines and get secured to the dock.
Once secured, a backboard was brought on board. Frank was very agitated at this point. The backboard was slid under Frank and he fought the best he could. His waist was secured with a strap that was then crossed over his torso. The idea was to hold the ends of the strap while lifting from the head end of the board but the person handling that couldn’t quite manage at first and I had visions of Frank sliding off the board. Finally, that situation was put under control. At the other end of the board, Frank was kicking up a storm. I finally grabbed Frank’s feet and someone duct taped across Frank’s shins and around the board. Frank wasn’t going anywhere that board didn’t go.
I lowered the aft starboard stanchion and Frank was transferred off the Windtree for a ride to the UCSD hospital.
David and Orlando gathered their equipment and assembled it on the dock next to the Windree. It turns out that the large US Coast Guard was not on alert for emergencies that day. They were stationed near the San Diego buoy system entrance for the purposes of drug interdiction.
So here were, Kelsea and I, over two hours of navigating time on a Tall Ship’s weekend in a busy harbor with a 45’ sailboat to get back to its slip at the California Yacht Marina.
I called Paul and gave him the update. He stated that he had made arrangements to get to San Diego before night fall and that one of his brothers, Tom, was also making travel arrangements from Las Vegas. As it turns out, Frank’s daughter was in San Diego on business with her husband and they would head off to the hospital to see Frank.
Kelsea glided the Wingtree off of its current mooring by letting the wind swing the bow free while gently releasing the aft dock line. Under Kelsea’s watch we headed back to the south end of the bay. It was certainly a pensive and somber time on the Windtree. I wondered when was the last time the Windtree had been on the water without Frank. I helmed for a little while so Kelsea could take some photos of the Tall Ships in the harbor. Kelsea navigated us through the rest of the bay, under the Coronado Bridge, through the dog leg channel and back to the Yacht Marina.
I had never docked the Windtree nor had I ever docked a boat this large. I remembered from my flying days that I should just slow everything down and take my time. The last time I had seen Frank slip the Windtree home was at least seven years earlier. I prepared the boat for docking and I went over all of the steps with Kelsea. As I motored down the fairway, I gave the Windtree a spurt of reverse and slowed the boat to a crawl. The aft wind had fallen off nicely so I was sure I wouldn’t bypass the slip and ram the dock at the end of the fairway. All the lines were set, the fenders were out and Kelsea was in position to catch the spring line on the aft starboard dock horn.
I swung the bow of the boat past the nose of Tony, who was among the people waiting for us. The stern came around and straightened perfectly into the slip. Kelsea caught the spring line, I tapped reverse and the Windtree came perfectly to a rest about a foot or two from the pier on the starboard side. We secured the boat in the slip and shut down the engine. The Windtree was returned safe and sound to its slip.
I have known Kelsea since she was an infant. She is one of my god-daughters.
I am certain that Frank Fitzgerald is alive today as a direct result of the efforts of both Ms. Stafford-Louisiana and me. I would not have been able to handle all of the life-saving emergency procedures and navigating chores alone.
Kelsea was integral in assuring that I was chest-compressing Frank properly and in a steady rhythm. She gave me constant reminders while she was handling the communication duties. Additionally, while still communicating on the radio, Kelsea keep watch of our surroundings including navigating us out of the way of the massive auto-transport ship bearing down on us as it left the harbor.
During the course of events as recounted herein, I was amazed at how composed, patient and in control Kelsea remained on the radio and at the helm. Kelsea’s military radio experience was an asset to Frank on that day. I think the only time she even raised her voice in frustration was to the radio operator when she felt the US Coast Guard was initially being unresponsive to our requests for emergency assistance.
Although, Kelsea had last sailed with me over 10 years earlier on my Hobie 18, she rose to the occasion and masterfully helmed the Windtree throughout the day; including that impromptu and quick docking at the Police dock.
I am grateful for having Kelsea onboard the Windtree that fateful day and helping me save the life of a man I love.
I declare the foregoing to be a true and accurate account of the events that saved Frank Fitzgerald’s life as they transpired on August 31, 2014.
Darrell Blomberg
DCBinAZ@gMail.com
602-686-7355
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