On March 13, 1993, a ferocious storm, later described as “The Storm of the Century,” was charging across the state of Florida and exploded off the coast of Palm Beach County with winds gusting over 70 miles per hour, churning the Atlantic into a monster.
Caught in the maelstrom, a 40-foot sailboat, named Charley’s Crab, captained by a prominent Palm Beach restaurateur and experienced sailor, raced toward the Jupiter Inlet from the Bahamas.
The man, his wife, another couple, and the boat were never seen again. Despite two unsuccessful SOS calls, the ketch, equipped with life rafts, had an emergency locator beacon that was apparently never activated. United Press International reported at the time that rescuers suggested that if the boat was disabled, the powerful current could have carried it as far north as Georgia.
Palm Beach lifeguards Harper Case, Tristan Cox, and Lex Bohn make a mock rescue
Since then, the Florida coast has been hit by several more destructive hurricanes that lingered for days, causing billions of dollars in damages. The 1993 storm was not a hurricane, but rather a freak, fast-moving cyclonic system that crossed the state from the Gulf of Mexico and gathered strength as it tracked east. Far less predictable than a hurricane, it was described as a nor’easter and affected weather all the way to Canada.
Just a few miles east of the white beaches that front the elegant Breakers hotel, a wide river of green-blue saltwater swiftly flows south to north, sweeping from the Straits of Florida up the East Coast of the United States into the North Atlantic. The Gulf Stream propels tens of millions of sea creatures, tons upon tons of human refuse, and countless coconuts all the way to coastal Northwestern Europe. Caused by circular currents and powerful winds, objects can move at a fast walking pace (up to six miles per hour) through shipping routes, deep sea fishing banks, and whaling grounds.
From left: the Palm Beach lifeguard team, Cox, Delgado, Lugo, Bohn, Pierre Pucan, Devin Volder, and Harper Case
Ask any ocean angler, and they’ll say it’s where the big fish are.
Ask any recreational boater, and they’ll say it’s where the waters are warm and luminous.
Ask any experienced sailor, and they’ll tell you it is where mariners have been disappearing for centuries.
All of this would likely come as a surprise to vacationers who are shuttled to beach chairs from the nearby Colony Hotel or sun seekers at The Breakers longing for a dip after a few “Debutantes” (a signature concoction of tequila, kiwi, and avocado). In fact, Tideschart, a respected tide and weather forecaster, has evaluated 528 American beaches and found that, historically, the top ten most dangerous in the country, based on shark attacks, rip currents, and surf zone fatalities, are in Florida. With hurricanes playing an outsize role in the ranking, Palm Beach ranks seventh most dangerous.
In the Florida summer, during the June, July, and August doldrums, the surf gently laps at the beaches along Palm Beach’s roughly 16 miles of shoreline, occasionally reinvigorated by the now-rare hurricane. But fall and winter signal a personality shift in the ocean and a population surge on land. The beaches are crowded with tourists longing for tropical water. For the town’s lifeguards, it’s show time.
Palm Beach’s lifeguard supervisor, Craig Pollock, who has been patrolling its beaches for 38 years.
Craig Pollock, Palm Beach’s Lifeguard Supervisor, has been patrolling its beaches for 38 years. He figures he has rescued “many dozens of swimmers” in distress. “It’s deceiving because it’s beautiful. You come down here from Cleveland or Green Bay, where it’s two degrees. [In Florida], the water’s pristine. And we’ll have a two- to three-foot wind chop, but there are rip currents, there are [Portuguese] man o’ war, there are dangers that they’re not looking for. Everyone’s on vacation, so they let their guard down.”
In March of 2019, David and Patty Porter, tourists from Missouri, were taking a stroll on Midtown Beach when a giant wave surged practically up to the street, sweeping Patty into the surf. Her husband couldn’t believe what was happening. “This rogue wave, the biggest one I’ve ever seen, came up over these rocks,” David says. Patty was pulled into the water and was being dragged out. He raced in to save her.
Lex Bohn
“Once I turned my back, the first wave hit me, knocked me down, and then when it dragged me out, I was already on the rocks,” he says. “I’m trying to get out, it hits me, knocks me down, drags me back, throws me on the rocks a second time, and I hit my right shin. So, I get up, and it throws me in there one more time.”
Pollock, in street clothes, happened to be nearby and raced into the surging surf.
“All of a sudden, somebody bear hugs me from behind,” David recalls. “He said, ‘I got you, I got you.’ I’m trying to tell him my wife is out there and he says, ‘No, no. Your wife’s okay. I got her.’ He saved both of us, one at a time. His boss has told me that he hangs out a lot with surfers, and that he knows more about the patterns of those currents than anybody out there.”
Powerful and swift rip currents that pull bathers out to sea are the biggest close-to-shore hazards. On a given weekend at the height of the Palm Beach season, Pollock says he and his staff, six full-time and six part-time lifeguards, have been known to rescue up to six or seven people.
“We mainly try to do preventative lifeguarding by keeping people out of the hazardous areas that may have rip currents, or swimming too close to the rocks or any other hazard that may exist that particular day.”
Pollock and his lifeguards are regularly scanning the shoreline and go into high alert any time the surf is rough. He recalls one particular team effort that involved his colleagues at Palm Beach Fire-Rescue.
“I got to the tower, I look up and saw a floating body,” Pollock says. “I go down, grab him out of the water. I mean, he was as blue as my shorts. He was purple and blue. We kind of go underneath the person, you grab them, you twist them, you put them over your shoulders, bring them up to the shore. We were plugging away, doing CPR, waiting for Fire-Rescue to show up, Cavalry. There was a firefighter checking for heart rhythms.
This is an excerpt from PALMER Vol. 11. To read the full story, click here to purchase the issue.
