Death threat lost at sea rar

John Nevarez; his brother, Elias; and his wife, Rebecca, were found by the Coast Guard in the Atlantic Ocean, holding onto a cooler, after three days of drifting at sea. In May , Nevarez, his brother and wife left from a boat ramp in Mayport to go on a fishing trip.

Within hours of their departure, a storm came, waves overtook their boat and they were stranded in the middle of the ocean for 72 hours. Their training in the Navy kicked in and they clung to a cooler, rationing food. It had all of our drinks in it. It had everything we were going to use to survive," Nevarez said.

With the cooler, the three swam to the shipping lane routes. Since Nevarez's brother was wearing a bright orange shirt, they hoped a boat would see them. But the waves were unpredictable, slapping each other in midair, joining forces to create swells that raised the men to a brief peak where they could get a third-storey view, then, with the sensation of a falling elevator, instantly drop them. Their beach sandals provided no traction on the deck.

Alvarenga realised their catch — nearly kg 1,lb of fresh fish — was making the boat top heavy and unstable. With no time to consult his boss, Alvarenga went with his gut: they would dump all the fish. One by one they hauled them out of the cooler, swinging the carcasses into the ocean. Falling overboard was now more dangerous than ever: the bloody fish were sure to attract sharks. Next they tossed the ice and extra gasoline.

But at around 10am the radio died. It was before noon on day one of a storm that Alvarenga knew was likely to last five days. Losing the GPS had been an inconvenience.

The failed motor was a disaster. Now, without radio contact, they were on their own. The storm roiled the men all afternoon as they fought to bale water out of the boat.

The same muscles, the same repetitive motion, hour after hour, had allowed them to dump perhaps half the water. They were both ready to faint with exhaustion, but Alvarenga was also furious. He picked up a heavy club normally used to kill fish and began to bash the broken engine. Then he grabbed the radio and GPS unit and angrily threw the machines into the water. They turned the refrigerator-sized icebox upside down and huddled inside. Soaking wet and barely able to clench their cold hands into fists, they hugged and wrapped their legs around each other.

But as the incoming water sank the boat ever lower, the men took turns leaving the icebox to bale for frantic or minute stints. Progress was slow but the pond at their feet gradually grew smaller. Darkness shrank their world, as a gale-force wind ripped offshore and drove the men farther out to sea.

Were they now back to where they had been fishing a day earlier? Were they heading north towards Acapulco, or south towards Panama? With only the stars as guides, they had lost their usual means of calculating distance.

Without bait or fish hooks, Alvarenga invented a daring strategy to catch fish. He kneeled alongside the edge of the boat, his eyes scanning for sharks, and shoved his arms into the water up to his shoulders. With his chest tightly pressed to the side of the boat, he kept his hands steady, a few inches apart.

When a fish swam between his hands, he smashed them shut, digging his fingernails into the rough scales. Many escaped but soon Alvarenga mastered the tactic and he began to grab the fish and toss them into the boat while trying to avoid their teeth. They ate fish after fish. Alvarenga stuffed raw meat and dried meat into his mouth, hardly noticing or caring about the difference.

When they got lucky, they were able to catch turtles and the occasional flying fish that landed inside their boat. It was salty but not revolting as he drank, urinated, drank again, peed again, in a cycle that felt as if it was providing at least minimal hydration; in fact, it was exacerbating their dehydration.

Alvarenga had long ago learned the dangers of drinking seawater. Despite their longing for liquid, they resisted swallowing even a cupful of the endless saltwater that surrounded them.

He began to grab jellyfish from the water, scooping them up in his hands and swallowing them whole. After roughly 14 days at sea, Alvarenga was resting inside the icebox when he heard a sound: splat, splat, splat. The rhythm of raindrops on the roof was unmistakable. His crewmate awoke and joined him. Rushing across the deck, the two men deployed a rainwater collection system that Alvarenga had been designing and imagining for a week. Dark clouds stalked overhead, and after days of drinking urine and turtle blood, and nearly dying of thirst, a storm finally bore down on the men.

They opened their mouths to the falling rain, stripped off their clothes and showered in a glorious deluge of fresh water. Within an hour, the bucket had an inch, then two inches of water. The men laughed and drank every couple of minutes. After their initial attack on the water supplies, however, they vowed to maintain strict rations. They grabbed and stored every empty water bottle they found. When a stuffed green rubbish bag drifted within reach, the men snared it, hauled it aboard and ripped open the plastic.

Inside one bag, they found a wad of chewed gum and divided the almond-sized lump, each man feasting on the wealth of sensorial pleasures. Underneath a layer of sodden kitchen oil, they found riches: half a head of cabbage, some carrots and a quart of milk — half-rancid, but still they drank it.

It was the first fresh food the two men had seen for a long time. They treated the soggy carrots with reverence. We asked God to forgive us for being such bad sons. We imagined if we could hug them, give them a kiss. We promised to work harder so they would not have to work any more. But it was too late. They were on the same boat but headed on different paths. He gripped a plastic water bottle in both hands but was losing the energy, and motivation, to put it up to his mouth.

Alvarenga offered tiny chunks of bird meat, occasionally a bite of turtle. Depression was shutting his body down. The two men made a pact. His breath was rough. Instead he stretched out. His body shook in short convulsions. He groaned and his body tensed up.

Alvarenga suddenly panicked. You have to fight for life! What am I going to do here alone? Bear to take a little end-of- the-year holiday break. So far, he seems reluctant to leave his work on Wall Street. Morgan and Chase Manhattan Bank announced that fourth quarter earnings would be well below expectations. Half of the families polled said they expected a recession next year.

People are losing their confidence. They know something is wrong. Abby Cohen and other cheerleaders are still shaking their pompoms…but, somehow, the thrill seems to be gone. Before it is over, people are not going to want to hear about stocks. And few people…sniff, sniff…will want to read the Daily Reckoning. The annual rate of price increases at the wholesale level were unchanged — at 3.

Gold and gold shares seem unable to advance. And bond investors are paying less and less of a premium to buy inflation-adjusted bonds. The difference between the year TIPS inflation adjusted and the regular year treasuries is just 1.

The euro rose again yesterday…with March futures at 89 cents. Not likely; Wall Street starts business this morning with 3 strikes against it. Oracle announced last night that it missed its revenue targets. A key executive from Cisco resigned. And MSFT, mighty Microsoft, for the first time ever, warned that its numbers may not measure up to expectations. Her career got a major boost yesterday, she believes, when she tried out for a part on a French TV show. Also, she reports that a man came up to her on the Champs- Elysee and asked her if she would like to work for his modeling agency.

Since founding Agora Inc. His most recent project is The Bill Bonner Letter. Word came issuing from the United States Department of Labor this morning.