By Ann Scott Tyson
Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, January 4, 2006

SAGO, W.Va., Jan. 3 -- A dozen miners trapped 12,000 feet into a mountainside since early Monday were found alive Tuesday night just hours after rescuers found the body of a 13th man, who died in an explosion in an adjacent coal mine that was sealed off in early December.

The bells at the Sago Baptist Church pealed, and joyous relatives rushed outside to celebrate their miracle: miners surfacing after being in the cold, damp Sago Mine for 41 hours. Gov. Joe Manchin III said some would need medical attention.

"Everybody ran from the church screaming, 'They're alive! They're coming!' " said Loretta Ables, whose fianc, Fred Ware, was among the missing miners. She had lost hope when she learned about the dangerously high levels of carbon monoxide in the mine, but she was elated as she waited outside the church. "I feel great, very great."

The miners had apparently done what they had been taught to do: barricaded themselves in a pocket with breathable air and awaited rescue.

On Monday morning, a cart that takes miners deep into the mine had dropped the 13th miner off at his work station. It was 11,200 feet down the air intake channel, at the intersection of the sealed-off mine, where authorities think the blast occurred. Only 700 feet farther, the miners stopped the cart and walked off to begin work. They took their lunch buckets and gear. Their cart, undamaged by the blast, was still on the track.

Earlier Tuesday night, Manchin had held out hope for the 12, saying they "did not get the force of this blast."

"Our hopes are still high," the governor said. He said miracles happen in his state.

Bennett K. Hatfield, president of International Coal Group Inc., said: "We are clearly in a situation where we need a miracle, but miracles happen."

Federal regulators have cited the mine, in north-central West Virginia, more than 270 times in the past two years for safety violations, a third of them considered "significant and substantial," according to the Mine Safety and Health Administration. The problems included mine roofs that collapsed without warning, faulty tunnel supports and dangerous buildups of flammable coal dust. Recent violations included inadequate ventilation to dissipate dangerous gases.

Early Tuesday, rescuers drilled a 6 1/4 -inch hole 260 feet into an area near where the miners were thought to be. They measured carbon monoxide of 1,300 parts per million -- more than three times the level a person can safely breathe for 15 minutes.

After pounding on a pipe for 10 minutes, a common method for miners to communicate, rescuers lowered a microphone into the hole and picked up no response. A camera lowered into the hole showed no signs of wide-scale destruction such as a roof collapse from the explosion, making officials optimistic that rescuers would not have to dig through much debris.

Word of the deadly levels of gas in the mine left family members distraught. Some broke down sobbing, and others grew quietly somber.

"It's hard to hear they might not be coming out," said Michelle Mouser, a niece of Terry Helms, a "fire boss" who inspected the mine for problems each day before the production crews entered. "It's real down," she said of the mood of relatives gathered at the church as she sat under a drizzly, overcast sky earlier Tuesday.

"You've got the 12 that went in the buggy and the one who was dropped off at the belt," Mouser told the Associated Press after the body was found. "It was my uncle who gets the belt running."

Except for relatives and friends of Helms, whose relatives told reporters they suspected he was the dead miner since the body was found at his work station, there was jubilation. People at the church sang a familiar hymn, "How Great Thou Art," as other relatives sped to the scene to greet the miners.

"I got scared a lot of times, but I couldn't give up," Charlotte Weaver, wife of miner Jack Weaver, told the AP. "We have an 11-year-old son, and I couldn't go home and tell him Daddy wasn't coming home."

Throughout the day, mine officials moved to speed the advance of the eight-man rescue teams, especially after a 1,300-pound robot equipped with a special camera became bogged down in mud while exploring the mine. The teams pressed through dank five-foot-high tunnels, hastily repairing ventilation systems as they went, but forgoing other repairs.

Hatfield said damage in the mine "resembled" that of a methane explosion. Methane is naturally produced in coal mines and is highly combustible. The "very substantial" explosion occurred in the sealed-off mine near where the dead miner was found.

Although this entrapment was not similar, the joy at the rescue of the 12 miners mirrored the relief 3 1/2 years ago when nine men were brought to the surface, one by one, after being trapped for more than four days at the Quecreek mine near Somerset, Pa. Mining experts credited improved training in helping the miners to save themselves in both the Quecreek and Sago incidents.

At St. Joseph's Hospital, a second-floor wing was cleared in anticipation of the surviving miners' arrival, spokeswoman Lisa Turner said. She said the miners were first being seen by emergency medical workers in a heated tent near the mine's opening. There, oxygen levels were being measured, IVs for hydration were available and blood could be drawn for testing. Turner said the miners probably would be taken first to the church to greet their families if they were stable enough before being taken to the hospital, where, she said, it was likely that they would spend at least the night. The 59-bed hospital has been on high alert.

Over railroad tracks and down a winding road along the Buckhannon River near the mine, miners' family members waited with increasing anxiety, remembering the last time they saw their loved ones.

Sam Luntz, 61, recalled urging his brother-in-law, miner Martin Bennett, 50, to retire. "He was at my house on Christmas Eve, and we talked about retiring. He laughed and said he'll probably work at the mine for the rest of his life," Luntz said.

Despite arthritis and the telltale cough of black lung disease, Bennett would not apply for disability benefits, Luntz said. His brother-in-law "loved his job."

Bennett's son is also a miner, but Luntz said it is unlikely he will return to the dangerous work, "especially if his dad don't come out alive."

In the hilly backwoods of West Virginia, mining runs in families for generations, and when disaster strikes -- this one is the biggest in recent local memory -- the community pulls together.

"Upshur County is like family -- when one person is hurt, we're pretty much all hurt," Sandy Fultz, an emergency medical technician and volunteer firefighter, said as she directed traffic near the mine.

Carmalita Rice, 19, a neighbor of missing miner Fred Ware, 59, said she knew the tall, thin widower was at risk the moment she heard the blast, which shook her bed. "We knew his schedule, so we knew he was in it," she said.

Helms's son Nick Helms, 25, said he was afraid to attend a briefing by mine officials. "Sometimes I can't get up the nerve to walk in. I'm scared of the news."

Terry Helms's fiance, Virginia Moore, said she packed his lunch bucket with sandwiches before he headed to work before dawn.

" 'Okay, babe. I'll see you tonight,' " she said he told her as he stepped into his red pickup truck.

"Be careful," she urged him.

From the morning darkness, he answered, "I will."

Staff writer Tamara Jones contributed to this report.