San Carlos Mexico, June 2024
by Dawn Norton as told by Steven (a true story)

It was a nearly perfect day of scuba diving. The water had turned choppy, though, and the boat was navigating increasing swells. After one peaceful, beautiful dive near a small island, the group decided to skip a second dive and try again the next morning, closer to the mainland.

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About five miles from the island, six teenage boys were spread out across the boat: two on the top deck, two sitting at the bow with their legs dangling carelessly over the front despite the rough water, and two resting in a small cabin below—one asleep, the other quiet. Four adult leaders, chatting up top, decided it was probably best—given the growing choppy water—to bring the boys from the front and upper decks to the back of the boat, just to be safe.

Tom and Rob, brothers, were leading this trip, along with Steven and Parker. The four of them were supervising scuba training for the boys on a modest boat owned by Tom and Rob.

Rob, who also served as the bishop of their local congregation, was acting as captain. He monitored the gauges carefully and noticed one of the engines overheating. The boat had handled hundreds of trips, and shutting down one engine wasn’t uncommon—so it wasn’t overly alarming—but Rob stayed alert. Then Steven noticed water collecting on deck. When he pointed it out, he was told not to worry: as long as the bilge pumps were working (and water was pumping out the sides), it wasn’t a big concern.

But within seconds, the water level had doubled.

Then the temperature gauge spiked again.

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One of the men grabbed a dive-mask bucket and managed to bail out a single bucketful—before the water visibly doubled again.

That’s when reality hit.

The boat was sinking.

Rob had been focused on the gauges. But suddenly, it was clear there was no time left. In the rush of realization, Tom had only one thought: “Grab your cell phone.” And he did.

The next moment, the boys were told sharply and urgently:
“The boat is sinking. We have to get off—now!”

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The boys below deck were called on to throw out life jackets. They managed to get five out before the boat’s back end began to drop and the bow lifted into the air.

From the moment water was first noticed to the moment the boat disappeared beneath the waves—only two minutes had passed.

The last person off the boat was one of the boys who had helped toss the jackets. To everyone’s horror, he got caught in the cabin doorway. He struggled, yanked hard, tore his shirt, and managed to throw himself overboard just as the boat sank beneath the surface.

Two boys had gashes that were bleeding. Steven silently wondered if sharks would begin circling. The rough waves had separated the group as they jumped, and now they were drifting apart. The leaders shouted over the wind and waves, urging everyone to gather together. Tom held a boat cushion under one arm and his phone in the air with the other, hoping—against the odds—for a signal.

They were 12 miles from the mainland.

Then came the first miracle.

The heavy scuba tanks—each 80 to 90 pounds—should have sunk with the boat. They had been left topside, and somehow, they floated. The team was able to grab every tank. Their vests, still attached, were inflated and tethered together, creating a floating system that supported all ten people—five with life jackets and five without.

Parker had thought quickly and grabbed a pair of flippers before jumping—just in case a strong swimmer was needed. After some discussion, he volunteered to swim for help. But eventually, the group decided their best chance was to stay together.

There hadn’t even been time to send a mayday before the boat went under. Now floating and tethered, the gravity of the situation hit hard. They did the only thing they could do:

They prayed.

And as soon as they said Amen, Tom’s phone rang.

It was his wife.

“Honey, the boat went down. We’re in the water. Call Preston for help!”

Preston, another boat owner who wasn’t on the trip, had connections and knew what to do. Whether the call had actually gone through was anyone’s guess.

Then came a text from Tom’s son:

“Hey Dad, hope you’re having fun! How’s the trip?”

Tom replied:

“Mayday. We are in the ocean. The boat sank. Call for help.”

In one final miracle, he managed to send their shifting GPS coordinates—before all signal was lost.

Now, they were left with nothing but the weight of their thoughts and the waves crashing around them.

One boy became anxious. Another threw up. Panic threatened to spread. The men did everything they could to help the boys stay calm and keep their thoughts focused. Steven’s son reminded them that they were near the same area where they'd spotted a shark earlier. That didn’t help.

Up and down. Waves. Fears. Hope. Repeat.

Steven’s thoughts spiraled:

“Will I watch my son die today? Will I see my wife again? Is this my last day on earth?”

But he knew he couldn’t dwell there.
He had to chase those thoughts away—cling to hope, faith, and the belief that their prayer had been heard. That someone was coming. That help was on the way. The question that haunted them all:

“When will the sharks come?”

One hour passed.

An hour adrift in the open sea feels far longer than it ever could on land.

Then—they spotted a boat.

It seemed to be heading toward them... then veered away.
“Maybe it’s not for us,” someone said.

One boy ripped off his life jacket and waved it wildly.

The boat turned back.

They were seen.
They were rescued.
They were safe.

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Later, they would learn about the chain of miracles behind their rescue.

Tom’s wife had reached Preston. Preston had contacted the marina and sounded the alarm. Three boats were dispatched. One of them was the rescue vessel.

That boat carried an American family and a Mexican guide. The mayday coordinates had been relayed in American units—not Mexican. A small difference on paper, but one that could make a deadly difference in open ocean.

The guide studied the coordinates. Then he swept his hand over the water and said simply:

“There. They’re probably about right there.”

And that was exactly where the lost group was found.

Later, Steven asked the woman on the boat what her experience had been. She told him she’d been scanning the horizon and gave herself a mental countdown—ten seconds before turning to search another direction. In those last seconds, she saw a boy waving a vest.

Everyone had lost shoes. Most lost wallets and ID. Rob had even left his passport at home. But the family found someone to deliver it to San Carlos in time for their return. Steven had just found a previously lost wallet before the trip—his ID was in it. That ID was sent with the passport.

There was one young man who didn’t make the trip. He had cerebral palsy and used crutches. The boys had encouraged him to come and just relax on the boat while they dove. But his mother had a strong, unshakable feeling that he shouldn’t go. She listened.

Another miracle.

One of the men's daughters was distraught when she heard the news. Her husband—who was also the son of one of the other men—reached out through a government contact and connected with the State Department. The distress call made its way to a Marine base 30 minutes south of San Carlos.

Just as the group was getting pulled aboard the rescue vessel, the Marines arrived—racing over the waves in search of them.

At least four boats had been dispatched to find them.

When I asked Steven what he learned from all this, he told me:

“I’m usually only comfortable waist-deep in the water near shore. It was a mental battle. I had to push those thoughts out and replace them—decide we were going to be okay. That God was aware of us.”

Then he added:

“God is very aware of us in every detail. Everything about this tragedy went very perfectly. Heaven knew every moment. I felt guardian angels fending off the sharks and the danger. Satan was tempting us in our thoughts, but God helped us through—even our darkest moments. I discovered I have a strong will to live.
We get to decide who we’re going to be—and we get to decide not to be defeated.”

I was spellbound by his story. Moved by the conscious decisions made at every point to choose faith, to believe in unseen help. I personally know three of the four men involved. And my own gratitude joined theirs as I thought of the loss this could have been.

I thought of the Unseen Help racing to their rescue—and I was reminded:

We all have access to that same help when the waves crash around us.

We all get to choose:
To hold on.
To believe.
To lift our thoughts.
To watch for the help that is coming.

We get to choose—always—to believe.

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