In September 1989, a young woman was driving northbound on I-75, crossing the Mackinac Bridge from the Lower Peninsula to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, in a late-model subcompact car. It was late at night, raining, and very windy. She lost control of the vehicle and veered from the inside lane of the divided roadway to the outside lane. Somehow the car jumped the guardrail and traveled over the side of the bridge structure. The car and driver fell 180 feet to the water below, where they quickly submerged and sank to the bottom of the Straits of Mackinac. Rescue boats searched the waters, but found no trace of the vehicle or driver.
At the time, I was assigned to the Michigan State Police Underwater Recovery Unit, and sent to meet with several other Unit members in Mackinaw City on the south end of the bridge.
The team arrived at Mackinaw City three days prior to the day of the recovery dive. We met with the State Police from the Cheboygan Post, DNR Marine Officers, U.S. Coast Guard, Bridge Authorities, and local law enforcement. The first objective was to brief everyone about the accident.
A strong wind continued to blow for the next two days, so we had time to recreate the accident scene and plan for the recovery attempt. On the third day the wind and waves had settled enough to start the recovery dive.
My assigned partner and I were the first two divers to make the descent to the bottom, 156 feet below. We had an approximate location from U.S. Coast Guard sonar, where they had placed a 500-pound concrete block on the bottom as near to the vehicle as possible. Divers used a line attached from the bridge railing where the car went over, to the concrete block on the bottom.
My dive partner and I started down the ascent/descent line towards the bottom. The current was flowing from east to west through the Straits at about four knots that morning. We turned on our dive lights at about sixty feet and continued our descent.
The bottom came into view from about ten feet above, and we started our search for the vehicle, with me making a 360° sweep at the end of a twenty-five foot length of line. I found some debris from the inside of the car lying on the bottom, but not the car. Our plan was to make the sweep and return to the dive boat even if the car was not located. Our time on the bottom was limited at that depth, and we would soon have to start our slow return to the surface.
However, my dive partner tied another length of line that he had to the first and set off on his own. I stayed at the concrete block and started checking my dive computer. Much to my surprise, I was running low on air and my tissue gases were nearing maximum levels. I gave the emergency signal by jerking the search line three times to recall my dive partner. But, the line was slack. I decided that I couldn’t leave my partner because he might not be able to locate the line he left on the bottom and would likely have to make an emergency ascent to the surface. Due to the current, he would have been carried far from the dive boat and into the area where many civilian observer boats were riding around to watch the show.
I decided to swim to the end of the search lines to see if I could find him. Once there, I could see a dive light about thirty feet away. He had located the car, and had detached himself from the search line so he could reach it. I kept signaling him with my light, but it seemed like forever before he noticed and swam to me. I immediately started swimming back to the ascent line with my dive partner behind me. As I made the turn upwards at the concrete block I drew my last breath from my tank.
It was 115 feet to the first decompression station, where another diver was waiting with spare scuba tanks. I knew I couldn’t make it that far and turned to my partner for his octopus regulator so we could buddy-breathe and make a safe ascent. I didn’t know he had sacrificed his octopus regulator for an air hose to feed his dry suit (I was diving in a wet suit). The only option was to buddy-breathe using his one regulator. He took a breath and gave me the regulator. I was to take three breaths and give it back so he could take three breaths. The problem was that when I took three breaths I needed 300 to catch up. We buddy-breathed twice when I decided to take my chances and head to the surface as fast as I could. My dive partner tried to hold me back because of the danger making a “blow and go” emergency ascent.
Even before I left my dive partner, my lungs were burning and in pain. I knew I was in trouble. But, in a moment, the pain went away. I was beginning to lose consciousness. I felt quite peaceful. I was still headed for the surface and exhaling the expanding air in my lungs. I was thinking that I had finally “bought the farm”—my expression for dying. I was sure I was going to die—and I accepted this fate.
I kept my hand on the line as I continued my nearly unconscious ascent. I don’t know how deep I was when I noticed the safety diver above me. I stopped when I reached him, but didn’t have the ability to put the regulator he was holding in my mouth. So, he put it in my mouth and purged the water out so I could breathe. Fortunately, I had enough consciousness left to do that part.
Just as suddenly, I realized I wasn’t going to die after all. The safety diver was on wire communications with the dive boat. They had been worried about my partner and me because we were way beyond our time limit for the depth we were working in. I had to stay at the forty-foot level for what seemed to be a very long time to decompress. Finally, I was able to ascend to the thirty-foot stop, then twenty feet, ten feet and, at last, the surface.
I was extremely cold by that time and shivering uncontrollably. I was helped onto the dive boat and transferred to the Coast Guard Buoy Tender where I was put on oxygen. I was debriefed and taken below deck where I lay on a bed for a long time.
As I began to relive the incident, anger at my dive partner emerged. I wondered if I should have left him and tended to my own safety. But, Michigan State Police Officers are not trained that way, and the highly specialized underwater recovery team members are even more dedicated to each other. In defense of my dive partner, the water depth surely affected our judgment—and he did find the car. However, I believed he needlessly almost cost me my life.
The vehicle and driver were brought to the surface and transported back to Mackinaw City.
The question is: What did I take away from this experience? I didn’t see any bright lights or a glimpse of life beyond death—no angels or spiritual beings met with me. I was just lost in thoughts of my past and convinced I had bought the farm. I thought about my family, but not in a how-are-they-going-to-get-along-with-me-gone way. They were part of my many thoughts. Maybe I wasn’t far enough away from life at that point to see in that perspective.
I wasn’t panicked either, just peaceful. I’m not sure where I was, but I can say that I’m not ready to experience near-death again. What I took with me was a new appreciation for the transient nature of our life on Earth. And the experience changed my priorities in life. We are too often overwhelmed by the “white noise” in everyday existence, and would do well to eliminate as much of it as possible. Life is not a condition to take for granted.
Over-all, I look back at the recovery dive under the Mackinac Bridge as a useful learning experience. It certainly changed my diving methodology. About three years later I retired from the State Police and became a Scuba Instructor. I’m quite sure that my eighteen years experience on the Michigan State Police Underwater Recovery Team, and especially that day in late September 1989, made me a better instructor. In my opinion that’s a pretty good deal in life.