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| Mel West and Impossible |
The first time I heard of Mel West was on a summer day in the early 1970s. Our friend, Leroy McIntosh, was standing behind his fish counter talking to my father when I came in to tell Dad I was going king mackerel fishing at the sea buoy. When I turned to leave, I heard Leroy’s voice―thick with his down-east brogue―saying, “Geoff, if you see Mel West out there, point him back toward the inlet." That evening, at supper, I asked Dad about “that Mel guy” Leroy was talking about.
Outwardly, Mel West was not unlike most Carteret County kids who grew up during the Great Depression. His father, Barry West, was a Coast Guardsman who arrived in Morehead City in 1927 and settled down to start a family with a local woman, Miss Archie Mae Merrill from Newport. Mel grew up close to the water, and like many local boys, he always had a small boat of some kind. He was particularly enthralled with outboard motors, which, in the 1940s, were still in the infancy of their development. His parents would frequently find him tinkering on a second-hand Kiekhaefer or Johnson, always trying to make it faster or a little more reliable. What made Mel different from most children was his love of the blue water and his penchant for taking his tiny boats far offshore. His father remembered Melvin once motoring a small skiff almost 60 miles beyond Beaufort’s sea buoy, and then returning safely home.
After graduating from Morehead City High School, Mel enlisted in the Army and eventually attained the rank of sergeant. During his time in the service, he married a Carteret County woman, Miss Esther Yeager, and the couple had the first of their three children. After Mel’s discharge from the military, he brought his young family back to Carteret County and embarked on a series of civilian jobs―mostly as an announcer at local radio stations, or as a restauranteur.
While these mundane jobs allowed Mel to adequately support his family, they did nothing to satisfy his growing desire for adventure. Indeed, Mel was a man with a unique obsession. He dreamed of taking a small boat, powered by an outboard motor, from the Beaufort Inlet to Bermuda. To do so would mean making a perilous journey across more than 600 miles of ocean in an open, single engine boat. It was a feat that, understandably, had never been attempted. But Mel didn’t think of his dream as a reckless temptation of death. Instead, he viewed it as an opportunity to promote and publicize the safety of recreational boating, and the inherent reliability of outboard motors.
So, in the fall of 1957, Mel West paused his job as a Jacksonville disk jockey and dove headlong into his obsession with adventure. He visited Casper’s Marine Service, in Swansboro, and made a down payment on a 15-foot, open skiff. He also bargained to purchase a small Mercury outboard motor to power his new boat. Although he still owed Mr. Casper most of the purchase price, Mel somehow managed to convince Casper to hand over “the keys” to the boat. This, even after Mel had truthfully explained that he intended to use the craft to voyage across the Western Atlantic Ocean. Having heard Mel’s audacious plan, it’s difficult to understand how Mr. Casper―or any reasonable person―could expect to see the boat, or
his money, ever again. But, apparently, such was the power of Mel West’s
optimism and charisma. A few days later, and without the slightest hint
of trepidation or irony, Mel christened his tiny vessel Impossible.
To help finance his coming voyage to Bermuda, Mel secured sponsorships from several Carteret County businesses. The money they provided helped him install a 116-gallon fuel tank in Impossible, and allowed him to purchase needed supplies such as flares, warm clothing and fishing gear. Some of the money was also used to hire a publicist, a man from New Bern named Charles Markey, who immediately began notifying media outlets in Bermuda and in the United States of Mel’s pending trip. Finally, after much preparation and several test runs in the open ocean, 28-year-old Mel West was feeling fully prepared and anxious to go.
The trip began early on the morning of October 17, 1957. Mel had requested that Reverend Seldon Bullard be at the Morehead City Yacht Basin to say a prayer over the venture, and to see him off. Mel’s brother, Sam, was also there representing the West family. For whatever reason, Barry, Archie Mae, Esther and the children decided not to attend. His publicist, Charles Markey, had invited several local news outlets to cover and photograph the departure. Reporters from WNCT and the Carteret County News-Times were there and created a record of the event that endures to this day. Police officers from two jurisdictions were also on hand to insure that the event progressed smoothly. At the last moment, George Dill, the mayor of Morehead City, presented Mel with a letter he had written to the Royal Governor (Lieut. General) Sir John Woodall of Bermuda, and asked Mel to deliver it, personally.
The United States Coast Guard, who would soon become a pivotal factor in Mel’s life, had requested that they be notified immediately before Mel departed. Whether intentionally, or by mistake, Mel didn’t do this. Regardless of the omission, at some point that morning, Fort Macon’s Group Commander, James Hunnings, became aware that Mel had already begun his voyage. He immediately relayed this news to the Coast Guard’s District Headquarters.
At 3:15 AM, Impossible’s small motor coughed to life. Mel said his last goodbyes and slowly pulled away into the predawn darkness of the Newport River. Unfortunately, this would prove to be a false start. As soon as it became light enough to see, Mel noticed a oil slick trailing behind Impossible. His quick investigation revealed that the vessel’s fuel line had malfunctioned and necessitated his return to Atlantic Beach for repairs. Mel finally had the fuel line repaired and the engine running properly by 8:30, so he, again, headed away, toward the calm blue ocean. For better or worse, he was now on his way into history.
Mel had calculated that a straight-line trip from Morehead City to Bermuda would take about 50 hours. That would be at a conservative average speed of between 12 and 14 miles per hour. He also figured that his boat had enough fuel capacity for more than 70 hours at that speed, so he felt confident that fuel wouldn’t pose a problem. But Mel’s calculations assumed a relatively straight course to Bermuda, and Mel carried only the most rudimentary of navigational tools. He brought a compass and several nautical charts. And he had a radio receiver that he could use to roughly triangulate his position from mainland radio stations. He intentionally didn’t carry a radio transmitter, and he left his sextant at home, saying he didn’t think he would be able to use it in a bobbing 15-foot boat.
Knowing he would eventually travel far enough offshore to lose radio reception, Mel hoped to then follow a simple compass heading, directly to Bermuda. Mariners refer to this basic form of navigation as “dead reckoning.” To be reliable, dead reckoning requires the mariner to have an accurate knowledge of his vessel’s prior course traveled, its true forward speed and its average drift from the desired course. Mel could only estimate these numbers. And while dead reckoning can be used when no other navigational method is available, it isn’t recommended as a primary method when, at the end of a 600-mile journey, you have to come within 15 miles of your destination to even see it.
From almost the beginning, things didn’t go exactly as Mel had planned. Two days later, on October 19th, he still hadn’t arrived at his destination. Nor did he arrived in Bermuda on the 20th. Although no one ashore could know it, Mel had already run into trouble. Once in the Gulf Stream, he encountered large patches of floating “grass,” probably Sargasso seaweed, that had slowed his progress to a crawl. He found that he had to slowly navigate around miles of these weed patches, correctly fearing that they could foul his engine and possibly shear off his propeller. So the duration of a voyage, which was once measured in hours, was now stretching into days.
On October 21st, the Coast Guard launched a full scale search for Mel, from both Bermuda and from the U.S. East Coast. Then, at three o’clock that afternoon, about eight hours into the search, the tanker Aldebaran radioed the Coast Guard that she had picked up Mel about 240 miles east of Cape Lookout. The news must have caused a brief sigh of relief to sweep through the Coast Guard and Mel’s family. But, if so, it soon turned into exasperation. Astonishingly, the captain of Aldebaran continued on to report that after making minor repairs to his boat, and accepting some food, matches and water, Mel had crawled back aboard the skiff and motored away―again headed toward Bermuda.
Miraculously, after over four days alone on the open ocean, Mel had been
found safe, happy and healthy. But less than an hour later, he was
missing again.
Having been notified of Mel’s location, or at least where he had recently been located, the U.S. Coast Guard cancelled its search and resumed its normal business, apparently devoting little more official attention to Mel or his voyage to Bermuda. Still, everyone in the service, from the admirals to lowliest bosun’s mates, probably suspected they’d soon be called upon to, again, search for the young adventurer. As it turned out, their suspicions were absolutely correct, but that task wouldn’t come for another six days. While not even Mel could know this, as he pulled away from Aldebaran, those six days would prove to be a rigorous test of the young adventurer’s strength and resolve.
To begin with, Mel had developed salt water sores on his body from being constantly wet. By his 7th day at sea, the sores had become painful and were festering. Also, his eyes had begun to fail, perhaps from the relentless glare and salt spray. Although he had little appetite for food, Mel couldn’t help but notice that his provisions, which had been planned for a 50-hour trip, were rapidly dwindling as the voyage wore on. Worst of all, at some point Impossible’s fuel line had developed an undetected leak. By the time Mel found it, 35 gallons of precious gasoline had spilled into the bilge and had to be bailed overboard. These adversities, combined with bouts of high seas, the occasional soaking rain storm, and late nights of loneliness, were all making for a difficult trip.
But in spite of these nagging discomforts, Mel was still able to see and appreciate the majesty of the ocean around him. In an interview he gave weeks after his voyage, he spoke of seeing vast schools of flying fish and Bonita―millions of individual fish―swimming near his boat. He also
once saw a tremendous splash and caught a glimpse of a feeding blue
marlin. Mel recalled noticing large sharks, some nearly as long as Impossible, who seemed to follow his tiny boat for hours―never threatening, just curiously
observing―and then disappearing as quickly as they had come. At night,
Mel often heard voices. In fact, he candidly told the interviewer that
he was amazed at how many voices spoke to him during his nights at sea.
On other occasions, he conversed with "The Good Lord." Those
conversations, Mel said, gave him tremendous comfort.
On the morning of October 27th, Mel had still not arrived in Bermuda. Very worried now, Barry West contacted the Coast Guard and requested that they commence a second search for his son. There is some indication that the Coast Guard was, by then, growing impatient with this venture, and it’s unclear exactly how they responded to Barry’s request. Apparently, while no new official search was begun, an appropriate radio message was eventually broadcast to routine patrols. Falling short of authorizing the search Barry had requested, it simply instructed personnel to be on the lookout for Impossible and her captain.
Lightening seldom strikes twice in the world of Air and Sea Rescue. While the odds of locating a tiny skiff, missing somewhere in the vast western Atlantic Ocean, are exceedingly small, the odds of finding it twice must be infinitesimal. Still, that is exactly what happened. A Coast Guard plane, flying a routine patrol out of Bermuda, and not particularly looking for Mel, passed almost directly over Impossible, only 165 miles west of the island. Remarkably, Mel was precisely on course, but he had run out of fuel, probably owing to the accidental loss of 35 gallons a few days earlier. The plane immediately dropped a small radio transmitter so as to establish verbal communication with Mel. Then the pilot notified his base that the missing adventurer had, once again, been located. The Coast Guard base, in turn, instructed its weather ship Rockaway to proceed toward Mel’s newly reported coordinates.
Having spent 11 days at sea, cramped in a 15-foot boat, one might think that Mel would have been eager to climb aboard Rockaway, or any other vessel that could take him to the nearest bathtub and restaurant. But, such was not the case. Regardless of his weeping sores, his parched throat and his lack of gasoline, Mel’s resolve remained strong that he should complete the voyage of his dreams. He politely, but firmly, declined any assistance from the Coast Guard. He did, however, request enough fuel to get Impossible the remainder of the way to Bermuda. Perhaps understandably, the Coast Guard wasn’t keen on this idea. In their estimation, allowing Mel to continue what they considered to be a reckless stunt―and a stunt from which he had now been miraculously rescued twice―would unduly tax the benevolence of the Good Lord. And worse, the Coast Guard’s involvement, to date, had used enough public funds to be noticed at the higher levels of the service―and by several newspapers.
Back in Morehead City, Barry West was notified of his son’s request for gasoline, and of the Coast Guard’s refusal to provide it. Barry knew that the Coast Guard was unlikely to relent, so he tried to organize a privately funded mission to ferry gasoline to Mel via seaplane from Bermuda. In spite of Barry’s herculean efforts to engage one, no plane capable of making the 320-mile round trip was available. So the idea finally had to be scrubbed, and Mel was forced to abandon his trip, some 165 miles short of its destination. It was a shortfall that would become the primary motivation for how Mel would write the final chapters of his life.
Mel had been located 165 miles west of Bermuda at about 8:30 AM, Bermuda Time, on Sunday, October 27th. 16½ hours later, at 1:00 AM on Monday the 28th―and after Barry’s many fruitless attempts to procure the needed gasoline―Mel begrudgingly stepped across the gunnel of USCG Rockaway. His faithful boat, Impossible, was also hauled aboard the ship and completed her final leg of her voyage to Bermuda, high and dry, on the cutter’s deck. The crew of Rockaway provided Mel with the first shower he’d had in 11 days, as well as a warm meal and some dry clothing.
At 2:00 that afternoon, as Rockaway was mooring in Hamilton, Mel looked across the city’s wharves and realized that he had become a celebrity. According to his publicist Charles Markey, over 500 people from around the island had crowded onto the docks and were awaiting Mel’s arrival. Upon seeing him, the happy throng began cheering loudly, and people began clamoring for his autograph. It was as if, somewhere out in the wide blue Atlantic, Mel had been transformed into a movie star.
As it turned out, the jubilant crowd at the dock was only a foreshadowing of Mel’s immediate future. While in Bermuda, he was treated almost like royalty. He was quartered in an opulent hotel where he received calls and well-wishers, with such frequency, he finally had to be moved to a private residence in order to get any sleep. Later, Mel was taken to meet Sir John Woodall, the Royal Governor of Bermuda. While there, he presented the Governor with the letter Mayor Dill had written. Mel recalled thinking, after many days of being exposed to ocean spray and rain, the letter was “in pretty bad shape.” But he was, nonetheless, able to read it to the enjoyment of the audience and the Royal Governor. A couple of days later, Mel was presented with an award by the Bermuda Power Boat Club, who praised his efforts to demonstrate that outboard motor boats had “come of age.”
Mel must have felt that his life on Bermuda was like a paradise compared to the cramped purgatory of his 11 days on Impossible. In his circumstances, some might have been tempted to remain on the island, indefinitely. But, in spite of the warm hospitality shown to him by the citizens of Bermuda, he had begun to miss his home and family in Carteret County. After four action-packed days on the island, Mel telephoned his father on Halloween morning, telling Barry that he would begin his return trip to Morehead City the following day. Mel then began preparing Impossible to be shipped to New York City, so that she could be retrieved back to Carteret County at a later date.
On Friday, November 1st, Mel caught a flight from Bermuda to New York, and after a long layover, he flew on to the Raleigh-Durham Airport, landing there at 4:00 AM on Saturday. After napping at his publicist Charles Markey’s home in New Bern until about noon, Mel started on the final leg of his journey home. He set out, east, on Highway 70, toward Morehead City.
On the afternoon of Saturday, November 2nd―after 11 days at sea, four days in Bermuda, and one day traveling home―Mel triumphantly returned to the place where his epic journey had begun. He arrived in Morehead, riding in a shiny new Lincoln Continental automobile, escorted by a pair of Morehead City police cars, their sirens wailing.
At the town’s municipal building, Mayor George Dill proudly presented Mel with the key to the city. Local dignitaries, such as Tom Potter and Joe DuBois, spoke at the ceremony and praised Mel’s bravery and fortitude, thanking him for bringing so much positive publicity to the local area. Mel soon took the microphone and humbly expressed his thanks to everyone who had so faithfully supported his voyage. Paraphrased, his speech included the fact that had he known how much support he had in the local area, he would have tried even harder to make his voyage a success.
There is no question that the citizens of Morehead and the surrounding area were rejoicing Mel’s safe return home. Had the audience been polled, most would have probably wished that home is exactly where he would stay. But the fact that Mel didn’t consider his voyage a success wasn’t lost on some in that day’s crowd. Later, publicist Charles Markey took the stand and coyly stated that Mel’s future plans would be announced at a later date. People who were close to Mel weren’t deceived. Markey might as well have come out and said it, then and there, “Stand by folks, Mel’s going to try again―and soon.”
Many would say that Mel West’s story of adventure on the high seas should have ended with his November return from Bermuda. Indeed, during the autumn of 1957, he’d thumbed his nose at God Neptune in a way that few humans survive, and folks close to Mel hoped that he wouldn’t continue to tempt fate. During his 11 days alone at sea, Mel, and his tiny boat, had gone missing twice. And both times, he had beaten the odds by being found in good health and high spirits. Upon arriving on dry land, he had been warmly embraced as an intrepid explorer by the people of Bermuda. Similarly, he had been lauded as a conquering hero by his hometown of Morehead City. He was now recognized as a person to be looked up to―a man who had bravely risked his life in a grand adventure. And, in so doing, he had brought tremendous positive publicity to the region where he was born.
Indeed, Mel was more than a local celebrity. It’s no exaggeration to say that he had become known worldwide. And the recognition had brought with it significant financial opportunities. After returning to Morehead, Mel was immediately swamped with offers from television stations and magazines, all of which clamored to publish his story. He had also received employment offers from a long list of sporting goods stores and marinas that wanted him to advertise their products and sought to capitalize on his fame.
Perhaps most importantly, most local folks treated Mel as if he had actually accomplished his goal of voyaging to Bermuda in an outboard motor boat, even if Mel, himself, didn’t agree. And the truth is, although he had traveled only about 70% of the distance to his destination, there was little question that he had proved the inherent reliability of outboard motors. He had traversed hundreds of miles of open ocean, and as far as anyone knew, his little outboard motor had never missed a lick. In fact, most people argued that he could have easily made it the entire way to Bermuda if only his worrisome fuel line hadn’t failed.
However, there was one person who wasn’t satisfied that Mel had accomplished the goals that had originally driven him to attempt his perilous journey―that person was Mel himself. In fact, Mel thought that his recent trip had been a failure.
According to several of his friends, Mel had begun planning a second voyage within two days after returning to Morehead City. This assertion is supported by the fact that Mel seemed totally uninterested in pursuing any of the employment opportunities the voyage had afforded him. He even shunned the lucrative prospect of writing his story for a prominent magazine, saying that he couldn’t add much new information to what was already public knowledge. In short, it appeared to many, that Mel was still devoting his entire life to only one proposition―motoring in a small boat to some destination across the sea.
There was probably always quiet speculation that Mel would attempt a second journey, but on January 13th, 1958, he removed all doubt. Speaking to the Morehead City Rotary Club that evening, he stated that he was looking for a partner to help him organize second open ocean voyage. He neglected to say to where. He did, however, confide to the club that, this time, there would be no prior announcement of his date of departure. People would only know he was gone, after he was far away at sea.
True to his word, Mel had already begun gathering resources for another trip. He still had his trusty boat Impossible. Before leaving Bermuda, he had her shipped to New York. Then, a few days after returning to the states, Mel and his uncle had driven to New York and trailered the tiny boat home. But Impossible wouldn’t be called on to make this trip.
People have often wondered why Mel remained so secretive about his second ocean voyage. Indeed, such behavior appears contrary to the interests of anyone intending to soon venture into the jaws of the cold Atlantic Ocean. Some think he was being discouraged from making a second trip by his family, and former sponsors. Many of these people privately thought it was a miracle that he’d survived his first voyage. Or, perhaps all the publicity had simply become an annoying distraction to Mel. Making guest appearances at civic organization meetings and answering questions from inquisitive reporters might have become more than just a slight hindrance to his single-minded work of preparing to go to sea, again.
On Tuesday, January 28th, 1958, Mel’s new boat, Empress of N.C. State, was seen moored beside Capt. Bill’s Restaurant on the Morehead City waterfront. It had been modified to include two large gasoline drums placed amidships. Some said it contained a spare outboard motor, stowed somewhere aboard. Painted on the port side, were the words “Shoup Boats,” which was the company that had perhaps sponsored Mel’s new venture. The boat also sported the insignia of Shell Gasoline, who had provided Mel with fuel for the pending of trip. Mel, himself, was maintaining a low profile. He was reported to have been in Morehead City on the night of Wednesday, January 29th, but this would later prove to be a false report. Then, sometime between Tuesday and Thursday, January 30th, the mysterious Shoup boat disappeared from the dock beside Capt. Bill’s.
In the second paragraph of the accompanying story, the reporter admitted that Mel West might have already departed on another ocean voyage, but the reporter had not been able to confirm this as fact. Nor did he know where Mel was going, if he was going anywhere. Later that day, Mel’s wife telephoned the News-Times and said that she’d been “placed under orders” not to say anything about Mel’s departure until 36 hours after he’d gone. She confessed that she had “told a story” to the reporter who’d asked her about Mel being in Morehead City on the night of the 29th. Esther now claimed to have driven Mel to the Morehead waterfront at about 11:30 on Wednesday morning. Once there, she had “put him out” and had not seen or heard from Mel since.
Tension began to build when Mel failed to arrive in Bermuda within a reasonable time after he had presumably departed from Morehead City. Further, if he had arrived at some location other than Bermuda, he was carefully concealing his presence there. Also concerning was the fact that the offshore weather had turned miserable soon after Mel had departed. Strong winds and towering seas had been reported south of Bermuda, slowing the progress of even large freighters. On February 4th, six days after Mel had last been seen in Morehead, the Coast Guard cutter, Chilula, left the Fort Macon station on what the service called a “training exercise.” To this day it remains unknown if the exercise was actually the beginning efforts of an “unofficial” search for Mel. Indeed, just the previous day, a few of Chilula’s crew members had told a News-Times reporter that they expected to leave on “a search,” soon.
If it was a search for Mel, it was short lived. Two days later, Chilula received a distress call from a tanker located offshore from Norfolk. The call required the cutter to stop whatever she was doing and immediately steam to the tanker’s aid. It was early Saturday morning before the she was able to hand the crippled tanker off to a private tug. After doing so, Chilula simply proceeded home, whatever “training” she had planned apparently having been completed. Mel, of course, remained missing.
On Tuesday, February 11th, Mel had still not been located. At about noon, Esther, contacted the Coast Guard and formally asked them to begin another search. Her request was quickly approved and the Coast Guard began its third official search for Mel in only four months. Although there is no specific mention of this in contemporary reporting, it’s reasonable to assume that Esther also shared Mel’s intended destination with the Coast Guard. If this was the case, it appears that his goal was Bermuda, all along. One thing is certain. The Coast Guard wasted little time searching anywhere else. They spent the next six days meticulously combing the Atlantic Ocean between Morehead City and Bermuda. They also searched a large area east of Bermuda, thinking Mel could have been blown off course, causing him to miss the island, altogether. Sadly, the search was to no avail. No debris or wreckage, that could be linked to Empress of N.C. State, was ever found. Nor was any trace of its owner. On the 17th of February, the Coast Guard reluctantly called off its search.
In the following months, rumors of Mel West “sightings” abounded in Carteret County. Most placed him somewhere in Florida. One particularly pervasive story was that several Carteret County men, fishing out of Miami, had seen Mel in Jacksonville, the previous week. They had even talked to him. Another was that Mel’s body had washed ashore on a Florida beach. A third was that he had been seen in Jacksonville, North Carolina. But, of course, none of these rumors were ever substantiated. When their sources were found and questioned, the story always proved to be nothing more than repeated hearsay or naked conjecture. And, as time wore on, the rumors quieted, the seasons changed, and people slowly stopped wondering.
The final chapter of the saga of Mel West will almost certainly remain a mystery. Of course, it is likely that the enigmatic young man, who was so driven by his need for adventure and his obsession of proving a proposition, that ultimately needed no proof, was simply swallowed by the cold Atlantic Ocean. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time such an adventurer met this fate. But a deeper question remains. Why did Mel do it all? Why did he choose to begin his second voyage at the end of January, when ocean temperatures are frigid and offshore storms explode in hours? Why was he so secretive about his plans? Why did he refuse to plan his trips in coordination with the Coast Guard?
Some of Mel’s closest friends quietly suspected they knew why the story had to end as it did. They had seen the depth of his obsession. They knew of his constant feelings of failure. They had watched his boredom with normal, mundane employment. One friend opined that, while Mel claimed to be proving that outboard motors had come of age, it was himself who he was actually testing. Had he been successful in completing his epic voyage across the sea, perhaps he could have been reassured that he, too, had come of age.
And Mel, himself, left hints of his motivation. On Sunday, November 3rd, 1957, nine-year-old Linwood Manning spotted Mel relaxing at the Triple “S” pier, on Atlantic beach. Just the previous day, Mel had returned to Morehead City from his October voyage to Bermuda. Young Linwood approached the adventurer, shyly asking for his autograph. Mel humbly chatted with the child for a while and then jotted this message to him. In a single, short paragraph, Mel revealed both his warm personality―and the nagging sense of insecurity and failure that might have driven his life.
“Perhaps when you grow up to be 28 years old, you can understand how I am now deeply grateful to you . . . for your heart-felt concern for me during my sojourn at sea. It’s my privilege to thank you and hope you will be much more successful in life than I was in crossing the Atlantic Ocean.” ―Mel West
