A Darkening Distress
Pollock and Gabriel dove below to look for equipment and popped up in an air pocket —— a pocket that reeked with gas fumes. Gabriel kicked his way back up and gathered life vests floating on the surface. While the others put the vests on, Pollock continued to dive, retrieving flares, a flashlight, a knife, an orange distress flag from inside the boat. He put these items into a small ice chest bobbing on the waves, and went down again.
Then came the hissing sound of escaping air. The boat was sinking. “Jump away, so it can't suck you under,” Doolin yelled.
A moment later, the stern tipped downward； the bow pointed to the sky. Their largest ice chest, a king-sized white Igloo, about five feet long by three feet wide, was still tightly wedged between the steering column and the hull. It was packed with food and water, but was buoyant. They could use it to keep afloat. Pollock decided to risk one more dive.
He swam downward and grabbed the cooler's handle. It wouldn't budge. The sinking boat pulled him down with it, faster and faster. He yanked again, and it shot to the surface like a torpedo. Man and ice chest bounced out of the water.
“Whoo-hoo！” Pollock called jubilantly, swimming with the huge Igloo to the others. After donning a life jacket, he tied himself between his son and Jordan. Supplies were floating up all around them, and without thinking, Pollock opened another small cooler. Dozens of bloody fish spilled out. “Good grief, we're nothing but chum for the sharks,” he cried. “We've got to get out of here. Swim！”
When they looked back from a hundred yards away, the boat was gone. The five of them were clinging to a bobbing ice chest in the open sea.
Pollock assured them help would come. Emulating his dad, Gabriel exuded bravado. “Man, this is nothing,” he claimed. “The Marines do this all the time.”
But Doolin knew the worst was still ahead. Within minutes, the gulf would swallow the big orange sun. No one could see them now. Nobody would be looking. Pollock had told their families that they might stay out an extra day —— not to give it a thought if they didn't come home that night.
Temperatures fell. The gulf wind, soothing in the afternoon, sucked warmth from their bodies. Water temperatures in the 70s could bring on hypothermia within three hours. They shivered； their teeth chattered. And the fathers hugged the boys close.
Pollock and Gabriel dove below to look for equipment and popped up in an air pocket —— a pocket that reeked with gas fumes. Gabriel kicked his way back up and gathered life vests floating on the surface. While the others put the vests on, Pollock continued to dive, retrieving flares, a flashlight, a knife, an orange distress flag from inside the boat. He put these items into a small ice chest bobbing on the waves, and went down again.
Then came the hissing sound of escaping air. The boat was sinking. “Jump away, so it can't suck you under,” Doolin yelled.
A moment later, the stern tipped downward； the bow pointed to the sky. Their largest ice chest, a king-sized white Igloo, about five feet long by three feet wide, was still tightly wedged between the steering column and the hull. It was packed with food and water, but was buoyant. They could use it to keep afloat. Pollock decided to risk one more dive.
He swam downward and grabbed the cooler's handle. It wouldn't budge. The sinking boat pulled him down with it, faster and faster. He yanked again, and it shot to the surface like a torpedo. Man and ice chest bounced out of the water.
“Whoo-hoo！” Pollock called jubilantly, swimming with the huge Igloo to the others. After donning a life jacket, he tied himself between his son and Jordan. Supplies were floating up all around them, and without thinking, Pollock opened another small cooler. Dozens of bloody fish spilled out. “Good grief, we're nothing but chum for the sharks,” he cried. “We've got to get out of here. Swim！”
When they looked back from a hundred yards away, the boat was gone. The five of them were clinging to a bobbing ice chest in the open sea.
Pollock assured them help would come. Emulating his dad, Gabriel exuded bravado. “Man, this is nothing,” he claimed. “The Marines do this all the time.”
But Doolin knew the worst was still ahead. Within minutes, the gulf would swallow the big orange sun. No one could see them now. Nobody would be looking. Pollock had told their families that they might stay out an extra day —— not to give it a thought if they didn't come home that night.
Temperatures fell. The gulf wind, soothing in the afternoon, sucked warmth from their bodies. Water temperatures in the 70s could bring on hypothermia within three hours. They shivered； their teeth chattered. And the fathers hugged the boys close.