← Against The Odds
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Audible subscribers can listen to all episodes of against the Odds ad free right now. Join Audible today by downloading the Audible app. A listener note. Against the Odds uses dramatizations that are based on true events. Some elements, including dialogue, may be invented, but everything is based on research. Chief Warrant Officer Bob Doyle trudges down a long hallway at the Coast Guard Air Station in Sitka, Alaska. He could really use a drink right now, but he needs to be sober for the meeting he's about to have. It's June 1996, and Doyle has been summoned to the office of the base's new commanding officer, Ted lefever. Captain lefever didn't give a reason for the meeting, but he didn't really have to. Doyle knows it's because he hasn't been showing up for work or showing up drunk. Doyle has served in the coast guard for nearly 20 years, ever since he enlisted at 18. It's everything to him, but his personal life is in shambles and it's been affecting his work as a supply officer. He just hopes LeFever will give him a chance to explain himself. LaFever's door is ajar. Doyle pauses just outside and takes a moment to smooth the wrinkles on his uniform. Then, softly, he knocks. Captain lafever, you wanted to see me? Lafever looks up from his desk. He's got gray hair, bushy eyebrows, and an air of quiet authority. Stacks of paperwork cover his desk. Ah, yes, it's. It's Doyle, right? Come in and close the door behind you. He gestures to a chair in front of his desk and Doyle sits. There's an awkward silence as Lafever fishes a folder out of his stacks. He opens it, scans the report inside, then looks at Doyle through wire rimmed glasses. So, Mr. Doyle, I understand that you've been missing a lot of work lately. I. I guess that is true, sir. Care to tell me why? Doyle takes a deep breath and launches into his story. A few months ago, he discovered that his wife was having an affair with another guy on the base, a flight mechanic. When he confronted her, she asked for a divorce and threw him out of the house. Now his wife and the flight mechanic are living together and he's sleeping in the bar barracks with the enlisted men. She won't let him see their kids and he has to face his wife's lover on base every day. The stress and humiliation have been more than he can bear. The story pours out of him. Captain LaFever listens patiently, then cuts him off. Look, Bob, do you mind If I call you Bob? No, sir. Doyle braces himself for a stern reprimand. He knows missing so much work could lead to a demotion or even a dishonorable discharge. But the expression on Lefever's face softens. Bob, listen, I understand what you're going through. I honestly even sympathize. My wife, she left me, too, not that long ago. Now it's Captain LeFever's turn to tell his divorce story, which also involved his wife having an affair. As he talks, Doyle tries to keep a sympathetic expression on his face. But inside, he's rejoicing. What a lucky break. His commanding officer can relate to him. Maybe LA fever won't punish him after all. When Lafever is done, Doyle shakes his head. Sir, I'm so sorry. That really must have been awful. It was. Yeah. But here's the thing, Bob. No matter how bad things got, you know what I always did? No, sir. I came to work, Bob. And I came to work sober. I did my job. Now there's no trace of kindness on Lafever's face. He's all business. Do you understand what I'm saying? Doyle feels himself withering under the base captain's icy glare. Yes. Yes, sir, I understand. Good. That's good. That'll be all, Mr. Doyle. Doyle shuffles out of Captain LaFevere's office, stunned. He was so sure the captain was on his side. Instead, he knows that if he screws up again, he won't get another warning. He'll be out. And that means his days in the Coast Guard are numbered. Foreign. You know that moment when you order food and suddenly everyone around you gets very interested in your dinner? Yeah. 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Betterment automates those same good practices so that I know I'm doing portfolio management and goal based planning in a way that makes sense and is responsible without me having to spend hours of my life doing it. Learn more@betterment.com investing involves risk performance not guaranteed. Betterment does not offer tax advice. TOH may not be suitable for all customers. Learn more@betterment.com Toh terms. From Audible Originals I'm Mike Corey and this is against the Odds. The US Coast Guard calls southeastern Alaska the most demanding flight environment for Coast Guard aircraft operations. There, the men and women of Air Station Sitka are responsible for patrolling 12,000 miles of remote and rugged coastline, as well as search and rescue operations on both land and sea. You may remember their heroics from past seasons of this podcast, including Alaska Bear Attack and Fire at Sea Cruise ship Rescue in 1996 and 97. Air Station Sitka was also the home base of a troubled Chief Warrant Officer named Bob Doyle, who would go on to play a role in one of the most infamous shipwrecks and improbable rescues in Alaska's history. This is Episode one Black Line. Bob Doyle stands on the sidewalk outside a two story clapboard house that's seen better days. Actually, that's an understatement. The house is a dump, but right now it might be the last place in Sitka that we'll have him. It's an overcast afternoon in November 1997, seven months since Bob was finally kicked out of the Coast Guard. After the meeting with Captain lefever, Bob tried to clean up his act. But as divorce proceedings dragged on, his drinking got worse. Things came to a head about a year ago when he was arrested for drunk driving. To avoid a dishonorable discharge, Bob opted for early retirement and the meager pension that came with it. He's bounced around various places in Sitka ever since. Motels, a rented trailer, friends, apartments. He's been kicked out of all of them for drinking, running out of money, or for both. He's tried looking for work, but there's little to be had in Sitka at this time of year when much of the town shuts down for winter. The best he's been able to find is a part time gig fixing gear for a shrimp boat. And with only that meager income and his small pension, he can't scrape together enough for rent child Support and his bar tab. Now he's here outside the town's grubbiest boarding house with all his worldly possessions in two cardboard boxes. He's heard that the old lady who owns the place has a soft spot for down on their luck fishermen. Maybe she'll take kindly to a disgraced former Coast Guard officer too. The front door appears to be nailed shut, so he walks down the narrow driveway, past cast off tools and rusty car parts until he comes to a side door. Hello? Hello? He peers through the door's grease stained window pane and sees a kitchen cluttered with dirty dishes and empty beer cans. A few minutes later, a man smoking a cigarette appears and he opens the door. Can I help you? Hi, my name's Bob Doyle. I called about the room. Oh yeah, you're. You're the Coastie. Ex Coastie. Well, come on in. Bob Doyle, the ex Coastie. You want a drink? The man pours a couple of vodka shots and explains the house rules, such as they are. The bedrooms. They're all taken, but seven bucks a night gets you a couch. If you're broke, you can sleep on the floor. No fighting, no weapons, and no trashing the place. As they're downing shots, the kitchen door opens and another man strides in. He's tall and lanky with a ponytail and a scar across his nose. He sizes up. Bob, who is this? The man with the cigarette answers before Bob can speak. Bob Doyle, ex Coast Guard. Bob, this is Mike DiCapua. Bob extends a hand and Mike shakes it warily. Ah, I hate Coasties. They think they know everything. Hey, Gino, pour me a shot, will ya? Want another one, Bob? Yeah, sure, why not? They down another round of vodka shots, then move into the living room where Mike flops onto a battered recliner and lights a cigarette. Then Mike starts to talk. Bob realizes quickly that Mike DiCapua loves to talk. Mostly about being a fisherman and how he's one of the only good ones left. You ever fish, Bob? No, but I'd like to learn. Bob explains that he tried all summer to find work on a fishing boat, but no one was willing to take on a 39 year old newbie. Maybe Mike could help him. But Mike just laughs and pours himself another shot. Me teaching a Coasty how to fish. Now that'd be something. Mike keeps talking, telling one yarn after another about how he first came to Alaska to skip out on parole, about women he's been with, ships he's sailed on. And Bob decides to keep listening. He hopes that if he listens Long enough, Mike will change his mind and help him find some work. Mike Decapua walks along the main pier of Old Thompson harbor, pulling his collar tight against the wind. Bob Doyle walks with him. It's January 1998, and by now the two men have been fishing together for a few weeks. Mike hates to admit it, but he's been impressed with how quickly Bob is learning the job. But Mike doesn't like their skipper, so they've decided to switch boats. They're looking for a ship called the Leconti, which they've heard needs two deckhands. They'll be catching rockfish out in Sitka Sound, and The pay is 10% of the catch, which could be a lot of money. Rockfish usually fetches a good price. Then they see her. The Leconti. She's a large, narrow vessel, about 80ft long and made of wood, which is unusual for a fishing boat. Mike likes the look of her right away. Ah, she's a schooner. Don't see many of those anymore. On the dock, they meet the ship's captain, a burly man named Mark Morley, and the crew boss, Giggy Mork, a native Alaskan with jet black hair and boyish features. He flashes a grin at Mike. Hey, I know you. Long time no see, Mike. With Gigi vouching for Mike, it seems like the job is theirs. But Morley eyes Bob skeptically. You. What's your story? Mike sees Bob hesitate, so he jumps in. He's green, but I'll vouch for him. He's ex coast Guard, knows his way around a boat. I've been showing him the ropes, and he's a fast learner. With Mike's assurances, Morley agrees, he'll give Bob a shot. Okay, we leave day after tomorrow. We'll be out for a week. If you guys do good work, I'll keep you on. Sound good? Everyone shakes on it. And then Mike asks if they can see the boat. As soon as he sets foot on deck, he can see that the Leconti is in bad shape. She was built way back in 1919, and parts of her look like they haven't been updated since. The decks are creaky and buckled in places. There's black mildew streaking the cabin walls, and a bilge pump is sucking water out of her hold, even in dock. But something about the La Conti makes Mike smile. She may be old, but she's got soul. He sees that Bob is less impressed. She needs a lot of work. Ah, I've seen worse. The way they build these old Ships, man, they. They hold up better than you think. If you say so. And Gigi, that guy, man, he knows how to fish. We'll make some good money crewing for him. As far as Mike's concerned, It's decided. Tomorrow they'll tell their old skipper they're leaving. And the day after that they'll set sail on the Leconti. Bob Doyle lets out a groan as he hauls in another long line. Like every other line they've cast for the past three days, it's nearly empty. Just a few gray cod and none of the more expensive rockfish they've hoped to catch. So far, their first trip on the Leconti has been a bust, and the 20 foot swells haven't made for a pleasant ride. But Bob doesn't mind. He's learning a lot from Mike Decapua and Giggy Mork, who are both excellent fishermen. And more importantly, he hasn't been drinking. Being at sea and working a demanding job have given him a sense of focus and purpose he hasn't felt since his divorce. It's helped him stay off the bottle. The Leconti is a long line fishing vessel. That means it casts out fishing lines several miles long, each with hundreds or even thousands of hooks. And each hook has to be baited and set by hand. It's delicate work that has to be done quickly, often with hands that are numb from cold Alaska winds. Bob is getting better at it, but he still marvels at how fast Mike and Gigi are. Hauling the lines back in is no easy feat either. The fish have to be unhooked and sorted by species, and they have to toss back any bycatch fish they don't have a license for. The lines often get tangled, hooks get damaged or lost. Everything has to be repaired and coiled before it can be cast out again. When the last of the long line is retrieved, Bob makes his way carefully across the slippery deck to the bait shed where Mike is prepping their next line. Need a hand, Mike? Mike doesn't look up, just jerks his chin at a pile of tangled line. Good luck with that, though. It's all frayed to hell. What kind of skipper tries to fish with gear like this anyway? Bob sits down on an overturned bucket and starts disentangling the line. Sounds like you don't like this boat so much anymore. Nah, the boat's fine. It's. It's the captain I'm worried about. You think he doesn't know what he's doing? Well, he doesn't know where the Fish are, that's for damn sure. The bilge alarm goes off again. Giggy Mork appears in the bait shed doorway and tells Bob to go turn on the pump. Bob clambers below deck and finds ankle deep water sloshing around the engine room. He fires up a little Honda generator and after a few minutes most of the water has been pumped out. But he knows that in an hour or two he'll be right back manning the pump again. Maybe sooner if the seas get rough. He knows that Mike still has faith in the Leconti, but Bob is starting to have his doubts. Mark Morley sits at the wheel of the Leconti, guiding the ship out of the harbor and into Sitka Sound. For once he's taking his vessel out for pleasure, not business. And it's a perfect day for it. Barely a cloud in the sky and the ocean's calm surface is shining like glass. After their unsuccessful fishing trip, Morley thought his crew could use a break. So he invited them to join him, his fiance Tamara and her teenage daughter Kyla for a day of whale watching. Only Bob Doyle accepted, bringing along his nine year old son Brendan. Morley hears the pilot house door open and Bob appears with Brendan in tow. The little boy stares wide eyed at the wheel and Morley motions to the captain's chair. Hey little man, want to steer? Maybe your dad can show you how. Brendan nods and Morley gets up to let Bob take the controls. Brendan hops into his father's lap and grabs the wheel with both hands, grinning ear to ear. Bob looks up at the captain and mouths the words thank you. Morley steps out to give father and son a little alone time and finds Tamara and Kyla standing at the port railing gazing out to sea. Tamara sees him approaching and points Mark, look. There they are. Morley follows her finger and sees two spouts of spray in the distance. Humpback whales. He wasn't actually sure if they'd see any this time of year. Most humpbacks have migrated to Mexico by January. He takes it as a good omen that they've spotted some and Morley could use a few good omens. He didn't want to alarm the crew, but that last unsuccessful run put him on thin ice with LeConte's owners. They took a chance giving him the skipper job and he doesn't want to let them down. Plus, he recently learned that Tamara is pregnant and he's promised her a diamond engagement ring and a nice wedding. Wow, look at that. One of the humpbacks breaches and Morley puts his arms around Tamara and Kyla he can't believe that soon their own little baby will be in the picture, too. He's so grateful for his new family, and he'll do anything to make sure they're provided for. Bob Doyle shoves a few more cans of soup into an already overstuffed cupboard, then latches it shut. He and Giggy Mork are in the leconte's galley, packing away all the food they'll need for their next fishing trip. It's a little before 4am on January 23, 1998. The crew has already been up for over an hour getting the ship ready. Besides the food, they need to check the engines, bilge pump and winches, and organize all their bait and fishing gear. Since their first trip was a bust, Captain Morley has decided to venture out into deeper waters in search of rockfish. He's set his sights on a notorious spot called Fairweather Ground. Despite its name, it's known for rough weather and high seas at this time of year. But it's also a prime fishing spot. And to maximize their time there, Morley has brought on another deckhand, an indigenous man named David Handlon. He's quiet, so Bob hasn't gotten a read on him yet. But judging from how muscular he is, he should be a welcome addition when they're hauling in the lines. When Bob's done helping Gigi with food, he goes to check on their safety gear. He finds everything they're required to have. Emergency beacons, waterproof survival suits. But there's one glaring exception. He climbs the steel deck stairs to the pilothouse to ask Morley about it. Hey, Skipper, do we still not have a life raft from his Coast Guard days, Bob knows that their first fishing trip was close enough to shore that they weren't legally required to have a life raft. But Fairweather Ground is open Ocean, more than 60 miles from the nearest land. Not having a raft that far out isn't just illegal, it's downright dangerous. But Morley seems unconcerned. Nah, couldn't find one on short notice. Bob doesn't love that answer, but he decides to drop the subject. He needs this fishing run to go well as much as anyone else. There's no sense in jumping ship or over a missing life raft. Finally, the leconti is ready to go. Morley fires up the engine, the crew unhitches the dock ropes, and the ship chugs slowly out of the harbor. Mike Decapua calls out to Bob. Hey, Skipper says we can get some shut eye. You coming? Nah, I'm gonna stay up here and have a smoke. Suit yourself. Mike and the other two crew members head downstairs to their bunk room, leaving Bob alone on the stern. He lights a cigarette and watches the lights of Sitka as they start to recede. When the ship passes some outcroppings called the Old Sitka Rocks, Bob looks for a series of faint yellow street lamps. He knows that just beyond one of those lamps there's a duplex where his ex wife now lives with their two kids and that bastard flight mechanic. Bob tries to picture his children curled up in their beds. Brendan and his little sister Katie. He wonders when he'll see them again. He only gets them every other weekend and if the Laconte is away for too long, he'll miss his next visit. When the street lamps are barely visible on the horizon, Bob stubs out his cigarette and heads below deck. It's an 18 hour voyage to Fairweather Ground and there's still a lot of work to be done before they get there. He needs to get some sleep. Get him, Bob. Bob Doyle pins a wriggling fish against the deck of the Leconti, trying to slip stab it with his knife. But this one is massive and it's refusing to go quietly. He tries to go for the fish's gills, but it twists around and bites him. Ah, son of a bitch. The rest of the crew is watching with delight. Mike Decapua is doubled over with laughter. I think he likes you, Bob. Hey, shut up, Mike. Finally, Bob manages to kill the fish with a stab to its head. It's got to be at least a 40 pounder, one of the biggest they've caught. Bob guts it a little haphazardly and muscles it into a bin that's already stuffed with rockfish. When they first arrived at Fairweather Ground a few days ago, it looked like another bust. Just after they set their lines, a storm rolled in and they were forced to take shelter in a cove. They left their lines behind, anchored in place with weights and marked by buoys to let them soak, as the fishermen say. A few days later, on January 29, the weather forecast called for calmer seas and they headed back out in search of their lines. They found them around 10pm but most of the fish on the hooks had been reduced to skeletons picked clean by predators. At that point, half the crew were wanted to go home, including David Hanlon, who was battling seasickness and Mike Decapua, who felt sure this whole trip was a waste. But Captain Morley insisted they try two shorter lines, less than a mile each. As a last ditch effort they let them soak overnight into the morning of January 30th, and to everyone's surprise, those lines have hit the jackpot. Bob's never seen so many fish in his life. Even the veteran fishermen seem giddy with their haul. Each set of hooks, called a skate, is practically full. Dozens of fish per skate, adding up to hundreds of pounds. As Bob wrestles another fish off a hook, he hears Mike call out, hey, Cap, how much fish does one of these bins hold? £800? Hell yeah. We got two full already. Just started a third. Once each bin is full, the crew ices it down, then lowers it into the hold. They work at breakneck speed, gutting fish, icing them, then cleaning the skates and coiling the lines so they can throw up more sets. But as they work, Bob starts to notice a problem. With all that fish in their hold, the leconte is riding lower in the water. And after hours of calm seas, the the swells are starting to pick up again. The bigger waves are crashing over the railings, sending spray across the decks and into the engine room. Giggy Mork calls out, somebody turn on the bilge pump. While Mike scrambles below deck, Bob watches David Hanlon stagger to the railing and puke over the side. He feels bad for the poor guy. Bob can tell from the way he baits his hooks and coils his lines that Hanlon is a seasoned deckhand. But even old timers can still get seasick. Mike emerges from the engine room cursing. That goddamn pump is useless. It's not keeping up. Gigi motions for Mike and Bob to follow him. We've got a backup generator with a suction hose. Help me haul it downstairs. They set up the second generator in the engine room, then run the hose up the stairs and over the railing. Gigi fires it up, and they watch the water level fall slowly. Mike looks skeptical. Yeah, it's a little better, but we're still gonna have to keep an eye on it. Yeah. Gigi nods. Come on, we still got a lot of line to haul in. As they climb the stairs, Bob casts one last look at the backup generator. It seems crazy to trust such a jerry rigged thing to keep the engine room from flooding. But then again, if they can stay out here just a little longer, they all stand to make a crazy amount of money. Later that afternoon, captain Mark Morley steps into the LeConte's galley and finds his crew lounging around taking a smoke break. Good, he thinks. They earned it. Everyone is exhausted from hours of hauling in line, not to mention running back and forth to the engine room to check the backup generator and the bilge pump. But now he needs them to get back to work. Listen up, guys. Forecast says it's going to get snottier later this afternoon. 20 foot swells, 30 knot winds. But we have a window of a few hours. Let's drop one last big one right now, let it soak for an hour, then haul it back in and head home. Sound good? Mike Decapua is the first to reply. One big line. How big exactly? Right now we got 25 skates and five miles of long line just sitting ready to go. 25? I don't know, Cap. That'll take five hours at least. Morley scowls. This isn't the first time Decapua has challenged his authority. And honestly, he's getting tired of it. It'll take four hours if we all haul ass. What do the rest of you say? For a moment, there's an awkward silence. Finally, Bob Doyle speaks up. We're with you, Captain. Great. Now come on, let's go make some money. As Morley leaves the galley and steps back onto the deck, he casts a wary gaze across the choppy seas that surround the Leconti. The swells are definitely picking up about 12ft high now, but they're still nowhere near as bad as they were a few days ago. And the fishing, it's excellent. It's the best he's ever seen. He can't tell the ship's owner that he gave up just because of some rough weather. So, gripping the handrail tightly, he climbs the stairs to the pilothouse. While his crew heads to the bait shed to prepare their line. Mike Decapua sits on a wooden crate near the Leconti stern. Head down. Coiling up Longline. At some point this afternoon, it started raining and now it's mixed with hailstones the size of marbles. He tries to ignore them and concentrate on his work as they bounce off the brim of his baseball cap. He's still pissed off that Mark Morley ordered them to drop a five mile long line. With a storm coming up. They all know it's a terrible idea. But no one else was willing to speak up. Now the other guys are hauling in the last of it. Which means they should be out of here before nightfall and not a moment too soon. The bilge pump is basically running non stop. And Mike doesn't trust that backup generator anymore. Farther than he could throw it, a big breaker crashes over the deck, dousing Mike and water up to his waist and nearly knocking him over. He looks up from his work to make sure he's not about to get slammed again, and what he sees makes his stomach drop. To the untrained eye, it doesn't look like much, just a thin black line across the horizon where the gunmetal gray sky meets the ocean. But he knows it spells trouble. He hurries to the front of the ship and yells up to the pilothouse, hey, Skipper. Morley leans out of the window, shielding his face from the driving rain. We gotta get the hell out of here. Why? Mike points to the horizon where the line has grown thicker. See that line? That means a major storm is coming. Gigi, back me up here, Giggy. Mork looks at the line, then up at Morley. He's right, Mark. We should go. But to Mike's amazement, the captain still hesitates. How long will it take us to throw out one more line? Just 10 skates this time? Are you not hearing us? We're freaking 80 miles off the coast. If we don't get a head start on that storm, we're also screwed. Let me see if I can get a weather report. You do that. Mike ignores the dirty look from Gigi and goes to help Bob Doyle ice down the last of the fish. He knows Gigi doesn't approve of him challenging the captain like that, but he doesn't care. If Morley doesn't know what that black line means, then as far as Mike's concerned, he's useless as a skipper. Mike and Bob are lowering the last bin of rockfish into the hole when Morley stomps down the metal stairs from the pilothouse. Okay, Mike, you win. Let's get these hatches sealed and the gear stowed and get the hell out of here. Mike can't resist blurting out, oh, hallelujah. He just hopes that Morley hasn't dawdled too long. The waves around them are now running 15ft and higher, and when Mike looks between them, he can see that black line on the horizon growing larger. Bob Doyle climbs up the interior stairwell from the crew quarters to the pilothouse, clutching both handrails to keep himself from being knocked off his feet. It's around 6pm and the storm has caught up to them. The waves are now cresting more than 40ft. Bob wants to check on Giggy more, who's been at the helm for almost an hour and must be exhausted. Gigi and Mark Morley are the only ones qualified to pilot the ship, and Morley practically collapsed at the end of his shift. He's in the cabin trying to sleep. Bob finds Gigi white knuckling the wheel and gunning the throttle, pushing the Leconti up the near vertical face of a wave so tall that King can barely see its crest. Bob can hear the engine howling in protest as they reach the top. Then Gigi eases off the throttle, but there's no stopping gravity. The Leconti plummets like a missile and Bob braces for impact as its bow smashes through the trough of the wave and disappears in a cloud of spray. Gigi glances over at Bob. You still checking those bilge pumps every half hour? Yep. How much longer before we reach land? By this point, they're not even trying to get back to their harbor in Sitka. They're just heading for the nearest coastline. Gigi shakes his head. Not sure. Right now she's topped out at around 2 knots. Bob grimaces. That's barely walking pace. If they can't pick up speed, they'll be stuck out here all night. And the storm seems to be intensifying. The lights flicker, then go out and the pilot house is plunged in the darkness. After a few seconds dim, emergency lights click on, but their navigation system stays dark. Gigi jabs at its power button to no avail. Ah, main power's out. Get Hanlon and go below. See what the problem is. Okay. Hanlon's still not doing too good. I'll take Mike. Bob returns to the galley where he finds Mike Decapua already putting on his rain gear and deck boots. Mike scowls at him. Where have you been? We gotta check the bilge pumps and the main generator. The pilothouse just lost power. Well, ain't that just friggin great. They climb upstairs to a side door that leads out onto deck. Before they open it, they wait for a break in the waves. Then they make a run for it towards the engine room entrance at the stern of the ship. Bob enters first. He's only down a few steps when he stops short. Mike, just behind, nearly barrels into him. What is it? Oh my God. Look. The last few steps are completely submerged. Seawater sloshes back and forth across the engine room with each roll of the ship lapping halfway up the engine block and into its motors. For a moment, Bob stands frozen. He has no idea what to do. All he knows is that they're still about 60 miles from the nearest land. And if they can't stop the Leconti from taking on more water, they'll never make it. Mayday, mayday. This is fishing vessel Leconti. We're on fair weather ground and taking on water. Mayday, Mayday. Captain Mark Morley switches channels and repeats his mayday call. But he has no idea if anyone can hear him. Fair Fairweather Ground is a dead zone where most radio communications never reach land. Unless there are other vessels nearby, he doubts his calls are going to be answered. His best bet now is to activate one of the ship's two emergency position indicating radio beacons called EPIRBs for short. They send a homing signal to the Coast Guard via satellite. He flicks the switch on the EPIRB that's mounted on the wall of the pilothouse. The second EPIRB he'll leave. For now it's handheld and only really meant to be activated in situations where the crew has to abandon ship. With any luck, it won't come to that. Morley's mind races, trying to think of what to do next. Then he remembers Bob Doyle is ex Coast Guard. If anyone will know what to do in this situation, it's him. Morley rushes from the pilothouse and down to the stern of the boat. There he finds that his crew crew has formed a bucket brigade in a last ditch effort to bail out the engine room. He calls out to Bob, who's at the end of the brigade dumping water back into the ocean. Bob. Bob, I set off to E ForbesB. How long before the Coast Guard gets here? In these conditions, I'd say an hour at least. Bob lowers his voice as much as he can while still making himself heard over the pounding waves. Mark, listen, I think you should tell the guys to start putting on their survival suits. Captain Morley feels the blood drain from his face, but he nods. Bob is right. The survival suits are their only chance if the ship goes down. Just then they hear an awful sound from the engine room, followed by a string of curses from Mike DiCapua. They know what that means. The engine is dead, and with no power, the leconti is now completely at the mercy of the waves. Bob Doyle zips up the front of his survival suit, then turns to help David Hanlon, who's struggling with his. They're in the bait shed not far from the engine room, where the rest of the crew is still bailing. Hanlon is pale and trembling from seasickness. His hands, usually so nimble when he's baiting hooks, fumble awkwardly with the suit. The zipper. Zipper stuck or something. Bob helps him, grateful that his own hands aren't shaking. They do that when he's been drinking, but he hasn't touched a drop since they left Sitka. He yanks hard on Hanlon's zipper, but it sticks just below his neck. And won't move further. The survival suits are bulky, made of orange neoprene, with strips of reflective tape on the arms and shoulders. They have inflatable neck collars to help the wearer stay afloat, and they're waterproof and insulated when properly sealed. But if they can't fix Hanlon's zipper, his suit will start taking on water, and in the frigid waters of the Gulf of Alaska, Hanlon could freeze to death in just minutes. But that's assuming they have to abandon ship, and Bob is still holding out hope against that. He hurries back down to the engine room with Hanlon staggering behind him. There they find Mark Morley and Giggy Morgue in their survival suits, feeling along the bulkhead walls. The water is almost up to their chests. Mike DiCapua is still bailing, now with an air of futility. Bob joins him. What the hell are Mark and Gigi doing? Mike hands him a bucket. They're checking for leaks. I told them that they're wasting their time. Even if we find one, we got no way of sealing it. As if on cue, Gigi starts splashing back to the stairs, shaking his head. Morley searches a little longer, then reluctantly follows. Just then, a massive wave slams into the side of the ship, knocking everyone off their feet. Gigi and Morley disappear under the water and the engine, then come up sputtering. Morley calls out, that's it, everyone. Quit bailing and get topside. I don't want anyone going down with the ship. Bob exchanges frightened glances with his crewmates. It's the first time the captain has admitted the unthinkable. The leconti is going to sink. Bob Doyle grips the railing and braces himself as another powerful waves slams across the bow of the ship. He and the rest of the crew are huddled together on the foredeck just below the pilothouse, which is giving them some shelter from the waves. The only one not with them is Captain Morley. He's upstairs on the bridge, sending one last mayday. Bob watches another wave approach. They're so high above them, he has to crane his neck to see. Then. Then the wave breaks, driving into the bow like a giant watery fist. For a moment, the nose of the ship disappears under the sea. When it resurfaces, Bob can see that some of the deck planks have shattered like toothpicks. The old schooner is breaking apart beneath their feet. Morley clambers down from the pilothouse clutching something that looks like an oversized flashlight. It's the second handheld epirb. Still no response to my Maydays Bob, is it too soon soon to activate this? He holds up the epirb. Bob shakes his head no, definitely not too soon. Do it now. Morley finds a switch and flips it and the EPIRB emits a pulse of blinding white light. It keeps blinking every few seconds, lighting up their wide eyed faces like a camera flash. Bob explains that the strobe will make it easier for rescuers to find them in the water. Once they've tracked the EPIRB signal to their location. And those rescuers will come from his old place of employment, the Coast Guard air station in Sitka, about 150 miles away. We've got to just hang on until they get here. Yeah, and we've all got to stay together. Morley starts barking out orders. Mike Dave, grab some rope line and start tying us together. Bob, do you know where the buoy balls are? Yeah, I'm on it. Bob scrambles up a steel ladder to the ship's roof, grateful for something to do. When he reaches the top, he marine crawls, afraid to stand up in the gusting wind. Even up here, the waves loom over him like mountains. The biggest ones must be 50ft tall, taller than the LeConte's masts. It feels like any one of them could come crashing down on the ship and smash it to pieces. The bright red buoy balls are lashed to the roof. He unties two of them find when the buoys are free, he climbs back down clutching a rope tied to each one. He moves slowly, testing his grip on the ladder with each step. The ship is now listing beneath them. One false move and he'll tumble past the deck into the sea. He returns to the crew and finds them roped together in a line. Mike adds Bob to the rope, then ties one buoy on each end. When he's done, Morley calls out all right, listen up. On my count, we're going to jump off the ship and we're going to do it all together. Everyone ready? Morley climbs up onto the railing which is now tilted at a 45 degree angle. The rest of the crew follows him with seasick Dave Hanlon bringing up the rear. In the flashing strobe of the epirb, Bob watches Morley stare down into the dark ocean below them, trying to time their jump to the rise and fall of the waves. If they hit a crest, it could sweep them all back onto the ship and tangle their rope in the rigging. If they hit a trough, they'll plummet 50ft or more. And from that height, hitting water is like hitting concrete. Finally, Morley sees an approaching swell and shouts over the roar of the storm, okay, on three. 1. In a flash of the EPIRB, Bob sees that Mike Decapua's eyes are squeezed shut. It looks like he's praying. 2. The LeConte rolls beneath them. Now it's practically lying on its 3. Bob Doyle feels the tug of the rope as Mark Morley hurls himself off the railing. Bob jumps too, and then he's falling through darkness into the cold, churning sea. Follow against the Odds on the Audible app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to all episodes of against the Odds ad free by joining Audible. From Audible Originals. This is episode one of our four part series, Coast Guard Rescue on Alaska's High Seas. A quick note about our scenes in most cases, we can't exactly know what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we recommend the books the Last A True Story of Rescue and Redemption on the Alaska Seas by Todd Lewin and Coming Back Alive, the True Story of the Most Harrowing Search and Rescue Mission Ever Attempted on Alaska's High Seas by Spike Walker. You can also listen to the audiobook version of Coming Back Alive right now on Austin Audible. Produced by Audible I'm your host Mike Corey. Andy Herman wrote this episode. Our editor is Steve Fennesee. Sound design by Joe Richardson, engineered by Sergio Enriquez Original theme music Scott Velasquez and 2K for freeze on Sync Fact checking by Alyssa Jung Perry Produced by Emily Frost Managing Producer Desi Blaylock Senior Producers Andy Herman and Austin Ranklis Executive Producer for Audible Jenny Lauer Beckman, Head of Creative Development at Audible Kate Navin, Head of Audible Originals North America Marshall Louis Chief Content Officer Rachel Giazza Copyright 2026 by Audible Originals, LLC Sound Recording Copyright 2026 by Audible Original.