Upon the calm New Zealand sea,
bold Diana Stewart raised her lens.
A trip for birds, for whales, for light—
with fellow nature-loving friends.
The boat was steady, morning bright,
the waves were soft, the pictures grand…
until she saw an immense shape
rise from the deep and near the sand.
A whale beneath, its shadow long,
it surged toward the vessel’s side—
and in a heartbeat, chaos struck,
the boat flipped hard, then rolled and died.
Diana fell into the cold—
her lifejacket burst into form.
But when she surfaced for a breath,
she found the world was black and warm.
The boat had capsized over her,
its engine roaring overhead.
She floated trapped in darkness thick,
an air pocket her only thread.
Others were there in panic drowned,
their voices lost in engine roar—
their jackets kept them from diving down,
they couldn’t swim beneath the floor.
They pounded hard against the hull,
while freezing water numbed their skin.
Above, the skipper heard their pleas
and fought the waves to save his kin.
Help soon arrived; the six outside
were taken first to safety’s reach.
But divers underneath the boat
found five beneath—no breath, no speech.
They hadn’t drowned; they hadn’t frozen.
It wasn’t fear that claimed their lives.
Gasoline fumes filled their air,
the poison spread as minutes died.
Seventeen minutes after fate
had flipped their world and sealed them in,
the toxic cloud stole all their strength
and stilled their hearts in quiet sin.