Chapter Twenty Four
McBride took the dishes below. He remembered the weather forecast Johnson had left under the clip of the chart table. Damn, he should have looked at it earlier. Before they set off. It was careless of him.
He plucked the folded paper from under the clip. Opened it to an A4 sheet, probably an email attachment.
There was a weather chart covering half the sheet, showing Denmark in outline with a fair chunk of the North Sea to the west. It showed a series of spaced lows coming from the west. Isobar lines showed fairly high winds accompanying the lows. It was typical autumn weather, so McBride was not surprised, although he was disappointed. He saw the wind speeds, and that made him shudder.
No point in hiding the information from Ben. He went into the cockpit, handed the sheet to him.
“The weather forecast Miller gave us this morning. It’s a forty eight hour one. It’s not very good. You can probably remember weather like this fairly often, usually later in the year, maybe November, December. Lots of rainy days, winds gusting to gale force, and then a day or so when the sun shines and it’s like spring come early.”
“You’re a bit worried?”
“Concerned, yes. It might not be a pleasant journey. By the way, how’s the sea sickness. Not hit you yet?”
Ben pulled a sleeve up to reveal the wristband. “Great things, these.”
“Well do a couple more hours, then call me and you can get your head down. Proper watches from then on.”
When McBride awoke the wind was whining in the rigging. He hurriedly left the cabin.
Ben was clad in oilskins and had reefed the mainsail. The wind had veered to the south, and Ben was sailing a broad reach. The rain lashed down. The rain was slanting across the deck, splashing in white spray lit by the masthead light.
McBride glanced at the radar, but there was nothing in sight, except all across the screen a snowstorm effect as the beam picked up the wave tops.
“You should have called me when the wind veered. The problem shortly, maybe even by morning, the wind will veer further. With big waves there is a distinct worry about being broached, with the wind directly behind. I need to be on deck in that event.”
McBride looked at his watch, and it was very near the time he should be taking over.
“Is there another set of oilskins in the cupboard?”
“Sure, I’ll get them for you.” Ben handed the other set of oilskins to him. McBride quickly donned them.
“Get your head down, Ben. I’ll call you in four hours.”
McBride took another reef in the sail. He left the cabin door open so that he could check the instruments. It least with the coming of the low, it had got distinctly warmer.
Over the next couple of hours, the wind didn’t veer it just went back to being a breeze. Looking up, he saw a star or two, between the scudding clouds. Now they could get some distance behind them before the next low trundled up. He unreefed the mainsail. The wind was in the same direction. The waves were still choppy, but he reckoned that the sea would have calmed down by morning.
The yacht was making a comfortable twelve knots. By dawn they may be only a couple of days from England, or Scotland. He looked at the radar again.
A large ship was on a collision course with him. It was not dangerous at this stage, it was still over twenty miles away. Maybe one hour away. It was moving rapidly. Could be a ferry, or a container ship, even a bulk carrier. But in an hour’s time he would be well clear, the ship passing behind him.
Every fifteen minutes he checked. Still okay for half an hour. And then the ship changed course. It was coming up on McBride’s port side. And without warning it was changing its heading to port. So instead of it passing behind him, unless he took some urgent action it would run him down.
It was unbelievable that no one on the bridge with all the sophisticated equipment hadn’t seen the yacht’s large mast-head reflector. Unless the navigator had nipped off the bridge for a minute or two. The crew of some of the big ships, especially ships under flags of convenience, left a lot to be desired.
McBride made a decision and went about. His yacht made an abrupt change of direction. It was now sailing at ten knots due east. McBride watched the radar screen. The ship would now miss him by half a mile at least. If it didn’t change course again. It was over fifteen minutes before McBride knew that he was safe. The ship was in view now, navigation lights high aloft, as it ploughed on across his wake at a good twenty knots. It was a modern overnight ferry, built like a cruise liner. He even heard dance music faintly across the water. Copenhagen bound most probably. Or Gothenburg in Sweden.
Ben came out of the cabin. “What’s happening?”
McBride went about again, and back over sailing due west again.
“Look ahead,” he said. Ben stared in awe.
“Big boat. Did it nearly run us down? I felt you coming about, that was what woke me.”
“It shows how alert you have to be. You can’t just see another ship on the screen and work out that you will miss each other. That ship changed course at only about one mile distance. And we were closing fast. He was doing twenty knots, I was doing ten.”
“Lesson learned, Captain. Hey, the weather’s quite nice now.”
“Until the next system comes up. Which could be in as little as twelve hours. If all goes well we could be in Britain in a couple of days.”
Ben realised he had another hour in bed, so quickly made his way below.
The fine weather didn’t last long. Cloud cover increased and they were into the next low. There had been hardly six hours between them. Ben had done his watch, and McBride was behind the wheel, rapidly putting on his oilskins, as the first rainy gust of wind reached the yacht. This time it was a mild low, raining plenty but wind speeds not too bad, first straight out of the west, making McBride tack the boat, wasting time. He just wanted to be back in England.
When Ben came back on watch, McBride went below to make sandwiches for lunch. He brought Ben’s plateful up to him, went back down to check the instruments. He scribbled the time, date and GPS latitude and longitude on the back of Miller’s forecast. He examined the radar screen. No landfall showing. That didn’t surprise McBride. It was inconceivable that they would be only forty miles offshore. Could be as little as a hundred miles, though.
The rain had stopped so he went on deck to sit with Ben. Three hours later, Ben shouted “Land ahead!! Is it Scotland or England?”
“It isn’t either. That’s not coastline. It’s a large black cloudbank. That is the mother of all storms coming our way.”
“Oh, yes. I see it now. But it did look like land on the horizon at first.”
“That shows you how fast it’s moving.” By now the cloud had risen in the sky, still black. “We’ll shorten sail now while we’ve chance.”
They took four reefs off the sail. The yacht was now sailing with less than half its mainsail. The speed went down to four knots.
Half an hour later the wind hit them. Roaring at them from the south west, heeling the boat to starboard as the speed jumped to fifteen knots. The waves were increasing in size. The boat was climbing each wave, forging through the peaks, and skimming down the other side.
McBride glanced at Ben. This was seasick weather. But he seemed engrossed in handling the boat, no pallor in his complexion. Some water was coming aboard, washing over the deck, only to vanish over the starboard side.
McBride was aware that the cabin was open to enable the helmsman to read the radar. The cabin doorway had a fiddle on the bottom, a ledge to keep the water out, but it was only three inches high. Once the waves brought too much water on the decks, there was a danger of flooding the cabin. Then one of them would have to start pumping. Otherwise the boat would eventually sink, and long before that, be almost impossible to handle.
Ten minutes later, the impossible happened. A freak wave, higher than the rest came of the port quarter, and partly astern. A wave of water that spilled on the deck
rushed forward, over the fiddle, and into the cabin. McBride sent Ben down below to find the hand operated pump. If he couldn’t find where it was, then he had better get a pail and start bailing.
Ben tried the obvious places McBride had suggested and struck lucky first time. It was in the head. An upright tube with a handle that you pressed down and that came back up automatically. To operate it, Ben sat on the head. He couldn’t see any other way. For every six strokes, it said on the barrel, one gallon of water was removed.
McBride judged his moment, and in a brief moment of better weather, he opened the door and shouted down.
“Ben, have you found it?”
“Yeah. It’s going to take a long time. Six strokes to the gallon. Maybe sixty gallons an hour. How long will it take?”
“I’ll give you a shout.” And McBride shut the door just before the situation got worse. The wave crashed against the bulk head, rose up two feet, before dispersing off the deck sides.
The daylight was getting poor. It was only three o’clock. Rain lashed him, and the sky darkened as he looked at it. He should look at the radar, but if he opened the door he might well sink the boat.
Half an hour later, Ben got sucking noises from the pump. As far as he could tell, the was no water sloshing around the cabin floor. He got up off the head, went through to cabin, stretching himself when he could stand upright. Aware of the dangers of opening the door, and the ensuing pumping, he knocked loudly on it and shouted.
McBride shouted back. “Wait one,” and then the door was opened. Quick, look at the radar, tell me next time I open the door.”
Almost immediately the door opened and Ben slipped out. He was met by a wave in the face. He spluttered, by now drenched, and with no oilskins on. He turned, opened the cupboard, and dragged out the jacket, and hood. He had to hold on to the rail, put one sleeve on, then turn the other way, swap hands, and ease the other sleeve on. On a boat that was dancing, it seemed, in all directions at once. He looked ahead, and saw the state of the sea, and how limited the visibility.
“Well. What did the radar show?”
“It’s not on. The set, it isn’t working.”
Find My Brother Page 26