David Vann - A Mile Down - The True Story of a Disastrous Career at Sea

Our boat was sinking fast. Within five minutes of us abandoning ship, it was taking large rolls to port, and the stern was beginning to submerge. The smaller inflatable dinghy was floating up off the aft deck, as were the large white fenders.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Nancy said.

“Look at it,” I said. “It’s sinking. It’s actually going down.”

Nancy took more photos. The bow went up until the top of the mizzenmast was touching the water behind the boat. Then it fell to the side, and various items floated off the aft deck. “Take more pictures,” I said, then I looked at Nancy and saw the cap. “The cap is on the lens,” I said.

“Oh, sorry,” she said.

It was oddly normal, watching our boat sink. We watched it roll and tip and then the bow and its cream-colored bowsprit were pointing straight into the sky, the back half of the boat completely submerged. The main mast, all ninety feet of it, was lying out parallel just above the surface of the water. The mizzenmast and pilothouse were already gone. The varnish on the railing looked perfect. The white Italian windlass was bolted solidly in the middle of the teak deck. Everything intact, even the rigging. I realized I should never have worried about the masts. They were solid. The boat was probably much better than I had ever trusted it to be, except, of course, for the rudder, its Achilles heel.

This was the first time I had looked at the varnish and paint and not worried about it. There would be no more maintenance, no more work. I was done. There was an odd sense of relief.

“That’s our boat,” Nancy said.

“It looks so beautiful,” I said.

“It does,” she said. “We finally had it fixed up. We were going to make it.”

The bow fell to port, rose up again only partially, then a large wave hid our view, and when it had cleared, our boat was gone.

The liferaft popped up, inflating fast. It was huge, a raft for twenty people, orange and black, like a Doughboy pool floating out on the ocean. There were a lot of other items on the water, too: our other dinghy, boards that had fit over seats, cushions, a mattress, extra lifejackets and life rings.

The helicopter reported that our boat had sunk. They said they would drop a smoke flare just downwind to help VISAR spot us, and we watched as they circled and dropped the smoke. I radioed to let them know I had smoke canisters, if they wanted me to light one closer, but they said I didn’t need to. They were focused mostly on the merchant ship, which was now very near. They had told it to turn away and keep a good distance from us, but it kept coming.

Then Nancy spotted one of our CD cases floating by. “Let’s grab it,” I said, so we paddled hard, got up close, and it disappeared. We had run over it, sinking it. But then we saw a paddle drifting by and were able to grab that. It was the debris game, oddly fun in our shocked state.

The merchant vessel seemed confused in its responses over the radio, so the Coast Guard helicopter left us to go talk to it. I’m not sure why they couldn’t have stayed, since they were using their radio, but as soon as they left, two unusually large waves hit us. Nancy was in the middle of the dinghy, holding onto the side-ropes with both hands, but I was up in the bow paddling, so when the second wave flipped us, I was thrown out of the dinghy into the water.

I felt a sharp pain where my knee had banged hard against the fiberglass and twisted. I was underwater, and tumbling, but my eyes were open and I happened to see the blue and white bow line flying past me. I reached out and caught it with my left hand, was yanked to the surface by the force of the dinghy getting blown downwind, and saw Nancy standing in the dinghy, yelling my name. Her face looked terrible. If nothing else, I felt loved and missed.

“I’m okay!” I yelled. “I’m here!” She looked around to both sides, then forward and finally saw me. She leaned over the bow, yelling my name, and started pulling in the line. I held on with one hand and swam with the other. I came around the side and pulled myself up on the handles, back into the dinghy. I just held onto Nancy for a moment, happy to be safe, then I worried about the possibility of other big waves and grabbed a paddle.

“Well,” I said. “That was nice.”

“I couldn’t find you,” she said.

“I banged my knee,” I told her. “I think it’s hurt.”

I paddled us around until we were facing the swells again, then I grabbed the radio, which had stayed in the bottom of the boat with our ditch bag and other stuff. It had been such a fast flip that I was the only thing to go overboard, other than the paddle I’d been holding.

“Our dinghy just flipped,” I reported on sixteen. “This is Bird of Paradise . Our dinghy just flipped and I was thrown overboard. I got back in, but my knee was banged, and we can’t stay out here long. We need to be rescued soon.”

I didn’t receive any response to this message. Everyone was so busy in their arrangements. I assumed they had heard, though, and that they were coming as fast as they could.

“Let’s paddle for the liferaft,” I told Nancy. “That will be safer, in case they take a while. It’s more stable.”

We paddled hard for the raft and passed downwind of it but managed to get back upwind and reach its boarding ladder.

I helped Nancy get in first, threw our ditch bag, then climbed in myself, holding the dinghy’s bow line. I was tying the line to our raft when Nancy yelled that she saw the rescue boat from VISAR. I kept tying, so that the dinghy and liferaft would be together, but I looked up and was grateful to see the orange tubes of their hard-bottomed inflatable glide by.

There were three guys on board. They came around upwind of us so that their side tube lay against the liferaft, and I helped Nancy get in, then the ditch bag, then I got in. My knee really hurt when I lifted it over the tube.

“I banged my knee,” I told them.

“We’ll get you taken care of,” one of them said. They were busy clipping us in so that we couldn’t fall overboard. The Coast Guard helicopter was overhead, one of the crew members hanging out the side taking photos of us.

Then we were off, and the ride was fun. Nancy and I were in good spirits. I talked far too much, going on and on about how happy we were to be alive, how I had been thinking of joining VISAR myself, how I couldn’t believe the boat had sunk, all the work we had done, etc. I was a mess. It seemed to me at the time that I was handling it well, maintaining good perspective in the face of tragedy, but I see now that I was just a mess. In shock and elated from surviving.

This good mood continued in both of us for several days. When we first arrived in Road Town, a clothing store gave us a $100 gift certificate. I was wearing only a lifejacket, shorts, and Tevas, so it was nice to get a dry pair of shorts and a shirt. Nancy was grateful for a skirt and blouse.

Then we were checked into a hotel for free and given dinner for free at their restaurant. Nancy and I were amazed. Everyone was so generous. And this continued the next day with free services from a notary and even a lawyer.

At some point, though, the elation had to end.

MY THIRTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY was three days after the boat sank. We had dinner at the marina restaurant. All the few faces we knew were there, but we were sitting at our own table, and no one came over to say hello. I could tell they were already tired of us. It had been an exciting, tragic event that had warranted some degree of ceremony and many acts of kindness in the first two days, but now it was day three and it would be better if we could move along. We hadn’t been here long enough to become friends with anyone, and we no longer represented business with our big boat. We were becoming dead weight.