Maroon containers larger than a car sat twisted and crushed. Massive steel beams warp into crooked arcs. Pillars of jagged concrete jutted out of the water—a tomb of debris that dimly reflected the gray-toned river.
From about 100 meters away, deep in the Patapsco River in Baltimore, the site of one of the worst bridge collapses in the nation’s history is a haunting scene.
The U.S. Coast Guard allowed The New York Times aboard a response vessel Saturday afternoon to witness the devastation of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, which was struck by the freighter Dali on Tuesday, killing six men, all construction workers. . they were working on filling potholes in the bridge.
As the 45-foot Coast Guard vessel approached the wreck site, a member of the service who had made several trips to the site prepared the passengers for the coming sight.
“It’s still shocking every time.”
The Coast Guard vessel initially approached the freighter on the rear side, the stern, which escaped much of the impact of the collapse. Two people could be seen walking along the starboard side, although it was unclear if they were researchers or crew members, all of whom are from India and remained on board to keep it operational.
An anchor that the crew had used in desperation to keep the ship from hitting the bridge was visible, submerged in calm waters. A thin and yellow boom floated around the ship to contain the leaks. It looked like crime scene tape. The gray and red containers were stacked nine rows high, momentarily partially shielding the debris behind them.
As the Coast Guard vessel approached the freighter, the enormity of the collapse became apparent. Some government officials on board, who were not authorized to speak to the media, shook their heads and muttered under their breath.
The warped masses of the bridge sliced through the ship’s steel deck, causing chunks of the blue hull to peel outward. On a wide stretch of deck cratered by the impact of the bridge, knots of blackened metal morphed into a tangled, metallic maze.
A large chunk of concrete stuck out of the ship. Two people wearing all orange moved through the debris on the deck, balancing on their arms and legs as if it were a mountain. Birds swirling alongside the cargo, searching for fish below, accentuated the size of the bridge and ship.
A vessel that appeared to belong to the Army Corps of Engineers moved between the triangular spaces of the bridge’s submerged girders. Other boats with cranes attached cruised nearby. Toward the north and south sides of the river, the outlying sections of the bridge stood tall, the gap between them now transformed into a deadly monument.
A few distinct sounds were coming from the site. Strong winds drove currents of water against pieces of debris. Faint noises from the boats’ engines swirled in the air.
Mostly, however, there was complete silence. Passengers on the Coast Guard vessel appeared to spend almost as much time looking down at the water as they did looking up.
The bodies of Alejandro Hernandez Fuentes, 35, of Baltimore, and Dorlian Ronial Castillo Cabrera, 26, of Dundalk, Md., were recovered this week.
But below, perhaps beneath the tangled remains of a bridge that connected two working-class neighborhoods in Baltimore, were the remains of four men that divers had yet to find: Miguel Luna, in his 40s, from El Salvador; Mayor Yasir Suazo Sandoval, 30, of Honduras. Jose López, 30, from Guatemala. and a fourth man who has not been identified by authorities.
As the Coast Guard vessel turned around late Saturday afternoon, its engine roared louder, heavy clouds hovered overhead. Soon, the scene of the collapse, spread across the pale waters of the horizon, seemed to fade. Images held in memory did not.
