“Don’t hook on just yet… And when you do, leave some slack in the line!”, Shiner recalls, as if he’s instantly back aboard the familiar S-61 Coastguard Rescue Helicopter.
“You’ve got to wait until exactly the right moment: when you’re at deck edge and you’re ready with a signal from the aircraft. Hook on and winch clear," he says. It’s a tactic well-practised by winchmen keen to avoid being pulled across stricken vessel decks.
But in the years since Stephen’s award-winning rescues a lot has changed; most notably in communications technology. “When I started in Search and Rescue (SAR), there was no electronic communication between aircraft and winchmen.
“We had hand signals and taps on the wire! On the back end of a trawler bobbing up and down up to 100ft, those signals mean absolutely everything.”
Stephen is uniquely placed to comment on every single role aboard a rescue helicopter – he’s done them all. First as a Rescue Diver, then as Advanced Resus Winchman, Winch Operator, and finally as a Rescue Helicopter Pilot.
On 31 March 2001, Stephen was winchman aboard “Mike Uniform”, HM Coastguard’s Stornoway-based Rescue Helicopter, when disaster struck aboard Fishing Vessel Amadeus.
Battered by 50-knot winds, the helicopter crew rushed to the aid of the vessel’s seriously injured seaman, effecting a daring rescue and lowering Shiner onto the ship’s deck.
Suddenly, stormy seas and swell plunged the aircraft downwards, throwing Stephen down a well deck. Without time to detach from his hook and line, the winchman was slung violently against the ship’s sides, causing serious injuries to his legs, chest and head.
Despite drifting in and out of consciousness, Stephen’s instincts took control to cloak the agony, disconnect his winch line and stumble to the ship’s bridge. With a cracked helmet, broken foot and bruised ribs, he located the casualty and tended to the fallen sailor’s dislocated shoulder, putting him in the helicopter’s double-lift harness.
Returning to Stornoway, the extent of Shiner’s injuries soon became clear. He was taken to hospital, where he ended up being cared for longer than his casualty. But around six weeks later, he was back at the winch wire.
Recounting the steely determination of Winchmen past and present, Stephen says: I remember our SAR Diving Instructor saying that you will end up putting your life on the line – when everyone else runs for cover, you do the opposite. If you can’t, you’re not suited to it.”
For Stephen, being awarded the Billy Deacon Trophy takes on a special significance, as he worked alongside fellow winchman Billy prior to his tragic loss in Shetland. Billy died while rescuing ten crew members from cargo vessel Green Lily.
And his loss is still a difficult thing to reconcile but through the Billy Deacon Award, Stephen recognises that he joins an elite group of people. “Billy’s death was a tragic loss, but it’s a great to honour his memory with an award bearing his name. More than 20 years on, Billy lives on through all of our work.
“It’s no secret that those working in SAR are often scared too, but we’re trained to run towards the danger. What compels us is that people rely upon us, and the fear that if we aren’t there, someone could die.”
Stephen’s had a few ‘close shaves’ over the years, but the one that sticks in his mind best is the 1989 rescue of 40 people aboard the MV Murree, an 18,000-ton cargo vessel wrecked off the Devon coast in a force 10 storm.
“By that point we’d rescued 36 people, but there were still four stuck aboard. The plan was to winch up two together, and then between us we’d take the final two. But this slowed things down and casualties were our priority – we decided that all four would go up before us, and we’d be left as the final pair to leave.
“I ran to the bridge to use the ship’s radio to explain the situation, but as vessel’s nose tipped sharply into the surf, her bulkheads gave way. My diver colleague and I put the last two people up to the aircraft, and we thought we’d just about gotten away with it when, as the vessel submerged, containers broke free from their fastenings, rising to the surface.
“Stuck at the back end of the ship with no time to spare, there was only one way off. We swung onto a bollard over the side of the ship as her stern rose out of the water. We looked at each other thinking that was it and said “See you on the other side…”
The 90ft drop crushed tendons in Stephen’s shoulder and ruptured his bursa. As he clawed at the water to get to the surface, he couldn’t hold his breath any longer. Taking his last gasp, it fortunately transpired that he’d reached the surface.
The incident and its aftermath greatly affected Stephen, who is glad that access to mental health support has improved greatly over the years.
“When we reconstructed the incident for a TV show called ‘999’, all the nightmares that I’d had since the rescue disappeared. I think that sharing my story and sharing my feelings helped to release me from it – seeking help and sharing with others was exactly the right thing to do.”
Speaking about the role of Search and Rescue, Shiner adds: “Be it Cook, Cleaner or Ops staff, everyone in SAR has a crucial role to play. A crewman aboard the Murree wrote on his lifejacket and gave it to us. His words resonate with me as much today as they did 35 years ago, and I believe they belong to Billy Deacon and all those who save lives.”
The lifejacket still sits on display at RNAS Culdrose. Its inscription reads: “To the angels who come in the guise of men, the lord hath chosen thee to perform the most profound of his miracles: saving life. You are what the world was made for.”
