All Alone
Shortly after 10 a.m. aboard the Argus, Scouts and crew members were watching the radar screen anxiously when a big oval blob appeared. “Cargo ship,” Captain Bockmiller said.
Bockmiller slowed the sailboat's auxiliary engines to a cautious crawl.
The Scouts heard the foghorns of a cargo container ship bleating every few minutes, but couldn't see a thing through the thick gray mist.
Scanning the ocean in all directions, Carlock could just make out the silhouette of the Sundiver through the fog. Following scuba-diving safety protocols, he took his whistle and blew hard and repeatedly. But the rig's groaning foghorn and the boat's rumbling engines drowned him out.
Surely, he thought, when the crew took a head count, they'd realize he was missing and come looking for him. After all, he had signed out on the board that tallies each dive group.
Treading water, he blew the whistle again. Nothing. Carlock no longer heard the boat's engine. “They left me,” he said in horrified disbelief. “They've gone to the second dive site.”
Zack Mayberry wasn't familiar with lifeboat procedures, but the 15-year-old was not anxious about sea traffic and the foggy conditions. A member of the Sea Scouts, Zack had loved being on the water since he was a child growing up in Southern California. He helped calm frayed nerves, explaining to one boy what the sounds were that they were hearing in the fog.
With two ships now on the radar screen, Bockmiller decided against immediately crossing the shipping lanes. He turned the Argus 45 degrees west.
Even in his wet suit, Carlock was losing body heat in the 60-degree water. He had inflated his vest and the yellow-green nylon safety tube to mark his position. Then he dropped his dive weights for extra buoyancy, but his arms were beginning to go numb and his legs felt weak.
The engineer in him took command. He grabbed his underwater camera, aimed it at his watch and snapped two pictures. Then he turned the camera on himself, and at arm's length snapped two more. He reached for his diving slate and used the pencil to write the time： 10：28. He was determined to stay rational and leave a record, though, he thought grimly, it might only be a record for those who would find his remains.
Carlock had been in the water for over an hour. Once, he saw an airplane through a break in the fog. And waved frantically. The pilot didn't see him. He heard foghorns grow louder, then fade away.
What were the people on the dive boat doing？ Searching？ Had they reported him missing？ He desperately ran down a list of “what ifs”： What if hypothermia sets in？ What if dusk comes and sharks start to feed？ What if I die？ Will the shock kill my parents？ Will friends know how I felt about them？ To conserve strength, he rolled onto his back and floated. Abandoned, engulfed by fog covering the ocean, he began to pray. “Hail Mary, full of grace ……”
In the Coast Guard's operations center at Los Angeles, the first alert came in at 12：03 p.m. on the channel used by the public for distress calls.
“We may have a problem,” Captain Arntz of the Sundiver said. Then he told the dispatcher that a scuba diver was missing.
At 12：05 p.m., the Coast Guard issued an Urgent Marine Broadcast, giving all boaters information about the missing diver. A 41-foot Coast Guard cutter then switched on sirens and blue lights and headed at 20 knots for the location of the Sundiver. A helicopter was dispatched for an aerial search and to drop a locator buoy.
But Carlock had not been missed until divers resurfaced at the second dive site. Everyone was searching in the wrong spot —— ten miles from where Carlock was adrift —— and all alone.
Shortly after 10 a.m. aboard the Argus, Scouts and crew members were watching the radar screen anxiously when a big oval blob appeared. “Cargo ship,” Captain Bockmiller said.
Bockmiller slowed the sailboat's auxiliary engines to a cautious crawl.
The Scouts heard the foghorns of a cargo container ship bleating every few minutes, but couldn't see a thing through the thick gray mist.
Scanning the ocean in all directions, Carlock could just make out the silhouette of the Sundiver through the fog. Following scuba-diving safety protocols, he took his whistle and blew hard and repeatedly. But the rig's groaning foghorn and the boat's rumbling engines drowned him out.
Surely, he thought, when the crew took a head count, they'd realize he was missing and come looking for him. After all, he had signed out on the board that tallies each dive group.
Treading water, he blew the whistle again. Nothing. Carlock no longer heard the boat's engine. “They left me,” he said in horrified disbelief. “They've gone to the second dive site.”
Zack Mayberry wasn't familiar with lifeboat procedures, but the 15-year-old was not anxious about sea traffic and the foggy conditions. A member of the Sea Scouts, Zack had loved being on the water since he was a child growing up in Southern California. He helped calm frayed nerves, explaining to one boy what the sounds were that they were hearing in the fog.
With two ships now on the radar screen, Bockmiller decided against immediately crossing the shipping lanes. He turned the Argus 45 degrees west.
Even in his wet suit, Carlock was losing body heat in the 60-degree water. He had inflated his vest and the yellow-green nylon safety tube to mark his position. Then he dropped his dive weights for extra buoyancy, but his arms were beginning to go numb and his legs felt weak.
The engineer in him took command. He grabbed his underwater camera, aimed it at his watch and snapped two pictures. Then he turned the camera on himself, and at arm's length snapped two more. He reached for his diving slate and used the pencil to write the time： 10：28. He was determined to stay rational and leave a record, though, he thought grimly, it might only be a record for those who would find his remains.
Carlock had been in the water for over an hour. Once, he saw an airplane through a break in the fog. And waved frantically. The pilot didn't see him. He heard foghorns grow louder, then fade away.
What were the people on the dive boat doing？ Searching？ Had they reported him missing？ He desperately ran down a list of “what ifs”： What if hypothermia sets in？ What if dusk comes and sharks start to feed？ What if I die？ Will the shock kill my parents？ Will friends know how I felt about them？ To conserve strength, he rolled onto his back and floated. Abandoned, engulfed by fog covering the ocean, he began to pray. “Hail Mary, full of grace ……”
In the Coast Guard's operations center at Los Angeles, the first alert came in at 12：03 p.m. on the channel used by the public for distress calls.
“We may have a problem,” Captain Arntz of the Sundiver said. Then he told the dispatcher that a scuba diver was missing.
At 12：05 p.m., the Coast Guard issued an Urgent Marine Broadcast, giving all boaters information about the missing diver. A 41-foot Coast Guard cutter then switched on sirens and blue lights and headed at 20 knots for the location of the Sundiver. A helicopter was dispatched for an aerial search and to drop a locator buoy.
But Carlock had not been missed until divers resurfaced at the second dive site. Everyone was searching in the wrong spot —— ten miles from where Carlock was adrift —— and all alone.