I’m in the United States Coast Guard and used to be stationed in Oregon, where I’m actually from. Being on the Pacific, there’s trials and tribulations that your average human being would break down at the thought of. We once rescued the broken body of a 3 year old little girl who’s mother threw her off the bridge because of her schizophrenia. I’ve pulled more water logged corpses out of the ocean than I care to admit, but someone has to do it.
The city where I was stationed in is steeped in local legend from ghostly figures standing on the massive bridge, peering over the side, like they’re debating whether or not their ethereal body should take the plunge. (Spoiler alert, if you’re dead, then you jumped.) Spirits on the boardwalk and hitch hiking specters are also pretty standard town lore. However, I had my own brush with the final calls for help from someone beyond the grave.
Back in 2013, when I had first joined the CG, we got a ‘mayday’ call from a sailing vessel that was making its way from San Diego to Seattle. This was in November, the coast was a breeding ground of bad weather and awful life choices, especially for sailboats, which were notorious along the west coast. So, like any good Guardsman, we loaded up in our Motor Lifeboats and headed towards the man with the now capsized vessel, a mere 10 nautical miles away from our bay.