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The race to save the Mary Lynn

A long, long night

By CURTIS KRUEGER
Published October 26, 2005

	[Times photo: Bill Serne]
	Charles White, a crew member of the Mary Lynn, unloads sharks from the fishing boat Maritza's hold recently. Go to part one: Gambling in the gulf Go to part two: Sitting and praying Go to part three: A glow in the mist

The Madeira Beach fishing boat Mary Lynn and its crew of three are trapped in Hurricane Katrina as the storm moves up the Gulf of Mexico. The boat has lost its steering and is taking on water. On the night of Friday, Aug. 26, a Coast Guard helicopter flies out to rescue the crew but runs low on gas and has to head back to Key West to refuel. fourth of six parts

To read earlier articles in this series, go to www.sptimes.com/links.)

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Hurricane Katrina was still lashing the Florida Keys as Lt. Craig Massello landed the helicopter at the Key West Naval Air Station.

"You got out of the helicopter, you could barely walk, it was blowing so hard," said Will Hamilton, a 21-year-old cameraman who was on the chopper to film a show for the Discovery Channel.

Massello and his crew staggered into a hangar and talked about the storm they had just flown through.

"Everyone pretty much admitted it was the craziest thing they had ever flown in," said Ben Shea, a sound man working with Hamilton.

From the beginning, Massello had told his crew members to be aware of their limits, to be ready to back off. Now they seriously discussed waiting before attacking the hurricane again.

"We don't have to go back," Massello said.

The thought hung in the air for a moment. Then everyone headed back to the helicopter.

Out on the waves, the crew of the Mary Lynn battled the sea outside the 41-foot boat and inside it.

Another big wave hit them, knocking over the bait barrels and clogging the scuppers with mullet chunks, making it harder for water to drain off the deck. Mark Gutek and his two partners rushed back out into the dark, bailing water, tossing bait, throwing overboard anything they didn't need.

"It was just, get rid of anything, man," Gutek said, "whatever is going to plug these scuppers ... anything and everything."

"There was no deck lights, there's nothing, I mean it was pitch dark, we're out there scrounging around, feeling around in water," Anita Miller said.

They were fighting to save the Mary Lynn's engine, too. Water had sloshed into the engine room from somewhere and Gutek worried the engine would stall.

Gutek remembered there were spare pumps in the bow. They carried them into the engine room, tied the pumps up with rope to keep them out of the water, and got them going.

The only blessing of this night came from the Coast Guard C-130 plane, which spent hours circling overhead in such extreme weather that at one point the crew spoke to a nearby hurricane hunter airplane from MacDill Air Force Base. The C-130 crew dropped a life raft, which disappeared in the night. But they kept talking on the radio, letting Gutek, Miller and Charles White know they were not forgotten.

"It was a long time the plane was talking to us and stuff, and it felt like a long, long time before anything happened again," Gutek said. "I actually think I laid down and slept."

And then the third big wave hit.

"It woke me up, hit the side of the wheelhouse like someone had hit it with a car," Gutek said.

They went back out on the deck, scrambling in the dark again.

Contradictory thoughts tore through Gutek's mind. He had been the one to call for a rescue, after the first big wave. But he didn't think he should leave.

Under the ethic of the commercial fishermen who cruise the gulf, a captain should be willing to, if not go down with the ship, at least stay on board until the last possible moment. Gutek considered staying behind if the other two were rescued.

But Gutek had injured his hand trying to flag down the Coast Guard with a flare. The flare blew up, leaving a hunk of a finger dangling. It shook his confidence, making him unsure he could handle the boat by himself.

About 5:30 a.m. Saturday, Massello and his helicopter were back over the Mary Lynn again, ready at last to try the rescue.

But it was still so dark, the storm so thick, that even night vision goggles did little good. They decided to wait for light before they would try dropping down their rescue swimmer, Petty Officer Kenyon Bolton.

Then the Mary Lynn's engine died.

"All we could hear was the wind," Miller said. "That was scary."

Without the engine, they would be left with only a few hours of battery power to turn the deck lights back on, and to power the radio that kept them in touch with their rescuers.

"That was my mama's heartbeat, that engine," Gutek said. "Once that engine went, I lost all hope."

A long couple of hours passed. It had been nearly 24 hours since the storm first hit, more than seven hours since they had called for help.

Black night faded to gauzy gray. And then , for the first time, the crew of the Mary Lynn could see the helicopter slicing the sky.

THURSDAY: Dangling above the waves.

[Last modified October 26, 2005, 05:09:50]