Swept Out to Sea

Relentless winds. Crashing waves. A canoe about to sink. How a Gulf Coast vacation turned into a nightmare.

A A A Comments By Bob Norman Thursday, Dec 16 1999

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I tried to stay rational. I had to keep us from dying. Would the cooler float? Probably. I thought of tying a rope around it so I could keep it close if the boat sank. In addition to our life jackets, we had buoyant seat cushions. The canoe was the key, I kept saying to myself. I knew we had to stay in the boat, if only for visibility to a potential rescuer. If the canoe went under, our chances of survival would plummet. One thing was certain: We'd stay together, and if fate had it in for us, we'd sink together. It was a strange thought, terribly appalling yet romantic at the same time.

Mark Lang

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It was the strangest feeling: sitting with little to do but ride the cresting waves and wrestle with the fear of death. We had nothing in the way of life-saving gear: no marine radio, no cell phone, no flares, no air horn. Nothing. As we drifted farther and farther out, the idea of being rescued seemed increasingly hopeless. And that hopelessness added to the dreamlike nature of what happened next.

I didn't even see it coming. The commercial fishing boat appeared from nowhere. Suddenly it was right in front of us. When I saw it, I thought of only one thing: life. We were going to live. Brittany turned and looked at me with an expression of profound joy mixed with suspicion. Was it true? Were we really saved?

There was no mistaking reality as the captain and his burly crewman plucked us and our canoe out of the sea and onto the boat. With nothing more than a slight pause, they continued on their way into port at Everglades City.

When we finally got on land, the crewman put the canoe in his truck and drove us to our car. As he turned to leave, he patted my back and said, "You're the luckiest guy in the world."

One of the lucky fools.

That night, when my dad put my son on the phone, I could barely talk to him. I choked up when I heard his elfin voice. "Daddy! I went to the zoo today," he said. Haltingly, trying to mask the intensity of my emotions, I said, "We're gonna be home tomorrow." Tears burned my eyes, and I waited until I could get out: "I love you, buddy. Bye-bye."

For weeks after that, the pall of defeat and the residue of trauma shadowed me. At night, when I should have been sleeping, I rued the mistake I had made with the motor. I said to Brittany: "We've got to go back to Rabbit Key." She agreed, and we're planning our return in March. The motor will be fine at the bottom of the sea.

I won't make the same mistakes. There'll be plenty of new ones.