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Preface to Into the Lion's Mouth

 

 

But I had a serious problem. To me, writing had always been an exercise in masochism. It forced me to organize my thoughts in an unnatural, disciplined way, a viewpoint I'd cultivated in grade school after suffering through several humiliating experiences. But far beyond my childhood phobia I could see other staggering problems. How would I start such a project? How would I find the Wildrake divers? Would they speak to me? Where was the ship? Was it available for inspection? How would I document the story? Where was the dive log? These were just a few of the hundreds of questions floating around in my head, all of which were shouting at me that writing a book about this particular accident was preposterous, especially for someone with no writing background. I might just as well have decided to climb Mount Everest with no experience, no guide, and no equipment.

For a long time thereafter I considered abandoning the idea because of my terrible feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt. I suppose if I had any sense at all, I would have thrown off the project. But images of Richard and Skip were unrelenting, and I began to think more seriously about what Jack had suggested.

By April 1995 I was wrung out from dwelling on the death of two people whom I'd never known. I finally sat down and wrote the first of many awkward letters to the Sheriff Clerk's Office in Aberdeen, Scotland, requesting any information on the Wildrake accident. They referred me to the local prosecutor's office, so I wrote to them. My letter eventually found its way onto the desk of Mr. Graham Napier, an assistant prosecutor, who not only sent me a reply, he took it upon himself to contact a Mr. Frank Murray at the Health and Safety Executive, the branch of government that now oversees diving safety in the North Sea. Coincidentally, Murray had been a diver and remembered the Wildrake accident, too. And on the strength of Napier's phone call, Murray traveled across town on a mission to satisfy my request, because he knew exactly what I needed and where to get it.

In mid-May I was driving to the local college when I stopped by my mailbox on the side of the road. It was a beautiful spring day. The heavy scent of lilac was in the air and orange-breasted robins were dancing on my front lawn pulling up submerged earthworms.

I retrieved a series of letters and among them was a large brown envelope. I recognized immediately that it had come from abroad. In the upper left hand corner was the logo of the Health and Safety Executive. I threw the packet onto the seat next to me and prepared for the thirty-minute drive to the campus, then gave into my curiosity. I tore the packet open and pulled a handful of papers out. The cover page was from Murray, the Principal Operations Inspector, and he explained that after being contacted by Napier, he had managed to obtain a copy of a judge's findings into the deaths of the two Wildrake divers.

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