Chicken Soup for the Ocean Lover's Soul (26 page)

Although the swastikas on the bow and stern decks had been painted over, after forty-eight years the seawater had gradually worn that paint away. As we moved further aft, the swastika suddenly sheared away as if chopped by a guillotine.

“That took one heck of a karate chop,” I said.

“Wow!” said Todd. “Do you think that was caused by a
torpedo?”

“If so, no one saw it happen when the ship was still at the surface,” I replied.

As we moved off the stern, we glimpsed rubble down below, but there was no sign of the vanished chunk of hull.

For almost five hours we beetled our way along the deck of the ravaged ship, awed by the damage yet marveling at how much remained and what the survivors would think when they saw the pictures of the
Bismarck
again after so long.

June 12, 1989

“Being gathered here today gives us the opportunity to remember those young British and German seamen who lost their lives during the days of this tragic sea battle . . .”

The stern deck of the
Star Hercules
was crowded with people. Almost everyone on board had turned out for a memorial service organized by Hagen Schempf and conducted by the captain of the
Star Hercules.
The weather was beautiful—bright, warm sun and a gentle wind. The storm that had made our last days on site so difficult was now a distant memory.

I looked around the deck. The officers were in their dress uniforms, and the rest of us had done our best to make ourselves presentable, but we were a motley crew: During our weeks at sea, beards had gone unshaven, hair uncut. Todd and his friends stood together, listening quietly.

“. . . let us hope that this kind of human suffering and sacrifice may never be asked of mankind again.”

The captain called for a minute of silence. I glanced over at Hagen and wondered what he was thinking. Finding the wreck had brought him face to face with a piece of his own history. He didn’t talk about it, but it was obvious to anyone who knew him well that he had been deeply affected by the experience.

In the silence the only sounds were the wind, the throbbing of the ship’s engines and the cry of seabirds. As I stood with my head bowed, I remembered another shipboard service that had taken place forty-eight years earlier, aboard the
Dorsetshire.
I imagined I could hear the plaintive strains of the German sailors’ lament “I had a comrade” as a flag-draped body disappeared into the sea.

Dr. Robert D. Ballard

Using His Teeth

During World War II, a young Navy lieutenant was on patrol duty in the Solomon Islands, northeast of Australia in the South Pacific. His name was John F. Kennedy.

Kennedy commanded a small-motor torpedo boat, the PT–109, and the boat’s twelve-man crew. Their mission: to observe and report the movements of Japanese warships.

Shortly after midnight on August 2, 1943, a Japanese destroyer loomed suddenly out of a fog. It crashed into Kennedy’s boat, plunging all aboard into the ocean.

Two crewmen died. The others clung to the wreckage all night long. As dawn broke, Kennedy ordered: “Swim to that island!” It was no easy task. The island seemed near, but was actually miles away.

The men began swimming, but one, seriously hurt, could not. The skipper had an idea. Despite his own injured back, Kennedy grasped the strap of a life belt in his strong teeth. With the seaman attached to the other end, Kennedy swam for four hours to the island.

That was clever, but more ingenuity was to come. Kennedy carved a message for help on a coconut shell and had a young islander take it to the nearest base. The message got through. On August 7, help arrived.

Seventeen years later, Kennedy was elected America’s thirty-fifth president. He kept the coconut shell in the Oval Office of the White House.

Lester David
Boys’ Life
magazine

Reach for Stars

Original painting by Wyland © 2003.

8
SAVING
THE SEA

F
or most of history, man has had to fight
nature to survive; in this century he is
beginning to realize that, in order to
survive, he must protect it.

Jacques Cousteau

AUTH © The Philadelphia Inquirer. Reprinted with permission of UNIVERSAL PRESS
SYNDICATE. All rights reserved.

This Magic Moment

I
f there is magic on the planet, it is contained in
the water.

Loren Eisley

It was like many Maui mornings, the sun rising over Haleakala as we greeted our divers for the day’s charter. As my captain and I explained the dive procedures, I noticed the wind line moving into Molokini, a small, crescent-shaped island that harbors a large reef. I slid through the briefing, then prompted my divers to gear up, careful to do everything right so the divers would feel confident with me, the dive leader.

The dive went pretty close to how I had described it: The garden eels performed their underwater ballet, the parrot fish grazed on the coral, and the ever-elusive male flame wrasse flared their colors to defend their territory. Near the last level of the dive, two couples in my group signaled they were going to ascend. As luck would have it, the remaining divers were two European brothers, who were obviously troubled by the idea of a “woman” dive master and had ignored me for the entire dive.

The three of us caught the current and drifted along the outside of the reef, slowly beginning our ascent until, far below, something caught my eye. After a few moments, I made out the white shoulder patches of a manta ray in about one hundred and twenty feet of water.

Manta rays are one of my greatest loves, but very little is known about them. They feed on plankton, which makes them more delicate than an aquarium can handle. They travel the oceans and are therefore a mystery.

Mantas can be identified by the distinctive pattern on their belly, with no two rays alike. In 1992, I had been identifying the manta rays that were seen at Molokini and found that some were known, but many more were sighted only once, and then gone.

So there I was: a beautiful, very large ray beneath me and my skeptical divers behind. I reminded myself that I was still trying to win their confidence, and a bounce to see this manta wouldn’t help my case. So I started calling through my regulator, “Hey, come up and see me!” I had tried this before to attract the attention of whales and dolphins, who are very chatty underwater and will come sometimes just to see what the noise is about. My divers were just as puzzled by my actions, but continued to try to ignore me.

There was another dive group ahead of us. The leader, who was a friend of mine and knew me to be fairly sane, stopped to see what I was doing. I kept calling to the ray, and when she shifted in the water column, I took that as a sign that she was curious. So I started waving my arms, calling her up to me.

After a minute, she lifted away from where she had been riding the current and began to make a wide circular glide until she was closer to me. I kept watching as she slowly moved back and forth, rising higher, until she was directly beneath the two Europeans and me. I looked at them and was pleased to see them smiling. Now they liked me. After all, I could call up a manta ray!

Looking back to the ray, I realized she was much bigger than what we were used to around Molokini—a good fifteen feet from wing tip to wing tip, and not a familiar-looking ray. I had not seen this animal before. There was something else odd about her. I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

Once my brain clicked in and I was able to concentrate, I saw deep V-shaped marks of her flesh missing from her backside. Other marks ran up and down her body. At first I thought a boat had hit her. As she came closer, now with only ten feet separating us, I realized what was wrong.

She had fishing hooks embedded in her head by her eye, with very thick fishing line running to her tail. She had rolled with the line and was wrapped head to tail about five or six times. The line had torn into her body at the back, and those were the V-shaped chunks that were missing.

I felt sick and, for a moment, paralyzed. I knew wild animals in pain would never tolerate a human to inflict more pain. But I had to do something.

Forgetting about my air, my divers and where I was, I went to the manta. I moved very slowly and talked to her the whole time, like she was one of the horses I had grown up with. When I touched her, her whole body quivered, like my horse would. I put both of my hands on her, then my entire body, talking to her the whole time. I knew that she could knock me off at any time with one flick of her great wing.

When she had steadied, I took out the knife that I carry on my inflator hose and lifted one of the lines. It was tight and difficult to get my finger under, almost like a guitar string. She shook, which told me to be gentle. It was obvious that the slightest pressure was painful.

As I cut through the first line, it pulled into her wounds. With one beat of her mighty wings, she dumped me and bolted away. I figured that she was gone and was amazed when she turned and came right back to me, gliding under my body. I went to work. She seemed to know it would hurt, and somehow, she also knew that I could help. Imagine the intelligence of that creature, to come for help and to trust!

I cut through one line and into the next until she had all she could take of me and would move away, only to return in a moment or two. I never chased her. I would never chase any animal. I never grabbed her. I allowed her to be in charge, and she always came back.

When all the lines were cut on top, on her next pass, I went under her to pull the lines through the wounds at the back of her body. The tissue had started to grow around them, and they were difficult to get loose. I held myself against her body, with my hand on her lower jaw. She held as motionless as she could. When it was all loose, I let her go and watched her swim in a circle. She could have gone then, and it would have all fallen away. She came back, and I went back on top of her.

The fishing hooks were still in her. One was barely hanging on, which I removed easily. The other was buried by her eye at least two inches past the barb. Carefully, I began to take it out, hoping I wasn’t damaging anything. She did open and close her eye while I worked on her, and finally, it was out. I held the hooks in one hand, while I gathered the fishing line in the other hand, my weight on the manta.

I could have stayed there forever! I was totally oblivious to everything but that moment. I loved this manta. I was so moved that she would allow me to do this to her. But reality came screaming down on me. With my air running out, I reluctantly came to my senses and pushed myself away.

At first, she stayed below me. And then, when she realized that she was free, she came to life like I never would have imagined she could. I thought she was sick and weak, since her mouth had been tied closed, and she hadn’t been able to feed for however long the lines had been on her. I thought wrong! With two beats of those powerful wings, she rocketed along the wall of Molokini and then directly out to sea! I lost view of her and, remembering my divers, turned to look for them.

Remarkably, we hadn’t traveled very far. My divers were right above me and had witnessed the whole event, thankfully! No one would have believed me alone. It seemed too amazing to have really happened. But as I looked at the hooks and line in my hands and felt the torn calluses from her rough skin, I knew that, yes, it really had happened.