ADRIFT IN THE PANAMA CANAL

April 3^rd, 1977

Joseph J. Wilson, Jr.

 

Note: This is a true story of an incident that happened to me in 1977 while I was stationed in the Canal Zone of Panama. I was lucky enough to have written things down just a few days after this incident happened, or I wouldn't have been able to recall the pertinent details.

While serving in the US Army, I arrived at my new duty station at Fort Davis in the Panama Canal Zone in September 1974. This was a huge change in climate from what I had left at Fort Lewis in Tacoma Washington.

Like many others I began fishing in the Atlantic Ocean from the breaker walls. I continued fishing for about a year before I took up snorkeling and spear fishing in Gatun Lake. I was able to snorkel in the ocean too.

It was nearly 2 years later that I took the PADI course at Fort Gulick and became a certified diver. I thank God for receiving this training as it would be instrumental in saving my life a short time later.

Here's where the story really begins. Just a few months before my 3 year tour was about to end I got into a bit of trouble after what would be my last official scuba diving trip.

Everyone simply called him "Scotty" although his name was Sidney Scott. At this time he was a medic with Headquarters and Headquarters Company, 4th Battalion, 10th Infantry at Fort Davis.

At the time of this incident I was a Military Customs Inspector with the Atlantic Transportation Office and assigned to Delta Company, 193rd Infantry Brigade at Fort Davis.

Scotty had been my diving partner for some time. In the past we had dove various locations in the ocean as well as Gatun lake. We were always finding places with an abundance of fish. On the weekends it was common for us to come back with a couple of 4 - 6 pound large mouth bass and several smaller ones.

Scotty had always talked about going to this "secret" dive spot near Hooper's Farm. In preparation of today's dive we has filled our air tanks the day before and topped off the gasoline tank on Scotty's outboard motor for his 12' john boat. We were confident that this was going to be a good dive and we'd come home with lots of fish. One of the things we learned was always dive with a partner, and the two of us made a good team.

It was a typical Sunday afternoon just after Easter and my family and I had gotten back home from church. An as my custom, I changed into my diving clothes, loaded my gear into the car. I left my wife and kids home and headed over to Scottys to load his flat bottomed john boat into the back of my 1973 pinto station wagon.

It was around 12:30 when I got to Scotty's house. After loading his boat and diving gear, we headed straight for the boat dock at Gatun lake. After launching the boat into the water we transferred our diving gear from the car to the boat. I then moved the car over to the parking lot and placed my wallet under the drivers seat.

As I climbed into the boat, Scotty started the outboard motor and we slowly moved away from the boat dock, heading for this new diving spot near the Hooper's Farm Training Area, often used by the military for jungle training. It was nearing 1:30 pm when we arrived, searching for the right spot. It was an old abandoned wooden pier.

After tying up the boat, we donned our diving gear and slid into the water. After clearing our masks we grabbed our spear guns and stringer line and began our dive. Our dives were usually shallow dives, where we didn't go below 8 - 10 feet below the surface. With a full tank, we could dive for about 50 minutes, and tried to make every minute count.

It was a good dive and after exhausting our air supply, we returned to the boat. After placing our fish and tanks into the boat, we decided to do some snorkeling, a little exploring to see what was around the pier. Then we climbed back into the boat and headed for the boat dock, hoping to get the boat loaded and be back home by 4:00 pm.

Had we known what was ahead, maybe we'd have exercised a bit more caution. We moved away from the pier and headed in the direction of the boat dock at Gatun station. A short time later a convoy of US Army landing craft heading for the Hoopers Farm Training Area began going past our little john boat. At first there was no cause for alarm, no sign of trouble.

After being in the water the breeze was a bit cool, so I donned my poncho. As each boat (LCM) passed, we could see the guys on board and everyone waved. I was sitting near the front, while Scotty steered from the back.

What neither of us notices, was that as each successive craft passed, the rolling waves that came in their wake became bigger and bigger. And what happened next caught us both by surprise. Our flat bottomed john boat became a submarine. As the nose quickly submerged, I tried to move back toward Scotty, but it was too late. The nose went under water rather quickly and we were swimming for our lives. I panicked.

I became tangled in the poncho. I found myself trying to stand up in the water in order to get my hands free. All I managed to do was to inhale lots of water. I was in full panic mode and about to drown.

A moment later the john boat resurfaced. It was upside down. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Scotty, on his back floating around like a otter. He shouted to me to get on the boat and out of that poncho. My obedience saved my life.

There are lessons drilled into you while learning to dive. One rule is not to panic. Another rule is you can float, almost forever, on your back. Just use your arms to paddle, and keep your face out of the water. I had forgotten those two rules completely.

After climbing on top of the upside down boat, I removed my poncho, regained my composure and got back into the water. Together Scotty and I managed to turn the boat over, it was still full of water and being aluminum it barely floated.

One thing we realized was that all of our diving gear was gone. No tanks, no fins and no masks. We did manage to find one of the oars and part of the tackle box. The water in that area was approximately 85 feet deep and the current was pretty strong in that area below the surface.

As we looked around we didn't see or hear any of the Army boats. We were alone and totally dependent upon each other.

Our next challenge was to get the boat to a nearby island where we could get the boat out of the water. As we pushed and pulled the boat through the water, Scotty being at the rear of the boat, was actually surrounded in gasoline which was leaking from the gasoline tank on the engine. I was at the front and pulling or attempting to guide the boat toward land. In the process we managed to hit a submerged tree which created a hole in the bottom of the boat. Gatun lake is a huge manmade lake that has lots of trees below the surface.

Once we made it to land and pulled the boat out we were exhausted. After inspecting the boat we found two problems. One problem was the hole from the tree, as well as the drain plug was missing from the back of the boat. We had two holes and both needed to be plugged.

After plugging the holes, we launched the boat back on the lake. Scotty cleaned off the spark plug and dry fired the engine a couple of times and finally got it started. At least now were were several hours behind schedule, but headed toward the boat dock.

As we left the island we entered into the main shipping channel of the Panama Canal. We moved over to the side and followed in the wake of a huge tanker which was headed toward the Gatun Locks and out to sea.

It was now 7:00 pm and suddenly our engine sputtered to a stop. It seems that most of the fuel had leaked out while the boat was upside down in the water and water was coming in through the two holes we had tried to plug back at the island.

Then we heard the horn of another ship behind us. It too was headed for Gatun Locks. We had to get even further over so as not to be run over by the huge ship. As the ship passed the rumbling of the diesel engines made it impossible to speak. We had no flashlight or signalling device. We could see one of the crew on deck, but could not yell over the engine noise. Soon the ship was gone.

Our current situation called for one of us to row with an oar, while the other bailed water with the tackelbox lid. Periodically we switched places. By now we were headed to the last island between us and the lights of the boat dock at Gatun station.

We made it to the island and decided to wait until dawn. The breeze coming across the water sent a chill through is both, and we discovered that Scotty was suffering chemical burns from swimming through the gasoline in the water. We can't wait until dawn, so we started rowing the boat from the island to the nearest marker bouy. Slowly we went from bouy to bouy.

We really didn't have time to think of what was going on at home with our families. We were well overdo and nothing like this had ever happened to us before. My wife, fearing the worst, went next door to our neighbor, a special forces medic.

After explaining to him that we hadn't come back from the diving trip at Gatun lake, he called the military police to report us missing. The military police notified the Canal Zone police who scoured the area and located the pinto at Gatun station. My wife gave them the extra key to the car, and they found my wallet inside, under the driver seat. Although they found the car, they still didn't know where we were as the lake was quite huge.

To make matters worse, an engineer on the Canal Zone train from Panama City to Colon, reported seeing what looked like a boat, floating upside down in the lake, near the rail line. Didn't see anyone in the water or around the boat. My neighbor called his unit and alerted the scuba team for a possible dawn search for bodies. The ball was rolling and we on the other hand were slowly and steadily moving between marker bouys.

It was after  2:00 am as we left the last bouy, heading for the lights of Gatun station. I could have been a mile ahead, but we were doing our best to reach it when we heard what sounded like a Johnson outboard motor, somewhere in the darkness nearby. We started yelling, and pounding the oar on the side of the john boat. The engine slowed to an idle and stopped. We continued yelling and a flashlight beamed across us in the dark.

It was now around 2:30 am and the boat was transporting local farmers to the marketplace in nearby Colon. They came along side, slung a rope to us. We pull into the boat dock at Gatun station around 3:00 am. and we are extremely grateful for being rescued.

After getting the boat into the back of the car, we head back to Fort Davis. At the gate we are informed that we had been reported missing are are to go to our companys duty sergeants to let them know that we are safe. I drop Scotty off at his quarters, unload the boat and head to my company area to report in and head home. It's been a long day.

It's now after 3:30 am when I get home. I find my neighbor "Doc" had been attending to my wife trying to calm her down. She had gone into shock at the mere thought of me drowning and even sedatives didn't help.

Doc told me the chain of events that had been taking place, and was able to contact his unit to call off the dawn search. By now it was early morning and I had a 6:00 am formation for physical training to make. (As if I hadn't done enough physical training already).

At the PT formation my boss Staff Sergeant Brian Stoner (a former military police stockade guard) chewed me out for faking my disappearance and causing him to miss a good nights sleep on my account. I last ran into Brian as a recruiter at the Army Recruiting station in Manteca, California in 1980 while on duty as a recruiter in Monteray in California.

Later on the scuba team went to our dive site to see if they could recover any of our diving gear. They didn't find any of our gear.

That effectively ended my diving career and Scotty recovered from his burns. He told me that his wife was so mad at him, cause he ruined her plans for spending his insurance money. They have since divorced. I last saw Scotty in the early 1980's at the hospital in Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri where he was stationed. We went fishing a few times together, but never dove together again.

I can honestly say that God's hand of protection kept either of us from perishing that night.

The moral of this story is never get over-confident in your ability to handle or control any situation. Stay alert, be flexible and trust only in God.