A NIGHT IN THE SEA AMONG SHARKS

Joe felt nose of the plane sinking into the sea. The plane sank and he was adrift in the sea all alone. Blood was dripping from his forehead which simply meant an open invitation for man-eating sea-beasts including sharks…

One hour into his scheduled 60-minute flight from Maui in October 1986, Joe Morse, alone in his twin-engine aircraft, anxiously scanned the rain-soaked skies for a glimpse of Miami. Just days earlier, thieves had stolen his navigational equipment, leaving the 37-year-old airline flight engineer to navigate back to Florida with only a single compass and a handheld radio.

After passing Andros Island, the sky darkened, and the compass needle began to spin erratically. Concerned that he had strayed from his intended westerly route, Morse searched for a recognizable landmark. Flying at 1200 meters beneath the overcast, he noticed waves crashing against rocks, which he surmised were part of the chain leading to Bimini. He followed the waves northward, but Bimini remained elusive, and he was completely disoriented.

Morse activated his radio and called out, “Mayday, mayday.” An Air Jamaica jetliner en route to Miami responded and relayed his distress signal to the US Coast Guard. A Falcon search jet was dispatched immediately; however, it took nearly an hour to locate Morse due to confusion from another distress call and the presence of thunderstorms.

As Morse spotted the white-and-orange jet emerging from the clouds, his right engine began to sputter, and night was drawing near. “We’ll get you down,” assured Falcon commander Lieutenant Michael Chesterton, who informed Morse of an emergency landing strip on Cay Sal and signaled him to follow.
"Hold on, Joe," Chesterton urged as they flew low over the frothy sea. "You’ll reach it in ten kilometers."

In an instant, Morse's right engine sputtered its final breath, followed by the left fuel tank running dry, which silenced the remaining motor. The aircraft began its descent toward the water. As he deployed the full flaps to reduce speed, Morse shouted, "I’m going in!"

Chesterton, horrified, witnessed the aircraft's lights plunge into the sea before disappearing. He banked sharply and made a low pass over the area, but there was no sign of either Morse or the plane.

An Air Force C-130 transport nearby released a parachute flare. However, after four additional passes, the Falcon crew reported no flares, no life raft, and no emergency signals. They were convinced that Morse had perished. Co-pilot John Buckley checked the fuel gauge, noting the needle was nearly on empty. At 6 PM, they headed back to Key West, Florida. "We did everything we could," Chesterton said with a heavy heart. "We’ll refuel and return."

Morse felt his forehead collide with the instrument panel as the plane jolted and then crashed back into the sea. He quickly grabbed two flares and climbed onto a wing. As he pulled the tags to inflate his life jacket, he spotted the lights of a coastguard jet approaching. He struck the ignition cap of one flare, but it fizzled out. The other crumpled in his grip.
He sensed the wing descending beneath him, the nose tilting downward. In mere moments, the aircraft had vanished, leaving him adrift in two-kilometer swells. Morse, having undergone sea-survival training, understood the importance of conserving energy. However, after half an hour, he found himself shivering, his legs stiff with cramps. Concealed by the waves, he realized he would be nearly invisible to any searchers, prompting him to swim in what he believed was the direction of Cay Sal.

Fierce squalls roiled the waters, and within another hour, he became disoriented, his hope rapidly diminishing. The left compartment of his life jacket was losing its firmness; air was escaping from a leak in the inflation tube's seams. Eventually, the tube detached, causing the chamber to deflate. He managed to reinflate it by blowing into the opening where the tube had been, using his finger to seal it.

Morse braved the frigid waves as best as he could. Blood trickled from his forehead, leaving a scent that could attract predatory sharks. Yet, he understood that he had to fight for survival; giving up would mean certain death. "If this is my last day, God," he prayed, "I ask for your forgiveness for my sins."

While treading water, he carefully prepared his life jacket to convey his final wishes to his loved ones. He took the airline identification badge from his shirt and inscribed a message on it using his watch strap: “Rose the house.” He hoped that whoever found it would understand his intent to bequeath his Florida home to his girlfriend, Rose Patmon.

On the reverse side, he carved: “IL 2Taa778J.” This code represented “I love you,” with the letters signifying his family: Mom, Dad, his 11-year-old daughter Clauda, his 9-year-old son Joe, and Rose. Morse was divorced, and his children resided with their mother in Memphis.

He attached the badge to the life jacket and pressed on. Checking his watch, he noted it was 8 PM. "I can hold on until 10," he reassured himself. Just before reaching that time, he felt a solid, moving presence brush against his feet. A shark!
He remained in a state of anxious anticipation, feeling a chill creep over him. They have discovered my location, he thought. They will return.

At 10 o'clock, he had set midnight as his new target for survival, but now the right chamber of his life jacket was leaking. When the inflation tube detached, Morse resorted to reinflating the chamber by mouth, using his other index finger to cover the hole as he struggled to keep his head above the water.

He rolled onto his back, allowing the rainwater to wash over his swollen tongue and stinging eyes. When the clouds parted momentarily, he glimpsed stars swirling in the sky. One star appeared to break away from the rest and dart toward him. Perhaps it is coming to guide me to my destination, he thought. Please, God, let my end come swiftly.

Meanwhile, in the western sky, Lieutenant Chesterton struggled to maintain his jet's course toward Cay Sal. After refueling in Key West, he was returning with a Navy helicopter that would illuminate the search area. However, visibility had diminished to almost nothing due to the thunder, lightning, and torrential rain. Continuing the flight would endanger both the aircraft and its crew. He signaled the helicopter and decided to turn back, planning to resume the search in the morning.

Beneath the waves, the exhausted swimmer envisioned dawn skies filled with aircraft searching for him. As midnight passed, he resolved to endure until daylight.

Suddenly, a jolt against his feet sent him into a frenzy. Another shark! Instinctively, he kicked at the creature and withdrew his hands from the jacket, allowing water to rush into the openings. He plunged down—about a meter and a half—struggling against the jacket until he managed to free himself.

Stop! his mind urged. Get a grip! Now! As the life jacket sank further, he made a frantic lunge and felt his fingers grasp the rubbery material.

Breaking the surface, he held the limp jacket in one hand, took a deep breath, and then turned his face back into the water, arms extended. He executed a scissor kick to propel himself forward, lifted his head, exhaled, inhaled, and continued the cycle of floating and kicking for nearly an hour.
After regaining his composure, he inflated the chambers of the life jacket and positioned himself atop it. Timing the waves, he began to surf forward, thinking to himself, "I will reach dawn."

As he drew closer, a glimmer of hope ignited within him when a red dot of sunlight appeared on the horizon, gradually rising through the overcast sky. He scanned the skies for aircraft, but found none.

His gaze shifted back to the ocean, where a dorsal fin sliced through the surface directly ahead of him.

Suddenly, he felt a jolt against his left elbow. Startled, he yelped and turned away as a second shark, with its yellow-grey skin, glided past him. The sharks were circling, assessing him as prey.

Morse rolled onto his back and spotted a large bull shark approaching through the murky blue of a wave. Without warning, it dove and then surged upward towards his legs. In a swift motion, he lifted one leg and brought the heel of his tennis shoe down forcefully between the shark's eyes. The creature recoiled, surfacing six meters away and beginning to circle him, with remora fish clinging to its body. "I’m not ready to die yet, shark," he shouted defiantly.

Two more sharks approached, but both evaded his desperate kicks. Soon after, a hammerhead darted in, almost too fast for him to react. He narrowly missed its menacing snout but managed to strike its fin, causing the shark to veer off.

Then, he caught sight of the metallic-blue tail of a blue pointer breaking the surface. "That’s one of those sharks that can reach speeds of 150 kilometers per hour," he cautioned himself. Tensing in anticipation of a sudden attack, he observed the shark as it thrust its head out of a wave, its unblinking eyes locking onto his. In an instant, it vanished.

Morse felt drained. He understood that the predators would detect his vulnerability. If he succumbed to that first bite, the pack would descend upon him in a frenzy.
The distant sound of an aircraft drew his gaze to the left. He noticed a coastguard jet, which soon disappeared from view. However, within minutes, it reemerged, conducting a search pattern. As the plane approached within a kilometre, he waved his orange life-jacket. The aircraft drew closer and passed directly overhead. Desperately waving, he arched his body out of the water, exclaiming, "Why can't they see me?"

From the aircraft, Chesterton was peering almost directly down, hoping to locate the wreckage of the craft. Suddenly, his mind registered that he had briefly seen a man, partially submerged in the waves, waving a life-jacket. He pressed a button on his computer to mark the location and exclaimed, "Hey, there's a guy in the water!" He quickly contacted the coastguard cutter Cape York, which was 12 kilometres away.

John Buckley released a smoke canister to direct the cutter and noticed Morse swimming towards it. Close behind him loomed a large dark shadow. Chesterton urgently radioed, "Cutter, move quickly! There's a shark targeting this individual!"

Morse focused solely on the silver shimmer of the canister. However, he wondered why a life raft had not been deployed. Minutes later, he received his answer as a sleek white boat sliced through the waves towards him. As the Cape York came alongside, a collapsible ladder extended over the side. Morse grasped the bottom rung but struggled to climb.

"Hey, toss the jacket aside," a voice called out as two men assisted him.

"Absolutely not," Morse croaked in response. "It stays with me."

He was pulled over the rail, his eyes swollen and body trembling, and he fell to his knees to kiss the deck. It was 9 a.m., and he had been swimming for over 15 hours.

Above, Buckley patted his commander on the back, and Chesterton beamed with joy. "This makes it all worthwhile," he remarked.

Later that day, after Morse received medical attention at a hospital, his parents drove him home, where he spent hours with Rose. "I can't believe I'm alive!" he repeated in disbelief. Eventually, he fell asleep with Rose holding his hands, the life-jacket resting on the couch beside him.