Swift Water Hoists – Case Study: Lessons Learned From My First Swift Water Hoist 

I haven’t shared many “sea stories,” but the lessons from my first swift water case—over 18 years ago—have impacted how I approach and prosecute swift water rescues. Because that case exposed gaps in my own experience as well as in our community’s understanding of swift water rescue, I am sharing my lessons learned to better prepare others for a swift water hoist.  

Transiting home after a long security patrol, we flew directly over a large cluster of emergency vehicles engaged in a rescue. They immediately raised us on the radio: a skiff had lost power upriver in calm, deep water, then drifted into the rapids where it became pinned against a rock at a steep angle. Mostly submerged, the only person onboard was crouched on the small section that remained above water.  

The ground responders reported they were out of options. A jet ski couldn’t make it through the current and rocks, and a rope-rescue attempt had nearly gone bad. The riverbanks downstream offered no access until the skiff had traveled several hundred yards, and the current was swift with numerous rocks and strainers. Knowing the individual likely would not survive if they entered the water, they asked if we could hoist. 

With no viable alternative, fading daylight, and a low fuel state, we decided to act. The plan seemed straightforward: a direct deployment to the skiff and a quick strop recovery. 

We positioned nose into the wind—long axis of the aircraft perpendicular to the river current, right side facing upriver. I was in the left seat, flying as the pilot monitoring. The crew managed rotor wash and obstacles as the swimmer descended. 

Everything was textbook until the swimmer’s boots touched the skiff. As the skiff took his weight, it shifted, and the terrified survivor launched himself at the swimmer, tackling him into the water. The flight mechanic wisely payed out cable, preventing the current from separating them. 

Conning us left, the flight mechanic’s voice rose in urgency and pitch.  As the swimmer and survivor appeared out my window, I realized I had the best vantage to fly. I took the controls, slid aggressively left, and turned the nose downstream to match the current. What we now call a dynamic chase began. Fortunately, the flight mechanic was able to conn the helicopter back over to the swimmer and survivor to a position that was plumb enough to affect a hoist from the water. 

We short-hauled them to a flat spot on shore where they essentially “crash-landed,” still locked together. As the flight mechanic continued to conn the aircraft to keep us free of obstacles and put a catenary in the cable, I looked down at our swimmer and survivor catching their breath, tangled in sand, rocks, and cable. It was a mess, but they were safe. 

During the debrief, we acknowledged how lucky we were. We had identified immediate hazards, but I hadn’t looked far enough downstream to anticipate what might happen if the swimmer and survivor went into the current. And even if I had, I doubt I would have had the presence of mind to define a clear “no-go” or “abort” point. 

I have never heard of a Coast Guard helicopter successfully catching someone actively floating down a fast-moving river—outside of relatively slow tidal or river-mouth environments. But we do routinely hoist from stationary objects surrounded by swift water—cars, roofs, rocks—during flood operations. Every one of those rescues carries a real possibility that the survivor will end up in the current. 

Here’s what I emphasize when we talk about swift water hoisting: 

• Identify hazards downstream. Power lines, bridges, overhangs, rapids, strainers, and falls. If significant hazards exist and you end up in a dynamic chase, establish a no-go or abort point. 

• Identify potential short-haul sites in advance. 

• Consider aircraft orientation. When possible, face the flying pilot downstream—or brief a pedal turn if a dynamic chase occurs. 

• Build a shared mental model. If the rescue transitions to a chase, conns should be relative to the drift of the swimmer and survivor, with baseline speed set by the current. Establish that a “hold” conn means hold your current rate. “Increase your rate” and “decrease your rate” are critical conns. An “abort” call means stop the helicopter (zero ground speed). 

• Understand the physics. Dragging a swimmer and survivor against the current will likely separate them. 

• Manage energy wisely. Like in surf, the energy chain is current → swimmer → hoist drum. A perfect recovery involves moving the helicopter with the current and slowing just enough for a combination of the water and the flight mechanic’s drag to bring the swimmer and survivor near plumb for pickup. 

That first case reminded me how quickly a routine hoist can turn dynamic—and how critical it is to think downstream, literally and figuratively.