by Gray, Gordon
The first Zodiac to go in discovered that we could not use this landing spot as the fire brigade had closed the road and run their hoses from the sea across the road to the dump. The only alternative was to attempt to land nearer to the town by the small bay used by local craft.
This was fine, except that it was low tide. Due to airline schedules we could not wait for high tide, so we all donned our boots and waterproofs again and paddled from the Zodiacs for 400 yards up the muddy bottom of the small boat haven. However, all went well and they managed to get all the bags ashore too. Somehow we all made it without falling face first into the mud and eventually, our cases all arrived at the airport.
So ended our voyage to try and transit the Northwest Passage in the footsteps of Henry Larsen. ‘To but not through’ is my definition of the trip, but it is a trip remembered for the great wild life, an impressive display of the awesome Aurora, amazing icebergs and fantastic fjords, which was made all the more enjoyable with two good guys as cabin mates.
CHAPTER 14
Three Key Elements – Ships, the Sea and Ice
Ships
Since the day when I was handed out of the Mail Steamer to the waiting boatman, I have always found ships fascinating. If there are ships to look at, climb on board, or sail in, then I am happy. Why? It’s hard to say exactly. There is no one single factor, but a combination of things. Their size is one thing: ships are always big especially when they are in port and you are close to them; even small harbour tugs have a solid, impregnable look and feel to them. Ships all seem to have their own character according to their role and they are living things and traditionally called ‘She’. As ladies of the sea, their graceful and elegant lines make them a pleasure to look at. Some are more graceful looking and ladylike than others but, an elegant ship is a beautiful sight while a scruffy coaster can exhibit a tough no nonsense attitude.
In many ways ships are a contradiction. They are designed to do a job of work as cheaply as possible; to carry cargoes and make money. That they can also be attractive to look at is a great bonus. It is hard to believe that the graceful, sculptured hull forms of ships that have evolved in design over the centuries to better meet the elements; are made up from cold, hard, flat steel plates and that they are not created by an artist or sculptor. They could have evolved looking like square railway trucks which essentially do the same job! The wooden ships of old all started out as flat planks on the shipyard floor that were bent and steamed, carved and turned into the right shapes to do the job in the best way they could. Traditionally, steel ships were built from sheets of steel that were cut and bent, in to ribs and frames, and riveted together out on the open slipway. Today ships are assembled as kits, complete hull sections in covered assembly halls. Ships are made up of hundreds of thousands of individual components, sub assemblies, assemblies and even whole hull sections are now built separately and completed with all the internal equipments, fixtures and fittings before they are placed next to their neighbours in the building dock. These are then welded together to form the complete ship.
While ships can have a romantic aura about them, shipbuilding itself is not a romantic occupation. Ask any shipyard worker about working conditions in the shipyards, especially in the old days. Summer or winter they were outside in the wind and the wet, handling huge pieces of hard cold, sharp edged steel; climbing high in the unfinished frames of ships’ hulls or working deep inside the machinery spaces. There was the endless noise of the riveting hammers and while modern welding is quieter, shipyards are still noisy and dangerous places to work. However, the workers have the pleasure of watching a new ship being created and most workers develop a strong attachment to her. From the laying of the keel block through to her launch they are a part of her and put part of themselves into her.
Launch Day is the highlight. It is the day they have all worked for. All the yard workers and their families, as well as local VIPs and other guests, gather to watch the launch. Local school children are given the day off and local businesses shut on launch day. The ship herself sits waiting, high and proud, her hull and superstructure freshly painted and gleaming; dominating the surrounding area until the final release from the land so she can slide down the ways and float free at last.
The shipyard directors and VIPs make their way to the special viewing platform at the bows. The smooth lines of the bow tower up, directly above the platform and dwarf them all. The ship’s sponsor names and blesses the ship; the champagne bottle swings through an arc and smashes against the bow. The champagne fizzes down the hull and everyone cheers. All eyes watch for the ship to move, but she doesn’t. She is still there. What has gone wrong? Then, when the triggers are released and the sliding cradle is free to move, gravity slowly exerts itself on the ship and then she moves. Imperceptibly at first, did it move? Yes it did and now it is definitely moving. The crowd cheers again as this steel monster of a fixed structure that has grown on this spot over many months and now dwarfs all the buildings around her, starts to move. Slowly, silently, she gathers speed. Faster and faster she goes and remorselessly heads for the water. A feeling of awe at the sheer scale of this moving mass grips all who watch and hushes the crowd. A lump rises in the throat as the ship is born but at the same time a fear grows in your heart that she is now going too fast. Nothing can stop her now. She is totally out of control. How can something so big move so fast? She is rushing towards the water, eager to be free of the land. As her stern reaches the river she pushes the waters out of her way sending great waves across to the other bank. She races past the crowds and then the huge drag chains start to work and clouds of rust dust rise from the masses of heavy chains that are attached to her sides. They scream and rattle as they are dragged down the ways behind her, slowing her and restraining her from careering into the opposite bank. Pieces of timber from her launch cradles pitch out from underneath her as she hurls herself into the sea like a child at the sea side on the first day of the holidays. As her bow clears the end of the slipway and reaches the water it dips and bobs up in a little curtsey of thanks to the shipyard and those who have built her. The ship is now afloat for the first time. After the excitement of her headstrong rush into the water she now lies at peace and benignly lets the tugs gather round her and gently take her to the fitting out basin for her final completion.
The other factor common in all ships is the feeling of power: either they have engine power or sail power with which to drive themselves through the seas, no matter what the weather. Whether it is a square rigger, an America’s Cup racing yacht, a tug butting its way into a fresh gale or a destroyer at speed, there is a sense of power. Maybe it is the QE2 racing to New York at 29.5 knots through a Force 8 gale no matter what, or a Second World War battleship charging through rising seas, there always is a strong sense of power and supreme confidence. When a ship is at sea, moving under its own power and responding to the forces of the wind and waves, it is a living thing, a warm, vibrant creature and home to the crew that live and work aboard her. But, when it is tied up alongside without her crew, with no generators or engines throbbing away then it becomes a cold, damp and dead object.
Every ship is a unique capsule of life, a world to itself separated from and independent of life on the shore. Ships come in all different shapes and sizes, different nationalities and different cultures. All the ethnic and cultural differences between countries are apparent in their ships. Watching ships lights at night, as they silently creep across the horizon, I wonder not only ‘What ship, where bound?’ but, what language are they speaking and where is their home, when will they see their families again?
Some types of ship may be of no interest to you until you sail in them and then as you become a part of the ship a relationship develops. Like a human relationship, you get to know and trust a ship. You get used to her motion and learn to live in her. She in turn protects you from the elements and takes you to your destination. Attachments are formed as they become your place of work and your home and they ca
rry you to wherever in the world they might be going.
Just as the launch of a ship is a cause for celebration so the death of a ship is a time for mourning. In Hull I was involved in de-equipping a number of the older trawlers before they went to the breakers yard and it was always a sad experience to see these fine old ships, which had sailed many tens of thousands of miles to and from the Arctic, safely carrying their crews outward and homeward hundreds of times, being towed away to be ripped apart by the oxyacetylene cutters of the breakers. Taking out the radars and radios, was a final confirmation of their fate. This was the point of no return for them. We would watch silently from the manager’s window as the once proud and defiant ships, now stripped out and empty and forlorn, were towed out of the fish dock and down to the breakers, never to return. Most of us had memories of each of the ships and their crews and we all felt real pangs of sadness.
The Sea
What is it about the sea that gets into our blood and minds? After all, it is cold, wet and inhospitable; if we fall into it we can drown. The sea can make us seasick and feel like dying. The sea can be rough and it can destroy and kill ships and men. So why on earth should we like it? Perhaps, it is because the sea is a constantly moving, living thing; like the ships that sail across it. It has a life and moods of its own that forces an emotional response from us. The sea’s moods directly affect our own and we tend to mirror the moods of the sea. If it is a cold, grey miserable day with white horse and a rising wind, we tend to feel gloomy and depressed. However, if it is a bright, sunny day with a sparkling sea then all feels right with the world.
On a fine day, the gentle waves roll slowly under a boat causing a soft, rocking motion that calms and relaxes us. The wooden thwarts creak quietly, loose ropes slap idly against a mast, or the engine trobs steadily on. The motion is therapeutic and eases our tensions and stress. We feel relaxed and, given a chance, we will nod off into a pleasent nap. The sea gives us the isolation from the land that we often need, the chance to get away from our shore life. The sea is a barrier across which shore side troubles cannot pass. There is always a lurch in the heart when, on departure, the gangway is removed and the last connection with shore life and loved ones is broken. Equally, there is a thill of excitement as we are now on our own. Now we are free! But also, now we and those left behind are alone: we are powerless to help those left behind, just as they are powerless to help us. They are on their own, just as much as we are. For that, we love or hate the sea.
The sea demands 100 per cent attention. Forget it, or take it for granted and it will punish you. It makes those who go to sea appreciate that the day to day events of life ashore are relatively trivial when compared with keeping your ship and shipmates safe at sea. The sea gives us total freedom and perhaps that is why, more than anything, we love it.
The sea is timeless. It is the same today as it was thousands or even a million years ago. It looks the same, it behaves in the same ways that it always has. What we see today is what our forefathers saw when they went to sea. The grey rollers of the Atlantic are the same now as when the Vikings sailed them. It is the same for all men of all nations of all times and we all have to learn to respect it or it will catch us out. But it is also our route to the rest of the world. From any piece of beach in any reasonably well built boat and an infinite supply of food and fuel, we can go, quite literally, to the ends of the earth. Nothing and no one can stop us. No passport controls, no security checks; nothing but total freedom.
The Polar Regions
The polar regions are remote, and the fact that so few people have ever been there makes them interesting. Hot places with their dust, dirt, sweat and biting insects have never really appealed to me; but I have always wanted to visit cold ones. I love the clean, freshness of the polar regions, the crackling of the crystal clear frozen air, the deep silence and the clear, almost endless, visibility.
I am not saying I like being cold! Liking the cold of the Arctic is not the same as saying I like being cold, in just the same way that liking being alone is not the same as saying you like being lonely. The cold when it gets hold of you is not a good feeling. When the temperature drops to -20 ºC and -30 ºC then the cold takes on a stronger character. One moment you are feeling warm in your multi layers and down parkas but then, without warming the cold will quite literally grab you. Maybe it is a hand or it will creep down your neck but the next thing you know is that you have this thing attacking you like a vice. The cold presses into your body. You can feel it enter your clothes, sneaking between your gloves and your sleeve. You feel that your clothes are invisible to the cold as it goes straight through them, as if it was penetrating the stitch holes. In a matter of seconds it has got you. It squeezes and goes on squeezing until your bones feel it. Your clothes feel useless, you may as well be naked! Then there is only one thing to do. Get warm somehow! Jump, walk, run, go inside anything to escape this vice like grip that has attached itself to you. Once your circulation goes, in cold like this, it is very hard to get it back by normal rubbing or blowing onto your hands. The secret, I think, is never to stand around and let yourself get cold in those low temperatures. Dress fully inside then go out and keep moving, doing whatever, but do not stand around! At the same time you should not work so hard that you sweat as the sweat will freeze on your skin the minute you stop working. The coldest that I have been in was -34 ºC on a flat calm and sunny January day in Finnish Lapland. This would be almost tropical for the real hard men of the Arctic Commandos or real polar explorers. One minute I was warm and standing enjoying the view, the next the vice had grabbed me. With -40 ºC, even -50 ºC and below with gales force winds and chill factors, what must the cold in the polar winter really be like? A good idea can be found in Apsley Cherry Garrard’s The Worst Journey in the World. This describes Scott’s last expedition to the South but during the expedition three members of Scott’s expedition, including Cherry Garrard, made a trip took from Cape Evans on the west side of Ross island to Cape Crozier on the east side, a round trip of over 200 miles, in the Antarctic winter, to search for emperor penguin eggs. Gales blasted them almost from the start and a storm blew their tent away with temperatures of -50 ºC to -60ºC. But they survived. How is a mystery to me.
The earliest books I read were often about the polar regions. In the golden days of polar exploration to get to the polar regions could only be done by long sea voyages whereas today it is possible to fly there, so the explorers of the early days had to be both explorers and mariners and often came from the Royal or Merchant Navies. To me those books conjured up a world far beyond our own. To see the sights that they first saw, the icebergs, the glaciers, the endless ice pack: and to experience some of the risks that they took, such as their ships getting frozen into the ice and having to overwinter in it, these were the feats that I daydreamed about when I should have been listening to school masters.
While most of my recent voyages have been as a passenger rather than as a crew member, for me that does not diminish the atmosphere or the excitement that a ship, or a voyage, can generate. It is true that as a passenger you are not a part of the crew and will always be one step removed from the decision making aspects of maritime life. In many cases you will not even be aware of what dramas may be unfolding on the bridge or down in the engine room. Even if you are aware of them then you will probably play no part in their resolution. But never the less, being a passenger is far, far better than not being on a ship at all. You share the same seas and weather; see the same ports and events as anybody else on board and you all share the experience of the voyage and the character of the vessel regardless of your role in it. Whatever happens to the ship happens to everyone on board not just the crew or just the passengers. Being a passenger gives you the luxury of deciding where you want to go and selecting a ship to get you there. As crew you can only sail on ships you are appointed to and can only go to the places the ship is sent.
People sometimes have fixed ideas about the size of ships and will sa
y ‘Oh I wouldn’t go on anything that small’. Equally some say ‘Oh you wouldn’t get me on anything that big’. However, whatever the size or type of vessel, once you are on it and it is taking you where you want to go then it becomes your world and your home. You accept it and adjust to it as you do to living in a small flat or a large house. From trawlers to the QM2, from small minehunters to giant Russian icebreakers, they are all ships and were ‘home’ for a short time and I enjoyed the experience of being there and grew attached to the ship.
Ships that Pass with Time
Time passes and ships pass on due to the changing needs of man and the types of ship he needs. In the Antarctic in the nineteenth century it was sealers in small wooden sailing ships from America, the UK and other northern countries who first ventured south in search of the famed fur seals. The Antarctic continent itself had not even been sighted then and sealing was carried out on the many sub-Antarctic islands. Antarctica was first sighted by a British sealing captain, William Smith, in 1819 when he sighted snow covered land. Reports spread and in January 1820 the Russian explorer Bellingshausen sighted land and three days later land was sighted by the RN’s Capt Brantsfield. He had been sent by the Admiralty, with Capt Smith, to investigate Smith’s claims. The land seen by Smith was the South Shetlands but Brantsfield sailed on further and found the Antarctic Peninsula. Once the fur seals had been killed almost to extinction and the sealers left, it was the great explorers who held centre stage. They went south in old sealing or whaling ships or specially built vessels like the Amundsen’s Fram. Men like Shackleton and Scott, Amundsen, Mawson, Biscoe and Ross and many other brave men from many countries who fought their way in, tried to survive the cold and the winds, achieve something for science or exploration and then fought their way out.