As Hurricane Sandy pummeled the East Coast, a ship called the Bounty, built to star of the film "Mutiny on the Bounty," sailed into the eye of the Frankenstorm. Sixteen crew members fought for their lives as the wooden ship began to sink. Not everyone would make it back to shore alive — nor would the boat. From the new book "Rescue of the Bounty" here's the true story of disaster and resilience:
On Thursday, Oct. 25, 2012, the Bounty's captain Robin Walbridge and his 15 subordinates had already received text messages and calls.
Rescue of the Bounty: Disaster and Survival in Superstorm Sandy by Michael J. Tougias and Douglas A. Campbell
Captain Robin WalbridgePhoto: Reuters
There were concerns about a powerful hurricane brewing in the Bahamas and heading north, named Sandy.
Walbridge, 63, acknowledged his crew's growing apprehensions. But he had 30 years of sailing experience.
"The boat's safer being out at sea that being buckled up at a dock somewhere," he told his crew. "My plan is to sail south by east, to take some time and see what the storm is going to do."
Walbridge then told his crew that anyone who did not want to join him could do so without punishment. He would not think any less of them.
No one budged, nor did anyone speak. Among crew members — made up of 10 men and five women — Walbridge enjoyed unquestioning loyalty. The crew was also loyal to each other and the sailors didn't want to leave the Bounty short-handed.
But blind loyalty can sometimes be trouble.
The Bounty, which was built in 1960 in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia for use in the movie "Mutiny on the Bounty," starring Marlon Brando, and had more recently played a role in two "Pirates of the Caribbean" movies, was often referred to as a "movie prop."
But this movie prop could sail. An expanded version of the HMS Bounty from the 1780s, it was a wooden tall ship with a 120-foot waterline and two diesel engines.
Owner Robert E. Hansen Jr. saw Bounty as a moneymaking operation, envisioning its use for corporate events, private parties and tourism-related appearance, though the boat was in need of some serious repairs.
Walbridge's plan was to cross directly in front of the weather. It was like crossing railroad tracks and seeing the train coming a mile away. The crossing wasn't the problem if they didn't linger or stall.
Twenty-four hours into the voyage, nearing sunset, the Bounty was making 7 knots across the Atlantic Ocean, about 110 miles south of Montauk Point, LI, and due east of Atlantic City, NJ. The seas were between 4 and 5 feet and the wind was a manageable 10 to 15 knots.
Everything aboard Bounty was lashed in place and prepared for the coming storm.
First the crew noticed that more water than usual was boarding the Bounty. The pumps to remove the water were whimpering slackers. Then the main diesel pump stopped working.
By noon on Saturday, winds had hit 32 knots — gale force — and the seas had reached 15 feet.
One of the deckhands, Claudene Christian, began to worry. She text-messaged her mother: "If I go down with the ship and the worst happens, just know that I am truly, genuinely happy."
Crew member Adam Prokosh noticed that the AIS, a device like a chart plotter on whose screen a constellation of dots would indicate the presence of all the commercial ships within a certain radius, was blank.
No other ship on the Atlantic Ocean was anywhere near the Bounty.
By Sunday morning, the wind was blowing a steady 50 knots, and the sea had grown to 25 feet. The ship was taking on even more water than before. The level in the bilge had risen to 30 inches, double what it would normally be.
Chief Mate John Svendsen was more than concerned. He went to Walbridge and suggested that it was time to let the Coast Guard know about Bounty's condition.
The ship was now 90 miles off of Cape Hatteras, NC, floating in an eddy of cold water on the southeast side of the Gulf Stream. A C-130, the Coast Guard's fixed-wing aircraft used for searching, was sent out in the dangerous weather to find the Bounty.
The Bounty was built in 1960 as a recreation for the Marlon Brando movie.Photo: Globe Photos Inc.
The HMS Bounty moored besides the US Naval Academy in Annapolis, MDPhoto: AP
Every crew member pitched in to try and save the Bounty, because their very survival depended on it.
By 9 p.m., the starboard generator had begun surging and the port generator had already stopped working. The diesel was still running, but a dangerous electric current was in the water. They had to shut down the generator. Except for flashlights, the Bounty went dark.
Bounty was now at the mercy of the sea.
Midnight came, and in the blackness off Cape Hatteras, the Bounty's crew gathered on the tween deck.
If no one had announced it, almost everyone knew: Bounty was doomed.
The Coast Guard told them that although the call had gone out, no ships were closer than eight hours away, and none were headed toward the Bounty bringing dewatering pumps.
Captain Walbridge, perhaps acknowledging the fate of the love of his life, his boat, told the crew to get into immersion suits, red neoprene that provided floatation, warmth and visibility.
In an instant, the sea rose from starboard bulwark, enveloping half the crew.
Had Walbridge recognized in time the imminence of disaster, perhaps there could have been an orderly evacuation into the life rafts. But the captain with his unquestioned expertise thought the crew could make it to daylight. They wouldn't.
At 4:45 a.m., Chief Mate Svendsen's voice boomed into the cockpit of the C-130. "We are abandoning ship! We are abandoning ship."
After the wave hit the ship, some fell off the boat, others jumped. Luckily, life rafts went overboard, too. When the Bounty rolled to starboard, Walbridge hit the water and got washed back and forth by the action of the wave as a member of his crew looked on but could not help.
A group of seven reached one overturned raft. Another group of six reached the other raft.
"Bounty, this is CG 130, tell us what is happening," said Coast Guard rescue pilot Wes McIntosh.
Silence.
"Bounty, are you getting life rafts?"
Dead air.
The C-130 barreled out of the clouds at 150 knots, and the Bounty appeared below them, lying flat on her side, like a once-proud racehorse that's been put down. Debris littered the ocean.
Svendson had suffered numerous injuries — his face battered, a head trauma wound and broken bones in his right hand. In the water, Svendsen was alone. He found a strobe light and kept it with him.
A Coast Guard Jayhawk Helicopter with a crew of four, including a rescue swimmer, was sent to the accident scene. It took about an hour to reach the Bounty. When they arrived, the team spotted a man in the water.
Randy Haba, the rescue swimmer, was lowered into the raging waters. He made contact with the water about 40 feet behind the survivor. He immediately started swimming, but a wave dropped out from under him, and the cable twisted violently, causing him to compress a vertebrae. But he was too filled with adrenaline to notice the pain.
Crew member Claudene Christian
Captain Walbridge poses aboard the Bounty in 2002.Photo: AP
Haba reached the survivor when a breaking wave and a wind gust pushed the helicopter upward. On his third attempt, he reached the man, who croaked, "I'm OK."
"OK, here's what we're going to do!" shouted Haba, holding on to the survivor's arm. Before he could explain, a breaking sea avalanched on the two men like a pile driver, pushing them downward into a swirling vortex.
Haba put the strap around the survivor and cinched the strop up tight and hollered, "We're going up together!" The cable started to retract and up they went. John Svendsen would be the first saved man.
The C-130 had confirmed that there were no survivors aboard the ship or around the debris. The helicopter consequently began to hone in on the four life rafts.
No survivors on the first two. But on the third, waving arms extended from the raft's doorway.
Haba, the swimmer, was placed back in the water to get to the life raft. He arrived at the life raft in just a few seconds. He pulled himself up and found a group of wide-eyed people looking back at him.
The helicopter lowered a basket and four more survivors were hoisted to the safety of the helicopter above. Due to fuel limitations, this first helicopter was forced to fly back Air Station Elizabeth City before they could hoist the last three survivors from the raft.
A second helicopter arrived on scene and another rescue swimmer, Dan Todd, prepared to be lowered to a different life raft that had survivors inside. As he went down Todd was swinging "like a wrecking ball because his fins were acting like sails," his crew member described.
Once he made it to the raft, he pulled himself completely inside the doorway, sat down, and saw a group of survivors.
"Hey, I'm Dan. I hear you guys need a ride," he said.
"Way to go! You're awesome!" they yelled.
Todd extracted those survivors to the safety of the helicopter and then went back to the first raft and extracted the remaining survivors. But there were still two remaining sailors unaccounted for.
By noon, a third and fourth helicopter had joined the search.
Rescue swimmer Casey Hanchette was lowered into the water and once in the water unhooked and swam toward the body of an unconscious sailor, who was floating facedown.
It was Claudene Christian. Casey immediately got her into a sling and clipped his harness back on the hook, and they were lifted up into the helicopter together.
He administered CPR the entire hour-and-a-half back to the air station. But their nonstop efforts were for naught. She was dead.
Robin Walbridge's body was never recovered.
Three days after the crew abandoned ship in the 77-degree water, the Coast Guard suspended its search for the captain. He was lost, along with the Bounty.
Adapted from "The Rescue of the Bounty: Disaster and Survival in Superstorm Sandy" by Michel J. Tougias and Douglas A. Campbell, to be published Tuesday by Scribner, a Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. Copyright 2014. Printed with permission.
