The Cave

by Liam Cochrane

  Tee was snagged on something in the cave.

  ‘I had to park him, literally leave him on the bottom [of the flooded cave]. I’m tethered to him so I can’t lose him. I clipped myself to the line, so I don’t lose the line. Then I’ve got to feel down the child to find out what’s obstructing him and why I can’t pull him forward. I find a black telephone wire . . . cut the black telephone wire, free it from his legs, then move back up to reconnect with the line, reconnect with the child and then move off again.’

  John said this incident confirmed for him the value of sedation. There’s little chance a conscious person would have been able to keep calm and stay still if they became entangled and their rescue diver left them on the cave floor.

  * * *

  The youngest and second-smallest boy, Titan, went next. He was a bit intimidated by the big Australian doctor, who looked like a giant to him. He sat on Dr Harry’s lap.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asked Dr Harry.

  Titan nodded.

  When the injection went in, Titan nodded again, but this time his head didn’t rise. He was out almost instantly. He remembered nothing of the journey out. None of the boys did. Dr Harry’s potions were spot on.

  * * *

  Chris – who by now had done the underwater obstacle course twice – had the job of taking Pong, one of the quieter boys, out of the cave.

  At 4.37 pm, they were felt on the dive line by those in Chamber 3. ‘Fish on the line,’ shouted one of the Americans. But around 5 pm, they could no longer be detected.

  Just a few hundred metres away, underwater, Chris had been switching grip, moving Pong from his left hand to his right hand, when he lost the line. He was in the same difficult dive section between Chamber 4 and Chamber 3, where John had just freed Tee from the black telephone line. Like John, he was tethered to the boy, but they were adrift and blind.

  ‘At this point, I hadn’t moved. I knew the dive line couldn’t be far away, but I couldn’t find it,’ Chris would later tell the UK’s Channel 5 News.

  His first reaction was that of an experienced cave diver and a man with immense composure.

  ‘I deliberately tried to slow my breathing down, stay exactly where I was, stay stationary, deploying a strategy of looking for the line and then ultimately finding this electrical cable.’

  The electrical cable led him back to the unmanned Chamber 4, where spare cylinders and other equipment were stashed.

  ‘Once I realised where I was, it was a relief. Obviously, I had one of the children with me, I still needed to get him out to safety; hypothermia is a concern when you’ve got a young child in the water for that length of time. So I wrapped him up in a space blanket while I waited for one of my diving colleagues to come past,’ he said.

  After a while, Jason swam past with his boy, the final one. Dr Harry was behind them. He stopped, checked on Pong and spoke to Chris. They decided that Dr Harry would take Pong for the final sump, with Chris following close behind.

  It was a near miss. But thanks to the calmness of Chris and the helping hand of Dr Harry, another boy was at the Chamber 3 base camp. Another Wild Boar was saved.

  * * *

  Poor little Mark. Each day he had waited, desperate to get out of the miserable cave. But each day, his escape had been thwarted. Overnight, Pae had found a smaller-sized silicone skirt to fit another brand of full-face mask. It was pink. He still wasn’t a hundred per cent sure it would be the right fit, but there was no more time to wait – they’d have to give it a go.

  Mark got his jabs and went to sleep in his tiny wetsuit. Jason checked the pink-skirted full-face mask. It only just formed a seal around Mark’s small face. But there was no other option. They’d have to risk it and be extra careful not to bump him against a rock and flood his breathing apparatus – a task that had become even more challenging as the visibility in the sumps was now practically zero, churned up by the day’s traffic.

  ‘I was confident of getting the kid out; I wasn’t a hundred per cent confident of getting him out alive,’ Jason later told ABC’s Four Corners.

  As it turned out, Mark was in safe hands. Just before 6 pm, Jason emerged with him into Chamber 3. Minutes later, Dr Harry followed with Pong. They handed the boys over to the rescue workers, who strapped them into rescue stretchers and began passing them through the cave. Around 7 pm, the last boy reached the cave entrance.

  All thirteen Wild Boars had been saved.

  ‘[It was] quite emotional,’ said the usually ‘stonecold’ Jason about the final walk out of the cave. ‘As we were getting closer and closer to the entrance, I got quite emotional. I don’t normally; it’s just what we were doing has to come out. And I’ve got a kid myself now, so it was quite a good feeling.’

  The media spotters who’d snuck into key positions told the reporters down the mountain, who then told the world. Within minutes, elation spread across the globe. They’d done it! The boys and Coach Ek were alive and safe.

  It was a fairy-tale ending.

  But there would be one last drama before it was all over.

  * * *

  By around 6.30 pm, the recovery divers and support divers had returned to Chamber 3, tired but thrilled by the successful rescue. However, the operation wasn’t over until everyone was out safely.

  All the foreign volunteers were experienced cave divers, but for the three SEALs and Dr Pak, who had been in the cave with the Wild Boars for an entire week, the dive out from Chamber 9 was going to be a challenge. Over the last few days, the British divers had brought in supplies for each of them, including full cylinders and a mask. They told them to wait for two hours after the last boy went out and then begin their exit dive. The rescue coordinators couldn’t quite celebrate until they were out.

  While the fifty or so rescue workers at the Chamber 3 base camp – including Thai SEALs, US military and the support divers – waited for the final four to arrive, they started packing up their gear, getting ready to haul it out of the cave. There were fast-food burgers and fried chicken to eat, and once the last Wild Boar had left the cave, a bottle of American whiskey was shared around.

  Around 9 pm, two of the SEALs arrived in Chamber 3. Then a third. Finally, the fourth and final member of the Thai team popped up. Everyone was greatly relieved – now they could relax.

  By this stage, the tricky S-bend separating Chambers 3 and 2 had been partially drained by the pumps, so non-divers could get through. But just as the last SEAL reached the safety of Chamber 3, a pipe attached to a water pump burst. Water started to rapidly fill the S-bend. Within minutes, they would all be trapped.

  ‘I don’t know if it was kind of a supernatural intervening, but one of the pumps back at Chamber 3 failed, and we had a fair amount of guys out there, waiting for the last group of SEALs to come out,’ said Master Sergeant Derek Anderson. ‘We got the call, “Hey, water levels are rising fast.” That was definitely a spike of adrenaline towards the end of the night.’

  Everyone hurried to squeeze themselves through the corkscrew exit. There was no time to bring equipment. The Americans, SEALs and other support workers dropped what they were doing and dashed for the exit. They made it out with minutes to spare.

  * * *

  Just before 7 pm that night, I pushed my earpiece into my ear, clipped the cable to the back of my collar and straightened myself in the pool of TV lights. We were minutes away from going live to Australia for the big update – the one we’d all been waiting for.

  Jum was nearby, out of shot. All night, she’d been feeding me the developments. She had three sources and when all three agreed, she’d let me know. Sometimes I could hear other networks announcing ‘one more out’, but until Jum told me it was confirmed, it wasn’t. Finally, her sources said all the team were out. But after a misinformation debacle on day one of the rescues – Reuters had reported that six boys had been rescued, which we’d dutifully relayed to our audience, only to find out soon after that this information was incorrect – we really wanted to be su
re.

  At 6.47 pm, the Thai Navy SEALs Facebook page posted an update, which the app translated to English as: ‘Twelve wild pigs and coaches out of the cave. Safe everyone. This time, waiting to pick up 4 Frogs.’ ‘Frogs’ meant frogmen – a reference to the SEAL divers still in the cave.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jum, smiling. ‘Oh, now I need to give someone a hug. After this cross.’

  ‘One minute to you,’ said the voice in my earpiece.

  ‘Hang on,’ I said, ‘I have to go and hug my producer.’ I jumped off-camera to give Jum a quick embrace.

  As I started the live cross, I found myself filled with a huge surge of emotion. Gone was the careful neutral face of the professional reporter. I was grinning ear to ear. I told the audience the wonderful news, feeling the happiness building. Suddenly, happiness was becoming something else. I felt my throat getting tighter, tears welling up in my eyes. I got through the cross, but only just.

  We worked all night, doing regular live crosses and radio interviews for eighteen-hours straight. That sort of interest from the network was unprecedented in all our careers.

  * * *

  On the mountain, there were jubilant scenes of celebration. Support workers lined up in two rows at the path to the cave to cheer and yell ‘thank you’ as each of the divers and rescue workers walked out. At the SEALs camp, it was party time. The men sang and danced and whooped.

  The parents asked Josh Morris if he could find the British divers and translate for them, so they could thank them in person. The two groups came together and Josh started to relay their heartfelt words to the UK team. Mark’s mother came forward with a ‘crazy-intense’ thank you, that Josh remembers like this:

  ‘I was so worried about him. He’s so little I didn’t think he’d be able to make it. He’s going to be weak this whole time. And then he didn’t come out on the first day, he didn’t come out on the second day and then he was the last person to come out on the third day, and I thought, “Oh no, is he alive?” But I couldn’t be happier.’

  For the American in the middle, it was an overwhelming moment.

  ‘I kinda cried in the middle of it. I had to stop and John patted me on the shoulder and said, “Thank you,” and I finished.’

  The parents wai’d the rescuers and the two sides stepped forward to hug each other.

  For John Volanthen, it was a nice moment, but the veteran rescue diver was a long way from tears.

  ‘[When] we meet the parents usually it’s to say, “I’m very sorry for your loss.” It’s always emotionally charged. For me, it was just a relief this time that we didn’t have to look anyone in the eye and say, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  ‘I am quite a lot less emotional about this than perhaps the press would like. What I would say . . . is who would you rather come rescue you? Someone who can make unemotional, sensible decisions and then stick by them and execute the plan? Or someone who is a much more emotional type of person? The emotion doesn’t work. It’s quite hard – I just am what I am.

  ‘It wasn’t a miracle. It was a lot of people working very hard and a lot of people pushing . . . there were a lot of very carefully considered steps to make that happen.’

  * * *

  That evening’s press conference was huge. Governor Narongsak wore his blue volunteers’ cap and a yellow neckerchief. Several soldiers were with him. They made their way to a table in front of the waiting media and arranged themselves in a line. Then, for a moment, they just stood there, as the press corps erupted into applause. For ten seconds, fifteen seconds, they let it wash over them, accepting the praise on behalf of everyone who had worked so tirelessly.

  ‘Nobody thought we could do it; it was a world first,’ said Narongsak, once they sat down. ‘It was Mission Possible for Team Thailand. This mission was successful because we had power. The power of love. Everybody sent it to the thirteen.

  ‘We’d like to thank the world and the Thai people. We’ve brought all the five out safely [today]. Their relatives are now going to take a fresh shower and get to see them at hospital through glass [windows].’

  There were more cheers and applause as the press conference wrapped up. I didn’t have to file immediately so I wandered around for a few minutes, trying to sear the scene – and the feelings – into my memory. These moments didn’t come often.

  Not long after, I bumped into a couple of reporters I knew from Bangkok and Phnom Penh. They were just as astounded by the result.

  ‘It’s just amazing,’ we said, in different ways, over and over again, shaking our heads, grinning, and admitting to each other that none of us had dared hoped it would end so well. ‘It’s just amazing.’

  It was little wonder this story had touched the hearts of so many people around the world. It had it all: a misadventure we could all relate to; children trapped and hungry; the race against time; the water rising, falling; the world sending its best and bravest; the tragedy of an unexpected death; then the dramatic rescue, playing out slowly, bit by bit; and in the end somehow pulling off what seemed impossible and giving the world a moment of much-needed happiness.

  ‘In my opinion, the whole world is the hero,’ said Governor Narongsak.

  At a time when the news cycle was so often full of violence, meanness and stupidity, here was something we could all get behind. Was there a single person in the world hoping the boys wouldn’t get out? For once, we were all on one side, united in hope. We were all on Team Wild Boars. And for just a moment, when those boys and their coach emerged from the cave, it felt like we’d all won.

  AFTER THE CAVE

  25

  Sending the Wild Boars home

  AFTER THE DRAMATIC RESCUE, the thirteen members of the Wild Boars were confined to the quarantine ward at Prachanukroh Hospital in Chiang Rai. It was a large sterile room, with beds lined up against two walls, facing each other. For the first day, the boys’ families were only able to wave at them from behind a glass window – after so long in the cave, doctors were worried the boys and Coach Ek would be vulnerable to infections.

  The parents wept as they looked at their sons. Young Titan asked a nurse to go and ‘tell my mum not to cry’.

  On the second day, the parents were able to go into the ward, but they had to stay at the foot of the beds. No physical contact was allowed. It was only towards the end of day three of the boys’ return to the world that the parents were finally allowed to hug their children.

  ‘I was so happy to have him back,’ said Sak, about his son Biw. ‘It’s like everyone says – it’s like winning the lottery.’

  The Thai government released video of each of the boys introducing themselves, thanking their rescuers and naming the food they most wanted to eat. Most of the Wild Boars craved pork – crispy pork, pork leg, roasted red pork, grilled pork, minced pork. It was clear they’d given the subject considerable thought.

  The doctors said that, considering the ordeal they’d been through, their health was remarkably good. Two of the boys had lung infections and one had a slow heartbeat. Some also had high white blood cell counts, a sign that their bodies were working hard to fight off infection. They were given a week-long course of antibiotics and kept in hospital for monitoring. They bounced back quickly.

  When they were finally discharged on 18 July, it was an emotional scene. Doctors and nurses lined up to farewell the boys, who stopped for high fives and hugs. Each one also paused in front of a video camera to wai and say thanks.

  Fourteen-year-old Adul once again proved himself to be an eloquent spokesman for the group, as he thanked those who had looked after them – and had taken plenty of blood samples:

  Hi. Ever since the first day I came here, I have felt all the doctors and nurses have welcomed us with open hearts, since you guys worried about us so much when we were in the cave. I don’t know what to say, and now that we’re parting ways, I don’t know when we will meet again. I want to come back and meet all of you again, but when that will be will be up to fate. I feel that
I love all of you. To all doctors, nurses and everyone, you didn’t just puncture my skin, you also punctured my heart. I love you all.

  * * *

  Once they left the hospital, the Wild Boars were taken to a press conference. It was the triumphant moment the world had waited for, a chance to see the twelve boys and their coach out of hospital, talking about their ordeal.

  The event was held at a local government hall on Wednesday, 18 July. In front of the stage, a miniature soccer pitch had been installed, complete with metre-high goals and several soccer balls. A banner on the back wall read in Thai: ‘Sending the Wild Boars Home.’

  The media build-up was huge. We arrived three hours before the start time, and soon afterwards all likely spots for tripods had been taken. A long line snaked out from the front door, as journalists and camera crews waited to register. About thirty photographers and videographers hovered around a side door, hoping to get a good shot of the team arriving.

  Eventually the boys emerged from around a corner, all dressed in white-and-green football jerseys. They smiled and wai’d at the crowd.

  ‘Nong, nong, nong!’ shouted the photographers, trying to get the boys to look their way as they entered the hall.

  The team shuffled in and play-acted for the crowd and cameras, kicking the soccer balls around on the tiny pitch, before taking their place on the stage on two long bench seats. The director of the hospital and two psychologists joined the team on stage. So did the four brave Thais who had stayed with the boys – Dr Pak and the three SEALs, semi-disguised in surgical masks and sunglasses to protect their identities.

  The boys looked surprisingly healthy. Each had regained about three kilograms in the week or so since the rescue, and they’d had fresh haircuts as well. The session was hosted by a well-known media personality and broadcast live on Thai television, with all questions pre-screened and asked by the moderator.