I’ve been venturing out on boats in the land of 10,000 lakes since I was 4 or 5 years old. It started with fishing, tubing, and waterskiing. Then, in 2010, at the age of 31, I discovered my love for sailing. My wife and I have owned several sailboats and taken higher-level courses from the American Sailing Association and completed multi-day cruises on Lake Superior and the Caribbean. As a teenager, I became an Eagle Scout and completed aquatic lifesaving courses. I am strong swimmer and certified scuba diver. I considered myself savvy in the ways of the water.
That changed this spring while out with my 11-year-old son and his friend at our cabin on Slim Lake, in northern Wisconsin. We departed at around 4 p.m. to cruise on our new-to-us pontoon and planned on catching some crappies for dinner. The weather had been variable earlier in the day with some rain and high winds, but conditions seemed to have settled down. It was chilly enough that I wore thick canvas pants and a long-sleeved shirt in addition to my stylish “Crocs with Socks” look that so many dads out there have perfected. The water temperature was still chilly but warm enough that the bravest souls had already done their ceremonial jumps from the dock, lasting only a few seconds before running inside to warm up.
The day prior, I had showed my son the basics of operating the pontoon, such as accelerating and steering.
Our peaceful cruise was interrupted by a series of beeps from the Mercury outboard, signaling an oil pressure problem and leading me to investigate by removing the plastic engine cover. To my surprise, this turned out to need an easy fix of tightening a cap on the oil reservoir. Relieved, I decided it would be sensible to leave the cowling off and set it on a cushion for the remainder of the evening to monitor for oil leakage while we continued with our voyage.
We took off again, with visions of catching large spawning crappies for dinner. I thought, “Wow Tony, what a great day to be out with your son,” feeling grateful for the experience.
About a minute later, the plastic cowling bounced off the rear of the boat, splashing into the lake. No big deal, I thought, I will just loop around and grab it. As with any part of a boat, I assumed it would cost a small fortune to replace the piece, so I felt compelled to try to retrieve it before it sank for good. After coming around next to it, I noticed it was about halfway submerged already. It was about 2 feet from the boat, just bobbing along. This was in about 25 feet of water, in the middle of the lake.
I reasoned that if I could just get it secured to the side of the boat with a rope, I could hoist it up and save myself quite a bit of trouble. I kicked off my Crocs, set my phone and wallet on the table, and jumped in the water next to it. In the water, I tugged on the large plastic piece and realized that it wasn’t going to budge. It was a lost cause.
That is when things turned from bad to horrifying.
I looked up toward the pontoon, which had been blown by a strong gust of wind and was moving away from me very quickly. I swam as hard as possible for a couple of minutes but was not making progress toward the boat. It was only getting farther away. I looked all around, hoping I was close to land or another boater, but to my dismay, there was nothing but open water all directions. The water’s frigid temperature really started to affect me at that point, depleting me of energy faster than I could ever have imagined. The thick canvas pants that were so warm earlier now were an octopus’s clinging tentacles, pulling me below. I took a big breath of air, drifting under for several seconds as I fumbled to remove my belt and pants, releasing them into the dark water below.
From quite a distance, I could still barely make out the frightened expression and sounds of my son and his friend. With what little breath I had left, I shrieked, “Start the motor and come to me!” I could see that they were struggling to get the motor started, but by that time, they couldn’t hear me anymore. The wind had picked up again, and waves were pummeling me every couple of seconds, making it impossible to find a sustainable swim stroke. I was swallowing large amounts of water repeatedly. Not only that, but my muscles were cramping up from cold and exhaustion. I remember the moment it occurred to me that I could very well die like this and that my son may never get over it, that he would blame himself for my stupid actions.
As an ICU physician, I have seen people die from every imaginable ailment and accident. Most drownings I’ve seen were due to bad decisions, such as an intoxicated person diving into a shallow pool, or inexperience, such as a child wandering away from their parents and falling in a river. I wasn’t supposed to die like this, I thought. I can swim! But all the swim lessons in the world couldn’t prepare me for depleting effects of the frigid water and waves.
After struggling to keep my head above water for another couple of minutes, I had very little energy remaining. I lay on my back, kicking sporadically, unable to tell which direction I was moving. I no longer had any energy to survey the area or think about anything other than trying to breathe. Then, my level of consciousness began to wane. The water started to feel almost warm, and I experienced a somewhat euphoric feeling, as if I was falling asleep in a waterbed. Panic was replaced with tranquility. I knew from my experience as a physician that this meant I was close to death.
As I drifted into the abyss, I began to hear the faint sound of a motor running in the water. A tiny hum that was gradually growing louder. I didn’t have the ability to think clearly. I remember thinking, “Oh, what a funny sound.” My next memory was opening my eyes and seeing the pontoon gliding alongside me, as if a veteran boater was operating it. Through blurry eyes, I could now see the angelic faces of my son and his friend. They threw me two life jackets. I grabbed them, relieved, but still unsure how we were going to get my 190-pound exhausted body out of the water. I didn’t want them to enter the frigid lake no matter what.
I maneuvered myself slowly, using all my remaining energy, over to the ladder, barely able to hoist myself out of the water. I couldn’t stand and instead collapsed on the floor of the pontoon. My son and his friend covered me with blankets. I knew that I should remove my wet shirt too, but I couldn’t muster the strength. In hindsight, removing all wet items of clothing would have been extremely beneficial.
Next, I heard our neighbors pull up next to us with their boat and tie onto our pontoon. My son had called them using the cell phone I left onboard when I made my fateful jump into the lake. Everyone helped to warm me up and comforted me. After several minutes simply trying to slow my breathing, the shivering and shaking really kicked in again. My breathing was labored, my muscles were cramping and jerking. I could speak using only one word at a time. My mouth felt like sandpaper, which I thought was odd considering the massive volumes of lake water I had swallowed just minutes earlier.
Finally, we made it back to the cabin’s dock, where I had to lie out on the pontoon wrapped in blankets for quite a while before I managed to stagger inside, holding onto my neighbors for support. I laid there under quilts shivering for several hours before I started to feel a little more like myself.
That night, at about 10 p.m., I started to contemplate the miraculous chain of events that occurred. My first and most persevering thought was that I was a complete idiot and that I should have known better. The second thought was that my son, the sweet 11-year-old boy, had saved my life! It turned out that I never explained to him that the motor needed to be in neutral to start and that it was difficult to tell when it was in neutral, but he had figured it out. He also knew to call a neighbor with a boat first rather than calling the police because the police would take far too long to arrive in our rural location.
As I sit here, still shaken but relieved, I feel an immense sense of gratitude for having survived this ordeal, in addition to an overwhelming sense of humility. The neighbors who came to our rescue said that everything happens for a reason, and who am I to argue with that?
So, why did this happen?
It happened because I jumped in cold water without a life jacket and without an experienced adult crew on board who could help me. It occurred because I put my concerns about losing an expensive boat part above safety. It also happened because I didn’t know the vessel well enough to realize how fast a pontoon can drift away with wind. And it happened because I didn’t have a lifeline with a rescue device rigged up and ready to be thrown.
And if this could happen to me, perhaps it could happen to other less experienced boaters out there too. I questioned whether I should give up aspirations for more boating and stick with the landlubbers. Someone could reasonably reach that conclusion, and I wouldn’t fault them for it.
Instead, what I have decided to do is to share this uncomfortable story with others and heed the lessons it gives, and let it serve as a reminder that whatever can go wrong on the water, probably will.
On the water, safety must trump all other concerns. My experience operating more complicated and larger vessels had lulled me into a false sense of security while out on a small lake on a pontoon. There is no such thing as a safe boat – a boat is only as safe as its skipper and crew. Layers of safety must be put in place in advance and overlapped so that one is not solely dependent on one tactic for survival. Without stringent safety practices in place, a seemingly minor mishap can endanger the lives of all onboard.
As for my son and his friend, those boys now have a profound respect for the dangers of the water and the feeling of satisfaction that comes from helping others. They also know that when life calls for action, they have a well of strength to draw on that is deeper than they realized. While these are priceless lessons, I regretfully paid a large price to impart them.
Dr. Anthony Frattalone, West Lakeland Township, works as a physician in the intensive care unit at Regions Hospital.
