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TwitThisBattered by Waves
For Christmas, Emily had stowed a red Santa hat, and that day the two feasted on freeze-dried blueberry cheesecake. By New Year's Day, they'd logged 1,024 miles, averaging 32 miles a day. But then the weather turned. Howling 25-knot winds, intermittent rainstorms and ten-foot waves battered the little vessel. And didn't let up.
On the night of January 14, the waves were so high, it became impossible to row. They capped the cabin's air vents to keep water out and tried to sleep. A few hours later, they awoke gasping for air, choking on their own exhaled CO², and had to open the vents again.
Rough seas continued all the next day. The boat rolled, tumbling them around the small cabin. Then at 4:30 p.m., a rogue wave 20 feet high struck the port side, slamming them against the wall and turning the boat upside down. Water poured in.
"Cover the vents!" Emily screamed. She grabbed a pair of shorts and stuffed them in the holes. "We can still self-right!" Out the window, she saw the life raft float away. The EPIRB Bill told them to guard with their lives was loose, bobbing in the flooded cabin. Sarah grabbed it. Water was at chest level, and they couldn't stem the flow -- now the boat was too heavy to right. Sarah pulled the switch on the EPIRB; she grabbed the VHF radio, opened the hatch and wriggled out.
Emily tried to swim after her, but her ankle caught in the 150-foot emergency throw line. Emily was trapped. Water rose over her head. She heard the muted sound of Sarah's voice calling, "Emily! Where are you?" She bent double and struggled to free her ankle. The rope held fast.
Emily found an air pocket in the foot well. Taking a final breath, she submerged, wrestled with the rope again and finally slipped her foot free. She swam out the hatch and clambered up next to Sarah on the barnacle-covered hull that was pitching in a cold, turbulent sea.
The U.S. Coast Guard station at Norfolk, Virginia, picked up an EPIRB signal at 6:06 p.m., fixed its position and sent out a distress call to all ships in the area. American Fire was 1,300 miles east of Puerto Rico, too far for a helicopter. A C-130 was dispatched from Air Station Clearwater in Florida. It would have to refuel in Antigua and take at least 13 hours to reach them -- if they could hang on that long. The escort yachts that Butler and the girls had counted on were miles from them, busy rescuing other rowers in trouble.
The two women assessed their situation. They couldn't hold on for long barehanded. They'd freeze without some protection. Sarah decided to return to the cabin to retrieve life jackets and a safety harness. It was risky. She could become entangled in the ropes and flotsam.
Sarah dived and felt her way around, managing at last to grab the jackets, the harness and one sleeping bag -- even wet it would offer some insulation from the cold.
The two clipped themselves together with the harness and waited, hoping that someone, somewhere, had heard their signal for help.
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