One bad decision leaves Jaime Sharp clinging to the rocks with no escape


STRANDED


SURVIVAL REVIVALS


Jaime Sharp knew he was in trouble the moment he realized the wave would catch him right in the gap he had entered amongst the jagged rocks. Two and a half hours earlier, Sharp and his two companions—all experienced rough


water paddlers—had departed under clear skies and light winds for a day trip around the imposing headland of Oregon’s Cape Falcon. With fine August weather and no specific plans to rock garden or surf along the way,


Sharp wore fleece-lined shorts and light layers under his anorak and chose to paddle barefoot—common kayaker dress code in his native New Zealand. As always, he also wore his ditch kit with extra dry clothes, snacks, cell phone and VHF radio. He buckled his helmet to the back deck, just in case. It was still there when he followed fellow Kiwi kayaker Tara Mulvany into the gap. “When I saw the wave, my first thought was ‘I’m not wearing a helmet, I’m dead,’” Sharp


recalls. Despite the wave’s modest size—Sharp estimates its height at four or five feet—his position on the shallow reef, surrounded by sharp volcanic rocks and sea stacks, made him extremely vulnerable. With just a foot of water under his hull, Sharp was certain he’d be knocked unconscious if he capsized. “I ended up bongo sliding [side surfing], trying to protect my face and keep my body


between the rocks and my head. Next thing I know, I’m wedged up against a sea stack, with the wave sucking out and the boat locked upside down. “I was totally gobsmacked that I managed to get washed up on the rocks without even


a scratch. I tried a roll but the boat was jammed. The next wave in the set would be bigger, and I couldn’t risk getting smeared across the rocks again without a helmet. I dropped out of my kayak into a pool of water just as it hit.” After several attempts to retrieve his boat—each scramble leaving him more bruised


and battered—Sharp abandoned the kayak and climbed to temporary safety on a sea stack. With his companions unable to get close enough to assist, Sharp made the decision to call the Coast Guard on his VHF. It was now 20 minutes since his capsize. When a nearby fishing vessel responded and reported that it could not safely approach


closer than half a nautical mile, the Coast Guard told Sharp that a helicopter was on its way. An hour later, the bird arrived. Watching the Coast Guard Aircrew’s rescue footage, Sharp can be seen hunkered atop


an almost impossibly craggy and precipitous spire, framed by larger, similarly toothy black rocks. The eight-foot swell explodes as it runs up against Cape Falcon’s basalt sentries, sending white plumes above Sharp’s head. “I don’t see any other way of getting this guy off of here,” a member of the aircrew


can be heard saying as rescue options are discussed and a rescue swimmer on a hoist is mobilized. He goes on to describe the operation as “a bit of a risky evolution” for both the rescuer and the “survivor.” The view over the rescue hoist operator’s shoulder out the heli door is mesmerizing:


whitewater swirls around the dark crags, Sharp a mere speck of red Gore-Tex. After three attempts, they snatch him from the rocky perch, haul him up the cable to the heli, and a pair of rescuers drag him like a slab of Angus beef across the chopper’s threshold and into the safety of its cabin. Sharp is obedient, almost limp, allowing himself to be manipulated onto a bench for the ride back to Tillamook Bay. He was surprised to receive praise, rather than a scolding, from the Coast Guard


technicians. “As far as they were concerned, I had all the appropriate gear to deal with that environment.” Sharp is less forgiving of himself. The simple act of putting on his helmet before entering


the gap could have given him the protection to attempt a second roll after his capsize. Similarly, his lack of immersion gear ruled out a long swim in the 60°F water to the fishing boat or the other kayaks. Sharp’s biggest takeaway from his close call relates to judgment, rather than equipment.


Assumption and complacency, he says, were the chief errors that day. “When you’re paddling with strong peers, you sometimes assume that those people


are making a good decision, and you don’t necessarily have to make your own. If I’d assessed the situation myself, made my own choice, waited and noted where my safe zones were—rather than just following Tara through the reef—none of this would have happened.” As skills and experience increase, so do comfort and confidence in more challenging


environments. “You can become overly comfortable in moderate conditions and not take the necessary precautions,” says Sharp. “You forget that all it takes is that one unexpected thing and you’re out of your boat.” —Virginia Marshall


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