"I Couldn't Get Him..."

Five days after his father fell overboard during a violent storm that left their boat adrift off the Maine coast, Asher Woods was pulled to safety in a dramatic rescue captured on video. His first words were heartbreaking.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IF YOU GATHER UP HERE, WE'RE going to get started," says Deputy US Marshal Paul Schmieder.

It's late August and many of the dozen or more men and women gathered in a storage yard behind Little Bay Seafood Co. are dressed in shorts and T-shirts. Schmieder wears khaki pants, brown shoes, and a blue windbreaker with U.S. MARSHAL written in yellow above the right front pocket. He jerks a thumb behind him toward a battered sailboat surrounded by waist-high weeds, stacks of plastic barrels, wooden pallets, and broken lobster pots on the banks of the Piscataqua River separating New Hampshire and Maine. Schmieder says he'll be conducting a boat auction, ordered by a US District Court judge, but doesn't say how the tired-looking 41-foot ketch came to land a mile upriver from the Portsmouth-Kittery Bridge.

Five men want to bid on the boat, the Niobe. Three local reporters, a TV cameraman, and a handful of onlookers listen as Schmieder records the names of the bidders and says the winner will need a cashier's check representing 10 percent of the highest bid.

The bidding starts at $5,000. A few minutes later, the 1971 Sea Wolf is gone, sold to Ladd Carmen of North Hampton, New Hampshire, for $9,000 - far below its $30,000 estimated value. Carmen surprises the reporters who surround him after the auction by telling them he'd not only known the boat's former owner, Stephen Woods, but he'd once owned a boat with the guy.

A reporter asks Carmen if he'll change the name of the boat. "Why would I do that?" he fires back.

As he breaks from the gaggle and heads for his car, Carmen fields one last question. It comes from a would-be bidder who backed out at the last moment, telling a reporter he felt "some bad mojo on that boat." He wants to know if Carmen, too, thinks the boat might be cursed.

The new owner of the Niobe just shakes his head and laughs. "I'll say a few Hail Marys for Stephen Woods."

ASHER WOODS DIDN'T MIND DRIVING HIS PARENTS FROM Stratham, New Hampshire, to Rockland, Maine, where the family sailboat was moored. He just didn't want to do it that afternoon, October 8, 2005. His sister Maggie, lead singer for The Rhythm Ship, a rock band, was performing that night and Asher and his friends had plans to see the show. So he talked about the weather, a subject he knew would rouse his mother's attention. Deborah Woods, hearing Asher's concerns, told her husband she was worried. What kind of conditions would they face on the 100-mile passage to Rye, New Hampshire? The Niobe had to be pulled from the water and stored for the winter, but wouldn't it make more sense to try again the following week?

It worked; Stephen Woods relented and they postponed the trip. But by the end of the week, Asher's oldest sister, Emily Woods Forgy, was on the verge of giving birth to her second child. That meant Asher would go sailing instead of his mother.

Asher, then 20, dreaded the trip. He worked hard all week installing drywall for a small construction company, and when the weekend rolled around he wanted to relax. A sailing trip with his father, even under ideal conditions, wasn't exactly relaxing. Not only that, when they got to Rye, Asher would have to convince his older brother Colin, 28, to drive him 140 miles back to Rockland to get his car.

Asher and his father left early in the morning of October 15, 2005, driving close to three hours in near-silence, stopping at a small grocery store along the way for some grapes, a container of spring water, and a bag of pistachio nuts. There were plenty of provisions, mostly canned goods, on the boat, as well as some wine and a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream.

Depending upon wind and sea conditions, the passage usually took 12 to 16 hours, 24 if they stopped halfway overnight. Allowing for bad weather or mechanical problems, Stephen told Deborah to expect them back in Rye by Monday morning, October 17, at the latest.

Theirs was not the only vehicle en route to the Rockland Harbor Boat Yard that morning. Cabinetmaker D.T. Lewis had left his home in Manchester, New Hampshire, an hour earlier, "hoping to get there after the first yuckiness blew its way out." The National Weather Service had issued a small-craft advisory, predicted seas of 8 to 13 feet, and winds gusting to 30 miles per hour, with a short break somewhere in the middle of the fast-moving front. When the wind calmed down, Lewis went out to his 31-foot fiberglass sloop, the Trilogy, to make sure it was secure on its mooring and remove anything from the deck that might blow off. "There was nobody out that day," Lewis recalls now. "Even the lobster boats were staying put, and that says something."

So Lewis was surprised to see the Woods men tossing supplies into an inflatable boat tied up to the same float where he kept his dinghy. He watched them struggle with their outboard engine; it didn't start up right away and they had to use the tab of a Pepsi can to screw a bolt in. But they got the engine started and took off into the harbor, passing within 50 feet of Lewis, who waved as they dodged some waves and headed for the Niobe, a boat Stephen and Deborah Woods had purchased in 2001.

By the time Stephen and Asher boarded the 41-foot, two-masted ketch and motored out of Rockland Harbor, rain was falling and the wind was picking up. It was about noon.

Before long the Niobe's sails were unfurled; with Stephen at the helm, the trip was underway. His seasick son remained in the cabin, curled up. Over the next few hours Asher took the helm a few times while his father snuck below for a cigarette. Asher wasn't the experienced sailor his father was, but he knew the rules: Keep a heading and, if the wind shifts, adjust accordingly. Their plan was to stop for the night in Boothbay Harbor, but when they brought the sails down a few hours later, the motor wouldn't start. It was getting dark and Asher knew that sailing into the harbor without the Niobe's 50-horsepower inboard diesel engine was dangerous. Since they were making good progress, they decided not to stop for the night.

WITH THE RAIN GETTING HEAVIER AND WINDS APPROACHING gale force, they kept the Niobe off the coastline, heading south toward Portsmouth, New Hampshire. But by 9:30 p.m. it wasn't safe to continue sailing. Stephen asked Asher for help taking down the sails, but when Asher climbed up on deck he found his father already out on the bowsprit, trying to furl the flapping jib by himself. Suddenly, the boat came around broadside to the waves just as Stephen tried to feed a rope through a pulley to secure the boom. The boom swung fast and knocked Stephen into the ocean. Neither he nor Asher was wearing a safety harness or a life jacket. Miraculously, Stephen still clutched the line he was holding when he went overboard. Asher hauled him to the side of the boat, but was unable to pull him on board. He tried to position the swim ladder so his father could climb up the stern and into the boat, but that didn't work either. Stephen slipped back into the water, still clinging to the line. He yelled for Asher to bring the boat around, but the sails were down, the engine dead.

His father began to lose his grip and panic set in. Asher did the only thing that made sense to him: He cut the inflatable dinghy free, hoping his father could reach it and climb aboard. But he couldn't. The dinghy drifted off and, within minutes, Asher lost sight of his father.

The Niobe was 13 miles off the coast of Boothbay Harbor; 10 hours had passed since they left Rockland Harbor. Asher struggled to balance his grief with his fear of being out on the boat, alone. He ran below deck, grabbed his father's cellphone, and dialed 911, but the call didn't go through. He tried calling home, with the same result. After a fruitless effort to call every number in the address book, he gave up. He turned to the boat's radio, but that proved futile, too. Although he knew to set the marine band transceiver to Channel 16, the international calling and distress channel, he didn't know how to operate the radio. His Mayday calls went unanswered; he had no idea if it was working. He received intermittent electronic feedback, but not the human voice he'd hoped to hear.

He tried to start the engine, but was unfamiliar with the cockpit instrumentation. As the sea conditions worsened, Asher picked up a Sharpie and wrote "MAN OVERBOARD" on the cockpit wall, along with the time and date of the accident. He knew it could be hours before conditions cleared and the Coast Guard or another boat might come to his rescue.

In the meantime, he began to feel guilty, questioning his actions. Could he have done more? Was he to blame? Why hadn't his father been wearing a life vest?

He tried to start the engine again on Sunday morning and, when that failed, attempted to raise the sails. But the mainsail was in shreds, and his effort to send a storm sail up the mizzenmast was unsuccessful. He found a hand-held marine radio and tried calling for help again, but that died, too. The GPS was working, but the comfort of knowing his precise location was tempered by the realization that he had drifted so far from where his father fell overboard.

There was plenty of food on board, but he wasn't hungry. He was helpless. To pass the time and keep himself focused, he read whatever books he could find on board. He knew his mother would be waiting for them the next morning at Independent Boat Haulers in Rye. He wondered how long it would take before she realized the Niobe was lost.

DEBORAH WOODS LAST HEARD FROM HER HUSBAND WHEN HE LEFT HER a voice mail around 12:30 p.m. Saturday, the day he set sail. She called back and couldn't get through, and figured they were out of range. On Sunday she tried again with the same result. On Monday she was at the Rye marina early, asking if anyone had seen the Niobe. When nobody answered her, she called the Coast Guard in Portsmouth to report them overdue.

At that point, the Niobe was far east of Portsmouth and Rye. Later in the afternoon, Asher picked up the hand-held GPS and wrote the coordinates it displayed on the cockpit wall. He spent the rest of Monday watching, waiting, wondering when the Coast Guard would find him. He didn't see land in any direction; the seas were strangely vacant. He tried to read; he tried to sleep; he tried to eat, but the boat rocked so continually he grew seasick again. Around dawn on Tuesday morning, he spotted a tanker on the horizon and tried to wave it down. That afternoon, he searched the cabin and discovered a cache of flares and fired a test shot.

Later, with hope dwindling and his mood darkening, he scribbled a farewell note on the wall of the forward berth: "If I am found I am sorry for killing myself. I have no hopes."

By Wednesday, the Coast Guard had launched an air-and-sea search of the area between Portland and Rockland, unaware just how far off course the Niobe had drifted. At approximately 10 p.m. Wednesday, Asher spied lights on the horizon. He fired four parachute flares and two hand-held flares, none of which attracted attention. Meanwhile, the focus of the search had shifted to the area around Georges Bank, with jets, helicopters, and boats out of the US Coast Guard Station on Cape Cod all on the hunt.

Finally, on Thursday morning, his sixth day at sea, Asher was awoken by the sound of a jet circling overhead. He rushed up on deck and fired a flare. The aircraft circled for about 30 minutes, attempting to drop a supply package onto the boat. But the seas were too rough. A few minutes later the jet, low on fuel, had to head back. Asher had no idea where he was - 130 miles off of Provincetown - only that his rescue was imminent.

The pilot on the plane thought he had spotted two people on board the Niobe and relayed that information to the Coast Guard in Portsmouth, where Asher's mother and brother had just been told that, with another storm on the way, the search was in its final stages. They were driving back home when Colin's cellphone rang: The Niobe had been found, and two people were on board. They rushed back to Portsmouth, only to learn that just Asher had been found.

On the way back to the Coast Guard Station, the jet spotted a lobster boat about 9 miles from the Niobe. Although a helicopter had been dispatched, the Coast Guard asked John Doran, captain of the 86-foot steelhulled Amy Philbrick, to approach the boat and tell the two people aboard that help was on the way. Asher was below deck when he heard the lobster boat's horn blast, and he ran up. The crew of the Amy Philbrick yelled to him, asking what he wanted to do. He didn't hesitate; he wanted off the Niobe. They tossed him a life ring, he jumped into the water, swam toward it, and the crew hauled him in. As he climbed on board, he mumbled to no one in particular, "I couldn't get him. I couldn't get him."

The Coast Guard copter arrived quickly and lowered a basket. Asher climbed in and was flown straight to Falmouth Hospital, where he was examined, found to be in good health, and released.

FOR D.T. LEWIS, WHOSE BRIEF CONNECTION TO THE incident inspired him to write about it for The Ensign, a magazine published by the US Power Squadron, the entire tragedy was avoidable. "They made every possible mistake they possibly could," Lewis says.

Still, he wishes he had offered more than a wave as the Niobe left Rockland Harbor. "His father was bringing him on the boat as crew for this trip and the kid did not know how to operate the boat," Lewis says. "Nobody was asking when this story was out there, 'Was it prudent for that crew to take that trip at that time?' And it wasn't."

Two years later, speaking for the first time about his ordeal, Asher says he never lost his will to live after his father disappeared in the sea, but he did wonder if he'd be rescued. "Going through anything like that you're going to have your own demons to wrestle with. But I'm a little uncomfortable talking about that, I guess."

Now 22, Asher joined the Army in January 2007; he is stationed in Florida, learning the art of defusing bombs. His mother isn't thrilled, but Asher thinks his father would feel differently.

"He'd be worried, yeah, but he'd be proud as well."

James V. Horrigan is a freelance writer in Portland, Maine. Send e-mails to jvhorrigan@yahoo.com.