The Well Water Association’s president, Surapin Chaichompoo, would later tell the Associated Press14 that he and three of his employees had been working inside the cave for a couple of days to help drain the water when they had decided to take a nap.
They slept on higher ground in the cave but when Surapin woke up the water in the cave had risen, the other rescuers had left, and the quartet was trapped in the cave.
Surapin reassured his men that if the water levels could rise, they could also decrease and would probably do so by morning—but unfortunately the water levels kept rising.
Stanton and Volanthen devised a plan that would make use of the extra equipment they carried with them on dives like this—they were each wearing twin side-mounted air cylinders, as well as two demand valves (a mouthpiece, with hose attached that connects to the cylinder).
So to rescue the men, they made use of the equipment they had and, one by one, using the other’s face mask, they relayed the four Thais through the three sumps—which were up to 5 metres deep and perhaps 10 metres long. Once all of them were safely through the first sump, they did it again, until they made it back to the entrance.
The rescue effort still posed considerable risks to the British pair, and to the four men they were rescuing—but Stanton and Volanthen handled it with aplomb. As Stanton said, ‘the four, though scared, were very keen to get out!’
Surapin says his team of four owes Stanton and Volanthen their lives. ‘If they didn’t save me that day, I wouldn’t be here today.’
It was a low-key rescue compared to what would happen in the days ahead, but it served to remind those on the ground at Tham Luang just how dangerous their mission was.
It also signalled how important Volanthen and Stanton were to become to the rescue mission.
24–29 JUNE: INSIDE
In the dark
While the rescue operation outside the cave was taking its first, cautious steps towards the trapped boys, the Wild Boars were alone in the dark. On Saturday afternoon they had entered the cave brimming with confidence and full of adrenaline at the prospect of a new adventure into a hidden place most of them had never visited.
Some of the younger boys would later admit they were initially nervous, too, scared about the trek into uncharted territory but spurred on by their team mates, their lust to explore, and the promise of a new adventure. But in the deep dark of Tham Luang cave, the thrill of their expedition was soon replaced by the terrifying realisation that they were trapped, marooned on a sandy slope of Nern Nom Sao chamber, water lapping at their feet. This small sanctuary beneath hundreds of metres of rock was now their prison cell, from which there was no obvious escape.
It was almost always dark inside the cave, too; they did have torches, some of the few useful items they had brought with them, but they were careful to save the batteries and mostly left them switched off.
Although the boys kept track of time via Tee’s wristwatch, the difference between day and night began to lose its meaning after a while—especially as they didn’t have anything to eat, or much to do. To distract themselves from the growing hunger pains, the Boars busied themselves playing chequers, carefully drawing a board in the sand and using rocks as tokens. They did their best to not think about food, trying to distract themselves from the gnawing sensations in their stomachs, but it was hard.
Sometimes the boys would simply give in and cry.
Tee would later remember that while Titan was the youngest, at just 11 years old, it was 13-year-old Mark—one of the four stateless members trapped in the cave—who cried the most while they were lost. But 13-year-old Mick would attempt to buck up his team mates, telling them not to be discouraged or sad and imploring them to keep fighting—the sadness and the hopelessness would soon pass.
And time and again, Ek would lead the boys in meditation sessions. The former Buddhist monk guided them in the prayers he had spent years learning and reciting after the death of his parents. Fifteen years earlier, at the tender age of only 10, he had watched a fatal illness sweep through his family. First, his 7-year-old brother had fallen ill and died, then his mother succumbed, and finally his father. Experiences like these fundamentally shape a person’s character and help determine the course their life will take. Ek turned to his religion for comfort and guidance, entering a Buddhist seminary in Lamphun Province. Still grieving, the young boy found sanctuary as a novice monk in the monastery and took to his studies with aplomb, achieving Them Ek, the highest level of Dharma education for a Buddhist who is not a monk.
The prayer and meditation sessions with coach Ek were familiar to the boys—whenever they slept the night at his place, for example, they would pray together before bedtime. These sessions had two dividends. First, the meditation helped conserve the boys’ energy as each day passed and their hungry bodies fed on the little fat they had left on their frames. Second, it helped keep the group calm and focused, tamping down their feelings of panic and dread as each hour passed with no sign of rescue, or a way out.
Tee was one of the most devoted prayers. His family are followers of the highly respected local monk, Kruba Boonchum, a revered holy man. At the invitation of Ek’s grandmother, later in the eighteen-day ordeal, Boonchum would visit the cave to pray with the boys’ families at the entrance to the Cave of the Sleeping Lady. He had an unusual connection to the cave, and his visit was rapturously received by locals.
Each night, ever more exhausted, the boys slept near the top of the gentle slope at Nern Nom Sao. The water temperature in the cave, as measured by the divers, hovered between 20 and 23°C, while the air temperature was estimated at around 20°C. The water temperature was higher than it would have been in a cave in Northern Europe or southern Australia, for example, but while it might sound like a pleasant temperature for a short swim or a dip—roughly what you might want the temperature in a swimming pool to be—it was still cause for concern. After hours of exposure to the water the human body begins to lose body heat. Even the divers in their wetsuits lost valuable body heat during the hours they were in the cave. Over time, both the temperature and the dampness in the cave started to gnaw away at the boys, who were clad only in T-shirts and shorts, chilling them to the bone and putting them at risk of hypothermia, which was also a real concern for the rescuers.
Kiang Kamluang, Tee’s mother, would later share some of the details of an intimate discussion she had with her son soon after he had been rescued. Kiang says one of his abiding memories of his time in the cave was the bitter cold.
‘I talked to Tee about his time in the cave, too, not much though. He said it was dark, and cold inside, as cold as a refrigerator’s temperature. He said that he cried once for fear of being stuck in the cave for good. But deep down, he said that he believed there would be someone coming to rescue them. Ek told him to pray and meditate and he did so.’
Outside Tham Luang cave, the rain was still hammering down, hampering the rescue efforts of an ever-expanding team of rescuers, who could not even get 200 metres past the entrance without diving. And the water levels kept on rising.
On 28 June, after five days trapped in the cave, the situation seemed hopeless, and the Boars decided it was time to take stock and discuss their options.
The waiting was an agony; their steady diet of only water, which dripped from formations on the cave’s roof, meant they were becoming weaker every day; and after five days the cave smelt like a public urinal.
At this point the team had only two choices—to stay put, or strike out and head deeper into the cave.
Ek would later reveal in the first press conference that the team gave after they were released from hospital—although the details were sketchy—that he had actually left their sanctuary at Nern Nom Sao temporarily and pushed deeper into the cave.
The water, however, had risen quickly—Ek’s estimate was 3 metres in an hour, which seems unlikely—so he turned back.
In the subsequent discussion led by Ek, the Boars discussed their option
s. Some of the boys, like Bew and Dom, who had been inside the cave before, argued that they should head deeper into the cave and look for a way out at the other end of the system; a local ranger had told them, on a previous visit to the cave, there was a way out at the other end. This may or may not be true. As Martin Ellis, a member of the surface support team, says, only about 10 kilometres of the Tham Luang cave have been mapped—the full extent of it does not appear on any known maps.
In other words, no one knew.
The boys were about 2.25 kilometres into the cave at this point, and after five days without food a scramble of at least 8 kilometres further into the cave would have posed monumental challenges. Even if there had been no floodwaters or pinch points to contend with, such a journey would be far more arduous than a straight hike above ground; besides, it might also be flooded. And that was just the section of the cave that had been mapped. Who knew how much longer the tunnels would run for? Or even if there was an exit, undiscovered, kilometres ahead of them?
Thankfully, other Boars argued against moving on from Nern Nom Sao and trying to find an alternative exit. The team was growing weaker every day, and there was no guarantee that heading deeper into the cave would deliver them from their predicament. In fact, attempting to go deeper into the cave could have become a suicide mission, one that would have made it harder for the boys to be found, while the risk of starvation or drowning would also have increased. At Nern Nom Sao they at least had access to a supply of clear and clean drinking water that even tasted good, like ‘normal water’, as one of them put it.
In the end, Ek made the decision. He told the group to be quiet, to stop and listen. More water was pouring into the cave, rushing past them, and the level was rising quickly again. The team moved up the slope, out of harm’s way. The Boars realised they couldn’t head deeper into the cave; it was just too dangerous, with too many unknowns. They would wait for the rescuers they hoped were searching for them.
Ek realised he had to give his starving young charges—who were going stir crazy in the dark—something to do. He told his team that, rather than just sit passively on the slope, they should start digging, to try to find another escape route from the cave. The boys leapt at the idea. It gave them something positive to do—which was much better than just sitting around and waiting for help to arrive. So they all moved up to the top of the slope on Nern Nom Sao and started digging and tunnelling. One by one, each boy would attempt to fill his stomach with the water that was dripping from the cave ceiling, then work alone on the hole. Once he became exhausted, the next boy would take over. Eventually, they had succeeded in creating a tunnel 3 to 4 metres long.
Pong would later recall, ‘I was confident in the way we were trying to escape.’ He spoke for his entire team—the escape attempt, a hopeless endeavour through the thick walls of Tham Luang cave, gave the whole team hope.
In this way, hour followed slow, painful hour in Nern Nom Sao. But the Boars were pursuing two lost causes simultaneously: it was impossible for them to satisfy their growls of hunger, which started in the pits of their stomachs, with just water, day after day; and, similarly, digging their way to freedom was a hopeless exercise—although they didn’t know that at the time. But the digging did help pass the time, and give them something else to focus on besides their hunger and their increasingly hopeless situation.
As each day passed, the digging became more exhausting because the boys had no food and less and less energy, from day two or three inside the cave, the boys would later say, they became progressively weaker. And the digging would have used up precious energy that simply wasn’t being replenished.
‘I think most of us were very weak. We were very weak, we had no strength, no energy,’ Tee would later recall after their rescue from the cave.
Nevertheless, the team would not abandon their attempt to dig their way out.
There was also another danger on the horizon, though the boys didn’t realise it. Their air supply was slowly, imperceptibly, beginning to deteriorate. Not only was the air in the cave not being replaced but also their exertions used up more oxygen. The level of oxygen in the cave was beginning to fall, while the amount of carbon dioxide was starting to rise. That single factor would eventually threaten their lives.
On the evening of 28 June, as rescue workers from all over Thailand and around the world were still flying in, and as the boys were beginning their attempt to dig their way to freedom, a small monk named Kruba Boonchum Yannasangwalo arrived at Tham Luang cave. ‘Kru’ means teacher in Thai, while ‘ba’ means respected monk in the regional dialect of northern Thailand. Kruba, therefore, means highly respected monk who teaches, a term that stretches back centuries, to when Buddhist temples were the primary centres of education.
In some parts of northern Thailand, the local people call any highly regarded monk Kruba as a sign of respect—he’s usually over the age of 50, ordained at a young age, and has never married; these men don’t have an official title or rank, as in the Catholic Church, for example. And while there are many Kruba in the north of Thailand, Laos and Myanmar, few are as famous or well-respected as Kruba Boonchum. In fact, so well known is he that when people simply use the word Kruba in this part of the world, it’s understood that, unless stated otherwise, they are referring to Boonchum.
Kruba Boonchum became a novice monk at the age of 11. It is common for Thai boys around this age to be ordained and spend a month or two in a monastery—for example, during the summer holidays—before leaving to continue their schooling. After all, studying the Dharma, the teachings of Buddha, helps kids to become good adults. But 54-year-old Kruba Boonchum, the child of divorced parents in a poor family, loved meditating even before he became a novice.
Over the years, Kruba Boonchum’s popularity among Buddhists in Myanmar, Bhutan, northern Thailand, China and Laos has grown to the point where Myanmar’s leader, Aung San Suu Kyi, and the King of Bhutan, Jigme Singye Wangchuck, are among his high-profile followers.
Although he was ordained in Chiang Mai, Thailand, and is a frequent visitor to Mae Sai, Kruba lives in Myanmar for most of the year. Each year since 1976, the holy man has travelled to Gad cave in Myanmar, which is located between the cities of Saad and Peng in Shan state, and undertaken ‘Pid Waja’, which literally means ‘close mouth’—for three months he does not speak.
Some of the relatives of the Wild Boars, including Ek’s grandmother and Tee’s parents, are devout followers of Kruba Boonchum, so his arrival to pray for the boys’ safe rescue meant a lot to the families. But his connection to Tham Luang cave runs a lot deeper than that.
In the days after the boys disappeared, people would visit an informal shrine near the entrance of the cave where they would light candles and incense, and pray to a mannequin, dressed in pink—the Jao Mae Nang Non, the guardian spirit of the cave.1 The idea that dangerous female spirits, or Jao Mae, inhabit caves is common across northern Thailand2—as is the idea that praying to these spirits, beseeching them to intercede, can help.
But what of Kruba Boonchum’s connection to the Cave of the Sleeping Lady? Some believe the monk is the current reincarnation of the Princess’s dead lover and the father of her unborn child. So by visiting the entrance of the cave with the boys’ families and praying for their safe return, Kruba Boonchum was actually appealing directly to the woman he once loved.
After his first visit, on 29 June the monk declared: ‘Don’t worry. The boys are safe. They will come out in a few days.’3
Kruba Boonchum’s visit to Tham Luang Nang Non gave people in the district hope at a time when they needed it most. It was huge news, covered by local media and carried live on Facebook. For Buddhists, a revered local monk praying on site for the safe rescue of the boys could only help; the visit delighted Kruba’s large band of followers and, for the families of the boys, desperate to cling to any piece of good news, it gave them hope as the search dragged on.
It had been six days since the boys entered the cave and all t
he searchers had found so far were the boys’ shoes, bags and bikes. But all that was about to change.
28 JUNE – 1 JULY: OUTSIDE
International help arrives
While the boys ran down their air supply and used up precious energy clawing at dirt and rock, outside the cave entrance was roaring with human activity. What was for the Thai government already a major military operation was rapidly transforming into an international military effort.
In the early hours of Thursday, 28 June, the first group of what would develop into a 43-person team of US military personnel—including a search and rescue team from the 31st Rescue Squadron and airmen from the 353rd Special Operations Group—were sent from Kadena Air Base in Okinawa to Tham Luang cave. In the days and weeks ahead, this US team would play a key role in advising the Thai government on how to proceed with the rescue, supporting the dive teams and helping prepare chambers 1 to 3 for a prospective rescue attempt. The US Mission Commander, Major Charles Hodges, and his team were ready; this was just the sort of operation they relished.
Cave rescues are difficult. More often than not they become retrieval operations, with the expert divers heading deep into a forbidding cave, only to pull out the dead bodies of people they often knew as friends within the small international community of cave divers. But no one had ever attempted a rescue like this before—thirteen people, twelve of them under the age of 17, some 2.25 kilometres inside a flooded cave with the wet season bearing down.
The Americans threw themselves into the task but Hodges and his Dive Operations Commander, Master Sergeant Derek Anderson, were naturally intimidated by the challenging task ahead of them. As Anderson would later tell a television reporter: ‘The hardest thing is just trying to portray, in words, you know, without physically being in the environment, like what some of these guys were up against, and talking to a lot of the experts, like, that do cave diving as a hobby, were like, “Man, this is one of the five most dangerous caves I’ve ever been in, in my career,” and that was kind of, you know, the hair stands up on the back of your neck.’1
The Great Cave Rescue Page 5
