It's called ''May Gray'' or ''June Gloom,'' the blanket of fog and low clouds that settles across Southern California's coastal waters during spring and summer. It typically burns off by early afternoon, making way for those blue skies that you see in postcards. But some days, it settles in, blotting out the crowded, current-threaded sea lanes between Santa Catalina Island and the Southern California coast. The scuba diving trip that Dan Carlock was taking in these waters would feature a backdrop of Catalina rising from the ocean if it were sunny. But on this Sunday in April, the fog was extra heavy, the clouds extra low. Visibility was just 300 feet in spots. When Carlock boarded the Sundiver at dawn, he saw only a wall of gray and white. The gloom would blind recreational boaters and confuse even big commercial shippers. It would hamper rescuers whose job it is to keep safe all of those sharing these chilly Pacific waters. Certified for advanced open-water dives, Carlock had been looking forward for weeks to the trip with the Ocean Adventures Dive Co. 17 recreational divers, three dive masters and a captain. It was a chance to get away from his job as a technical engineer with Boeing Satellite Systems, a position where he sometimes felt as though he was in a ''vulcan mindmeld with his computer.'' For an hour after leaving the port near Long Beach, the boat rumbled toward the first dive location, the massive Eureka oil rig. Later in the day, the boat would take the divers to a shipwreck 10 miles away. SundiverOnly when the captain powered down the engine at about 8:30 a.m. did Carlock realize they were there. Suddenly, he made out the looming form of the rig, one of a cluster of man-made metal islands about 7 miles off the coast of Newport Beach, southwest of Los Angeles. At 6-feet-2, Carlock cuts an imposing figure, his build magnified in a black wet suit. He's an engineer whose world is driven by rationality logic and method dictating action. That's one reason he likes diving. He pays attention to the smallest details. On this day, besides his underwater camera and slate, he snapped a whistle to his wet suit and carried a yellow-green neon safety tube that can be inflated as both a marker and a flotation device. He had never needed the safety equipment. But years of instruction had drilled into his head: Always carry it. Carlock was among the first group into the water, which was cloudy with a stiff current the kind that required a hard swim to get underneath the rig's main platform. The water's fierce tug would cause the captain to keep a second group aboard the Sundiver, canceling their dive here. Once under the rig, Carlock and the others were told to stay within the rig's structure during their dive. That way, they could use the rig's columns to keep from being swept along. It was about 8:45 a.m., and Carlock headed down into the darkness. ___________________________ Heavy fog also had settled in over White's Landing, a cove along Catalina Island, nearly erasing the tall wooden masts of the Argus, a century-old ship once used to haul goods from Greenland to Spain. These days, the ship hauls more precious cargo. Owned by the Orange County Council Newport Sea Base, a Boy Scouts of America affiliate, it offers sailing adventures to scouting groups from around the country. At 8:45 a.m., the crew and its passengers were finishing a breakfast of eggs. It was the second half of a two-day trip for Boy Scout Troop 681 out of Rancho Bernardo, a few miles north of San Diego. This was a heady stuff for the group of 20, 17 scouts and three parents. A day earlier, the boys had climbed a mast to the crow's nest. They swung out on ropes and dropped into the ocean. They also conducted a man-overboard drill, which required the Boy Scouts to locate an object a ''pretend person,'' it was called in the water and point it out so the crew could rescue it. The exercise was to show the scouts that the crew in the Argus' small rescue boat might not be able to see a person at water level. On the deck of the tall sailing ship, higher above the sea's surface, you can see better. But the training did not go well. When First Mate Al Sorkin threw the ''pretend person'' in the water, half the boys failed to point. ''If that was one of you, you would drown,'' Sorkin scolded, ''because we wouldn't find you.'' At age 50, Sorkin had some of the bearing of a pirate in the movies, and he could be gruff. But the scouts loved him and they listened. They did the drill again, and this time they got it right. Today, they had a different challenge: They were in the middle of a fog bank. Capt. Fred Bockmiller, who at 72 had helmed the Argus for more than 25 years, knew the heavy fog meant it would take longer to guide the ship back to port in Newport Beach, about 22 miles as the crow flies across the busy shipping lanes. Captain Fred BockmillerMost modern ships are made of metal. The Argus was made of wood. Though it had a metal beacon, the wooden hull meant it could be missed by radar on other vessels, including the enormous cargo tankers. Bockmiller decided to leave early. He ordered the anchor hauled up, then quickly discovered the first problem of a day that would have many. The Argus' hydraulic lift was broken. Hand over hand, the boys and the crew brought the dead weight up manually a tedious process ''taking forever,'' thought scout Christian Clemesha, a slight 16-year-old with a dark mop of hair. ___________________________ Fifteen minutes into the dive, at about 30 feet, pressure started to build in Dan Carlock's ears. He stopped, waiting for his ears to equalize, or ''pop.'' If he continued down without equalizing, he risked damage to his eardrums. Carlock waited. The other three in his group continued without him. It only took seconds for Carlock's ears to pop. Then he followed the bubbles from his group, passing downward into near blackness. But soon the bubbles were gone. At 108 feet down, still not seeing the others in his dive team, Carlock halted again. Where were they? he wondered. Still no bubbles in the inky water. He considered what to do, then decided there was just one choice. Carlock began the slow ascent to the surface. Reaching a depth of 15 feet from the top, where thin light filtered down, he stopped for a routine three-minute decompression, to allow the body to adjust to the change in pressure. When Carlock finally broke the surface, he was alone. The oil rig was in the wrong place. The current had pushed him out from under it, and was still pushing him. In the fog, he thought he could see the outline of the Sundiver but then it disappeared. Following scuba diving safety protocols, he unclipped his whistle and blew, trying to get the attention of the boat crew. He blew again and again and again. But the whistle's high pitch competed with the groaning fog horn on the rig and the rumbling engines of the boat. There was no sign that anyone heard him. Surely, he thought, when the crew took a head count, they would realize he was missing and come looking for him. After all, he had signed out on the boat's dry erasure board that tallies each dive group. He hoped they'd hurry. There was another location they were all supposed to dive on today, that shipwreck. Treading water, he waited. Time passed slowly. He blew the whistle some more. Nothing happened. After an hour, at about 10 a.m., an uncomfortable thought was settling in. Carlock could no longer hear the boat's engine. He had not heard the sounds of others surfacing; he had not heard the Sundiver throttle up and pull away from the rig. But the message of the silence was clear to Carlock. ''They left me,'' he said to himself. Unable to see anything, waves breaking over him, pushing him aimlessly in a Pacific Ocean turned black by fog, he was getting worried. The warmth of his wet suit had long been lost in the 60-degree water. His arms were beginning to go numb. His legs were weak. The engineer in him tried to take command. Determined to stay rational, to record what was happening though maybe, he thought grimly, it would be just for those who'd find his remains he unhooked the underwater camera from his wet suit. He aimed it at his watch and snapped two pictures. Then he turned the camera toward himself at arm's length, snapping two more. He reached for his diving slate and used the pencil to write the time: 10:28. It had been two hours now. He fought a rising panic. Soon hypothermia would set in. How long could he last out here? How many more hours? Then another thought came: If he survived to dusk in these cold waters, that, he knew, was when the Great White sharks feed. ___________________________ It was shortly after 10 a.m. and, aboard the tall ship Argus, crew members were watching the radar screen when a big oval blob appeared. Cargo ship, Capt. Fred Bockmiller said. To make its way back to Newport Beach from Santa Catalina Island, the Argus had to cross the busy shipping lanes that parallel the coast. When the sun is shining, it's almost like crossing a street. Look both ways and go, the captain joked. But during heavy fog and low clouds, it's complicated. Bockmiller slowed the ship, which operates as a sailboat but has engines, to a crawl. The Boy Scouts aboard for this weekend of fun and safety training could hear the foghorns of a cargo container ship bleating every few minutes. Then they heard another horn, another ship. They couldn't see anything, though, through the fog. First mate Al Sorkin ordered two crewmembers to man the lifeboat and told the boys to be prepared to don their life jackets. A worried father and his scout son put on their life vests, unasked. Zack Mayberry knew what the procedures were. Unlike others on this trip, the 15-year-old was a member of the Sea Scouts a branch of the Scouts organization focusing on boating and water skills. Growing up in Southern California, Zack had loved being on the water since he was a child. (He'd even been an extra in the ocean adventure movie ``Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World.'') He helped calm frayed nerves, explaining to one boy what the sounds were that they were hearing. With two ships now on the radar screen, Bockmiller decided against immediately crossing the shipping lanes. He turned the Argus 15 degrees north. ___________________________ After so long treading water, diver Dan Carlock knew he needed to lighten his load. He unhooked his weights, which aid divers during their descent. He held them in his left hand, a few inches under the water, and stared at them. Always rational, he had to think this through. If he dropped them, he knew, it was a real sign he was in trouble. ''Do I really want to do this?'' he said to himself. ''Is this really happening?'' Then, out loud, he coaxed himself: ''OK. OK. OK.'' Carlock, the engineer, opened his hand and let go. Once, he saw an airplane through a break in the clouds and fog. It didn't see him. He heard fog horns grow louder, then fade away. Except for the sounds of lapping waves, Carlock was alone with his thoughts. Unable to see anything around him, he ran through what might be happening. What were the people on the dive boat, the Sundiver, doing? Searching for him? Did they report him missing? Next came the ''what ifs'' ending with, What if I die? Will the shock of it kill my parents? thought Carlock, who is single. What about friends? Will they know how I felt about them? The ocean's cold distracted him from these dark thoughts. He could feel he was losing body heat, which can lead to death. To conserve strength, he rolled to face the sky and stopped lightly kicking. He started to pray. ''Hail Mary, full of grace ...'' ___________________________ In the Coast Guard's operations center at Long Beach, the first call came in at 12:03 p.m. on the channel used by the public for distress calls. ''We may have a problem,'' a voice crackled over the radio to a dispatcher. It was Capt. Ray Arntz of the Sundiver. He told the dispatcher he was missing a scuba diver. Listening, Coast Guard superviser Sandy Needle scribbled questions for the dispatcher and, at 12:05 p.m., issued an Urgent Marine Broadcast, giving all boaters the basics about the missing diver. Petty Officer Joshua Gunn, aboard a 40-foot Coast Guard cutter, switched on sirens and blue lights. He cranked the engine to 24 knots as it left the harbor, headed for the Sundiver. But when the cutter hit the fog, it had to slow to 10 knots. | | Dan Carlock Needle dispatched a helicopter for an aerial search and to drop a locator buoy, but the fog prevented it. He called in a Los Angeles County Baywatch Rescue boat and a Long Beach lifeguard unit. The Baywatch team reached the Sundiver first. With the stiff current, the team told Needle it lacked the equipment to go down for the missing diver. Two divers from the Sundiver volunteered to dive 110 feet down to search. By radio, Needle asked them if they understood that the Baywatch team had determined the waters unsafe. Yes, they understood, they said before going down. Within 15 minutes, they resurfaced. No sign of the missing diver. ___________________________ Dan Carlock's prayers were getting more desperate. ''God, please rescue me,'' he prayed. It was past noon, and Carlock had been in the cold water for more than three hours. ''God, please send me your guardian angels. Whisper in the captain's ear and tell him where I'm at,'' he prayed. ''God, please don't let me die.'' The heavy fog was slowly burning off, going from a thick blanket to a quilt with patches of clearing. Carlock looked up and saw three birds flying in formation across the sky the first living things he had seen in hours. A short time later, the three birds flew back. ''Are those my angels?'' he asked. The birds must be flying back and forth between land, he thought. He began to notice bits of kelp and wood. Was this coming from land? Could he possibly make it to land? Carlock took a ''leap of faith,'' turning his body in the direction of the birds and the kelp. As he floated, he began to contemplate his life, his actions, his experiences. He thought about how as a child growing up in Florida near Cape Canaveral he and his father would climb on the roof to watch the rockets. He thought about his childhood dream of becoming an astronaut. Then he began setting small goals and calming himself: ``Right here, in this five- or 10-second window, I'm OK.'' He recorded the passing time on his slate, taking care not to press the soggy pencil too hard. ''God,'' he prayed, ''I want to live.'' ___________________________ Aboard the cutter, Gunn's crew fanned out bow and stern, port and starboard sides scanning the water for the diver. A cargo container ship appeared on the cutter's radar screen. It was closing in on the search area, at the edge of the international shipping lanes. The ship moved closer. Finally, as it closed to within 100 yards off the cutter's bow, Gunn temporarily halted the search and pulled back. Returning to the search as soon as he could, the cutter skipper had to abandon it again when another ship passed close by. ''There are too many people out here,'' Gunn radioed in frustration to the operations center. Needle issued another alert, this time on the cargo vessel traffic channel, addressing captains of the giant ships lumbering in the fog. A search-and-rescue effort was under way for a diver in the water. Be watchful, he said. Gunn and his crew had begun their search with a tight circle and were increasing the distance in concentric arcs. Although the Coast Guard was following the book, Needle couldn't help thinking the more time that passed, and the larger the arcs grew, the more difficult it would be to find the diver alive. What he didn't know was that, in fact, the diver was not there to be found. When the Sundiver radioed for help, the captain reported the man had not turned up in a roll call after divers surfaced from a shipwreck site, about seven miles off Long Beach. He didn't mention that that was the second dive of the day, the first being at an oil rig 10 miles away where Carlock had actually been drifting helplessly for hours. So, the Coast Guard crew pressed its search, diligently tracing the arcs, scanning the waves, but looking in the wrong place. ___________________________ After zigzagging across the busy shipping lanes, the tall ship Argus was heading back toward its home port. Although the fog was beginning to lift, lookouts scanned the waters for hazards. Zack Mayberry was enjoying the adventure. The tanned 15-year-old Sea Scout had been taking it in from beside the old ship's wheel, but he wanted to be more a part of it. He headed to Capt. Fred Bockmiller's quarters and asked to join in the watch. Working on the ship's log at a wooden desk, Bockmiller sensed the kid's excitement. He set his log book aside, lifted up the desk top, and pulled out the captain's heavy black binoculars. "Don't lose them," he barked. It was shortly after 12:30 p.m. Other Boy Scouts were scattered about the ship. In the galley, Tyler Underwood, 14, was on cleanup duty from lunch. Christian Clemesha and Stefan Pigorsch, both 16, were taking a nap. The two, like the rest of the scouts, were tired after having been awakened in the middle of the night to take their turn at an hourly watch. On the quarter deck, Philip Beckman was learning to tie monkey knots. At 13, he was among the youngest on the Argus. Toward the front of the ship, Mike Cooke, 17, was "just hanging out," enjoying the warm sun that was finally burning through the fog. At his post and peering through the binoculars, Zack called out sightings to Craig McNeill, the crew member manning the wheel. It helped McNeill keep a safe distance from other craft. Boat to starboard, Zack called out. Boat to port. Between spottings, he and McNeill talked about the trip and the once-blinding fog. Then, with the binoculars lowered for a moment, something caught Zack's eye off the ship's port side. Something was waving in the ocean. A yellow balloon? Trash? He had seen both in the water earlier. He quickly lifted the binoculars to his eyes. He blinked. Then he looked again. Is that a person? "Hey Craig," he said, almost too quietly, "I think it's a man overboard." He wanted to make sure he wasn't seeing things. McNeill took the binoculars, gave a quick look and turned back toward Zack. Together, the two began to yell: "Man overboard! Man overboard! Man overboard!" From his cabin, Bockmiller heard the yelling. "Why is Al pulling another drill," he thought as he climbed onto the deck. Over the years, Bockmiller had become accustomed to first mate Al Sorkin surprising the scouts with drills. But why now? On the other side of the ship, Sorkin was wondering why Bockmiller was conducting a drill. In the bunks below, the awakened teenagers had the same reaction and hustled on deck to find out what was going on. Other scouts came running. Soon, following Zack's lead, they began to point, most unsure what they were pointing at in the port side waves. Then Cooke shouted: "There really is somebody out there!" Bockmiller followed the pointing fingers _ the boys' lesson from the day earlier _ scanning with the binoculars. "It's a dead man," he thought. "We're going to have to bring a corpse on board." And yet when he looked again, the body moved. Bockmiller grabbed the radio next to the ship's wheel and called out an Urgent Marine Broadcast: "We have a person in the water!" ___________________________ The ship in the distance, slowly coming into view, was the first Dan Carlock had seen in about four hours that he'd been bobbing in the chilly Pacific. And yet, this was a ship from a storybook, or a dream. It had tall masts and billowing sails. ArgusIs that real? he asked himself. Am I seeing things? He had been trying to keep himself focused and rational, but ... No, the tall ship was real and it was coming toward him. Then it turned. Out loud, he said: "Is it coming toward me or not?" It turned back in his direction. He started blowing his whistle, waving a yellow-green neon tube and flailing his arms. He hadn't realized how weak he had become. His legs were like jelly. "Do they see me? Please see me." ___________________________ Over the loudspeaker at the Coast Guard operations center in Long Beach, Bockmiller's call puzzled Sandy Needle. The Argus' captain gave a latitude and longitude that put him 10.5 miles south of the search at the shipwreck where a Coast Guard cutter was circling. This call was off the coast of Newport Beach. Another lost diver, Needle thought. Speeding over the waves toward Carlock, McNeill and trainee Jace Hanavan looked back from the Argus Tender to get directions from the pointing fingers of the crew and scouts standing on the deck. "Boy, am I glad to see you," Carlock blurted as they eased up beside him, then pulled him into the tender. Within minutes he was being helped from the tender to the deck of the tall ship, with the pirate-like Sorkin barking orders: Get blankets. Warm water. Find dry clothing. Unsteady on his legs, with a stunned expression on his pale face, Carlock settled down on the galley deck. Suddenly, there were hands helping him remove his diving gear and stripping off his wet suit. Somebody was wrapping him in blankets. Someone gave him a pair of sweat pants. Sorkin peppered Carlock with questions. Are there others? Did your boat capsize? Carlock began to answer, giving a brief glimpse of his ordeal. He was cold, tired and emotionally drained. But, as the Argus advised the Coast Guard, "He's alive and he's talking." ___________________________ "What's the name of the missing diver?" Needle radioed the dive ship Sundiver, from which he'd been lost. "Dan Carlock." "What's the name of your diver?" Needle asked Bockmiller on the Argus. "He says his name is Dan Carlock," the captain said. "He says he's been in the water for more than four hours." He had been found drifting several miles from the oil rig. So why, Needle wondered, had the Coast Guard been sent to a shipwreck location, more than 10 miles north? Coast Guard officials eventually pieced together what had happened: The Sundiver had left the diver near the oil rig on its first dive, then proceeded to its second diving spot, the shipwreck. The owner of Ocean Adventures Dive Co., Steve Ladd, said in a written statement that Carlock's "dive buddy," who had only met him that morning and who has not been identified, did not report him missing. At the end of the first dive, a dive master called roll and heard everyone answer, Ladd's statement said. "A visual verification was not done," the statement added. And the Sundiver moved on. The Coast Guard cited Sundiver Capt. Ray Arntz with negligence. He received a one-month suspension of the Coast Guard-issued license that allows him to transport passengers, and was ordered top perform 80 hours of community service. ___________________________ Safe aboard the Argus, Carlock counted his blessings as he wolfed a ham sandwich, a fruit cup and a pudding. After he told how he had been left behind on a scuba outing and had floated for hours unsure if he would live, Capt. Bockmiller told about the tall ship's roundabout journey in the fog to the point where their paths crossed. He introduced the Sea Scout who'd spotted him, who had just wanted to be part of the adventure. "Thank you for saving me," Carlock said. The lanky teen shook his hand, shyly accepting the accolades. Then he headed back to the galley deck, lay down, closed his tired eyes and dozed under the now sunny sky. |
