Ghost Wave - Chris Dixon [34]
Admiral Leuschner called his own grounding a classic and highly dangerous “communications breakdown.” Then he added, “But none of that diminishes the unambiguous responsibility of the CO [himself] for all outcomes. That’s navy tradition, with which I wholeheartedly agree.”
Leuschner would lose his command over the incident. He would go on to serve four years as a rear admiral, overseeing the development of computer-based combat systems before retiring. Yet Leuschner is under no misconception that things might have turned out far worse, for the ship and his crew, had the Enterprise struck Bishop Rock in even shallower water. Some might call it luck that it did not, but echoing Ilima Kalama, Leuschner said, “I prefer to think of it as God’s will that no one was injured.”
Robert Leuschner and Ilima Kalama represent two men humbled by the Cortes Bank who believe God spared them from worse fates. Yet the bones of one great ship do lie atop Bishop Rock—a ship, actually, larger than almost any that has ever foundered off the coast of California. How the SS Jalisco came to lie beneath three feet of water is another lesson of hubris and utter obsession brought on by the Bank and struck down by the hand of the almighty. It’s also one of the most bizarre and harrowing stories of maritime survival I have ever encountered.
Chapter 4:
THE KINGS
OF
ABALONIA
It seldom occurs that new islands arise out of the sea. But if it should happen that a new island arise, we state that it must belong, as property, to whomever inhabit it first. But he or they who colonize it owe obedience to the lord within whose dominion the new island arose
—Alfonse the Wise of Castille, 1265
On Halloween 1966, a story headlined “Pair Planning Island Nation off San Diego” appeared on page 11 of the Long Beach Press-Telegram. A small team of California entrepreneurs had bought a huge surplus navy freighter and planned to scuttle her atop the Cortes Bank in very shallow water. Their plan was to turn the Bank back into an island for the first time in thousands of years and then claim jurisdiction over its incredibly productive territorial waters. The men were, in short, nation builders.
What’s amazing is not that these founding fathers failed, but how close they came to succeeding.
It wasn’t until the second engine aboard Sallytender died that Joe Kirkwood began to truly fear for his life.
For the preceding hour, a twenty-six-foot fishing vessel and her ill-prepared two-man crew had been assaulted by chaotic 15-foot seas spawned by a relentless Santa Ana gale. Neither Kirkwood nor his buddy, Dick Hall, had any business venturing so far offshore. Death now seemed likely.
It was February 10, 1966, and the trip was meant to be a scouting mission to locate and simply get a feel for the waters around the submerged seamount Kirkwood planned to resurrect as Cortes Island. Not wholly unlike their ancient forebears the Kinkipar, Kirkwood and Hall had motored out past San Clemente Island late the night before. Yet, knowing nothing of celestial navigation or of following the invisible lines painted in the sky by seabirds heading toward a source of plentiful food, these pioneers had put their faith in technology, hoping to stumble upon the lighted buoy atop Cortes Bank and then spend the ensuing day leisurely snorkeling and exploring the waters around Archibald MacRae’s Rock. Yet the night passed without any sign of the buoy, and with daybreak, its flashing light disappeared, making their quest akin to finding a needle in a haystack. They scoured the trackless sea from dawn to dusk, and then turned back toward Newport just as the wind began to howl. Seas went to hell in a heartbeat, and the Sallytender was battered by an ocean blitzed with steep, angry swells.
One of her engines died, followed minutes later by the other. She turned broadside and pendulumed nearly 180 degrees in the precipitous, short-interval