Stranded in rough waters with only a leaky life vest and sheer determination as his defenses, the stranded airman prepared to confront the daunting gray predators lurking beneath.
This tale, originally written by Peter Michelmore, was featured in the October 1987 issue of Reader’s Digest.
On December 5, during a flight from Nassau, Walter Wyatt Jr. found himself alone in his twin-engine Beechcraft, struggling to spot Miami through the rain. His navigation equipment had been stolen in Nassau, leaving the 37-year-old airline flight engineer relying solely on a compass and a handheld radio for guidance.
After passing Andros Island, the sky grew dark and his compass began to spin erratically, indicating a possible deviation from his intended westerly course. At 3,500 feet, beneath the cloud cover, Wyatt spotted waves crashing over rocks, which he believed were part of the chain leading to Bimini. He followed them north but was unable to locate Bimini and soon realized he was lost.
He activated his radio, broadcasting, “Mayday, mayday.” An Air Jamaica flight headed to Miami responded and relayed his message to the Coast Guard. A Falcon search jet was dispatched to find him, but confusion from another distress call and thunderstorms delayed their search, taking nearly an hour to locate Wyatt.
As Wyatt finally caught sight of the rescue jet breaking through the clouds, his right engine began to fail with nightfall approaching. The Falcon’s commander, Lt. Steven Blankenship, reassured him, saying, “We’ll get you down, buddy.” He directed Wyatt towards an emergency landing strip on Cay Sal.
“Hang in there, Walter,” Blankenship urged as they flew low over the turbulent sea. “You’re six miles away.”
Suddenly, Wyatt’s right engine failed completely, and the left fuel tank ran dry, silencing the remaining engine. The plane began to plunge toward the water. With full flaps deployed to slow the descent, Wyatt yelled, “I’m going in!” Blankenship watched in horror as the Beechcraft’s lights disappeared beneath the waves. A low pass over the impact site yielded no sign of Wyatt or his aircraft.
An Air Force C-130 dropped a flare, but four additional sweeps found no life raft or signals. Believing Wyatt to be lost, co-pilot Mike Flaherty noted their dwindling fuel, leading them to reluctantly return to Key West for refueling. “We did all we could,” Blankenship sighed. “We’ll refuel and come back out.”
As the crash jolted Wyatt against the control panel, the plane skimmed the surface before sinking. He grabbed two flares, climbed onto a wing, and attempted to signal for help, but both flares failed. As the wing submerged, Wyatt found himself adrift in five-foot waves. Drawing from his sea-survival training, he knew conserving energy was vital. Yet, after 30 minutes in the water, he was shivering with leg cramps. Realizing he was nearly invisible to rescuers amid the waves, he began to swim towards what he hoped was Cay Sal.
Violent squalls roiled the seas, and within the next hour, Wyatt lost his bearings, his hope rapidly diminishing. The left chamber of his life vest began to deflate, leaking air from the seams of the inflation tube. When the tube came loose, the chamber deflated completely. In a moment of desperation, he blew into the hole where the tube had been and used his finger to seal it shut.
Wyatt struggled to stay afloat in the frigid waves. Blood dripped from his forehead, creating a scent trail that could attract sharks. Resolute in his determination to survive, he understood that giving up would mean certain death. “If this is my last day, God,” he prayed, “I ask you to forgive my sins.”
“I Love You”
While treading water, Wyatt prepared his life vest to send a final message to his loved ones. He took an airline ID badge from his shirt and used his watchband to scratch a note onto it: “Trish the house.” He hoped that whoever found it would know he was leaving his house in Homestead, Florida, to his girlfriend, Trisha Lansdale.
On the back, he wrote: “143 MDJWT.” The numbers represented his code for “I love you,” and the letters stood for Mom, Dad, daughter Jennifer (12), son Walter (10), and Trisha. Wyatt, who was divorced, had children living with their mother in Chattanooga, Tennessee.
He attached the badge to his vest and continued to fight for survival. Checking his watch, he noted it was 8 p.m. I can make it to 10, he thought.
Just before reaching his self-imposed deadline, a solid object bumped against his feet. A shark!
He froze, feeling a chill run down his spine. They’ve found me, he thought. They’ll be back.
At 10 p.m., he set a new survival target for midnight, but now the right chamber of his vest was leaking. When the inflation tube came loose, he inflated the chamber by mouth and plugged the hole with his finger, struggling to stay afloat.
Rolling onto his back, he let rainwater wash over his swollen tongue and salt-stung eyes. As the clouds briefly parted, stars began to twinkle in the sky. One star appeared to move closer to him, leading him to think, Maybe it’s coming to take me where I need to go. Please, God, let my life end quickly.
Hunted by Man-Eaters
In the western sky, Lieutenant Blankenship fought to keep his jet on course for Cay Sal. After refueling in Key West, he was returning, accompanied by a Navy helicopter to illuminate the search area. However, severe weather reduced visibility to nearly zero, putting both aircraft and crews in jeopardy. He signaled the helicopter and decided to turn back, planning to resume the search at daylight.
Meanwhile, drifting in the ocean, the weary swimmer imagined dawn bringing aircraft to search for him. As midnight passed, he resolutely aimed to survive until morning.
A sudden impact against his feet sent him into a panic—another shark! Instinctively, he kicked it away and inadvertently lost his grip on the vest, letting water pour in. He sank five feet while struggling to free himself from the vest.
Stop! his mind ordered. Get it together! Now! As the vest began to sink, he desperately grabbed onto the rubbery fabric.
Breaking the surface, he clutched the limp vest, took a breath, then submerged his face, extending his arms. With a scissor kick, he propelled himself forward, raised his head to breathe, and repeated the float-and-kick routine for nearly an hour.
Feeling more composed afterward, he re-inflated the vest chambers and positioned his body on top. Timing his movements with the waves, he surfed forward. I’ll make it to dawn, he assured himself.
Closing In
A flicker of hope ignited within Wyatt as the first rays of sunlight crested the horizon. He scanned the sky for any sign of aircraft but found none. Lowering his gaze to the ocean, he spotted a dorsal fin slicing through the waves. Suddenly, something nudged his left elbow. Startled, he jerked away just in time to see the yellow-gray skin of another shark glide past him. The sharks began to circle, sizing him up.
Wyatt rolled onto his back and caught sight of a large bull shark lurking in a murky wave, zeroing in on him. Without warning, it dove and charged at his legs. Quick to react, Wyatt raised a leg and slammed the heel of his sneaker between the shark’s eyes. The creature darted away, surfacing 20 feet distant, and began to circle him again, Remora suckerfish clinging to its sides. “I’m not ready to die yet, shark!” he shouted defiantly.
Two more bull sharks approached but veered off from his frantic kicks. A hammerhead nearly caught him off guard, but Wyatt managed to kick it away, his foot missing the snout but striking the fin instead. Then, he caught sight of a metallic blue tail breaking the surface—an ominous mako shark. “That’s one of those 90-mile-an-hour sharks,” he thought warily. Preparing for an attack, he noticed the mako’s lifeless eyes peering at him from a wave, and in a heartbeat, it vanished.
Feeling drained, Wyatt recognized that the sharks would sense his fatigue. He knew that even a single bite could trigger a feeding frenzy. Just then, he heard the distant roar of an aircraft. Spotting a Coast Guard jet, he watched as it disappeared, only to return moments later, flying in a search pattern.
“I’m Alive!”
As the plane approached within half a mile, Wyatt waved his orange vest desperately. The aircraft drew nearer, flying directly overhead. He lifted himself from the water and shouted, “Why don’t they see me?”
Onboard, Blankenship glanced down, focusing intently on locating the wreckage of the Beechcraft. Suddenly, his instincts kicked in, and he thought he caught sight of a person, partially submerged and waving a life vest. He activated a computer to mark the position and exclaimed, “Hey, there’s a guy in the water!” Quickly, he radioed the Coast Guard cutter Cape York, which was 12 minutes away.
Mike Flaherty dropped a smoke canister to guide the cutter, spotting Wyatt swimming toward it, a massive dark shadow lurking closely behind him. Blankenship urgently radioed, “Get moving, cutter! There’s a shark targeting this guy!”
Wyatt focused on the silver glint of the canister. Why hadn’t they dropped a life raft? His answer soon came as a sleek white boat sliced through the waves toward him.
The Cape York pulled alongside, and a Jacob’s ladder was tossed over the side. Wyatt clung to the lowest rung, exhausted and unable to pull himself up.
“Hey, toss the vest aside,” someone shouted as two men helped him aboard.
“No way,” Wyatt replied hoarsely. “It stays with me.”
Once he was over the rail, his body shaking and his eyes swollen, he dropped to his knees and kissed the deck. It was 9 a.m., and he had spent over 15 hours in the water.
Flaherty patted Blankenship on the back, who wore a broad smile. “This makes it all worthwhile,” he said.
Later that day, after receiving a medical check-up at a Key West hospital, Wyatt’s parents drove him to Homestead, where he spent hours with Trisha. “I can’t believe I’m alive!” he kept exclaiming. Eventually, he fell asleep with Trisha holding his hands and his life vest resting on the couch beside him.