Iceapelago

by Peter Brennan

  Cobh

  The Harbour Master jumped down onto the deck of the ocean tug, the Santa Maria, the proud possession of the Port of Cobh Harbour Company. Despite his mature age he managed the distance and different heights between the two swiftly moving vessels with agility. He had just assisted the captain of the Queen Mary navigate its exit from one of the largest natural harbours in the world. The QM2, as she was called, had spent the day moored to the cruise berth in Cobh in southern Ireland. The QM2 was an annual visitor keeping up the Cunard Company’s connections with a town made famous as the last port of call before the Titanic set sail for New York in April 1912.

  He returned to the safety of the Harbour Company’s Control Centre located on an elevation to the west of the town. It commanded uninterrupted views across the wide expanse of the harbour. He signed off and in checking his roster noted he needed to be at the mouth of the harbour at 6 a.m. the following morning to assist with the navigation of the next luxury cruise ship to the quayside. He drove a short distance to the coastal town of Ballycotton, where he and his wife lived in a converted lighthouse. Time for a bit of gardening: his roses needed his attention.

  All part of the daily routine of a Harbour Master.

  The priorities of the 2,560 passengers aboard the QM2 were somewhat different. They had just spent the day visiting the many tourist highlights within easy distance of Cobh. A fleet of busses had taken them to the Irish whiskey distillery and visitor centre in Midleton, to the adjacent university city of Cork, with its famous ‘English Market’, and to Blarney Castle, where managing an upside-down kiss of the Blarney Stone gave one the gift of eloquence (allegedly). There was much animated chatter about the day’s outings and experiences over pre-dinner drinks, in the Grill and in the ship’s many bars and lounges. There was a high degree of expectation as the guests queued for their tables at the QM2’s traditional black-tie dinner. One of the UK’s top comedians was the star of the show in the ship’s theatre. They were guaranteed a good laugh, so they thought.

  Being on a ship they paid little attention to world news. TV coverage of volcanoes was less important than the coverage of the latest soccer news. In any event, La Palma was so far away it could have been on another planet.

  On the bridge, the QM2’s captain calmly reviewed the proposed line of navigation to Reykjavik with his officers, a two-day sail in moderate to high seas. That task completed he left to host a dinner table in the Queen’s Grill for a small group of Cunard’s special guests. The largest ocean liner in the world picked up speed and moved ahead at a steady twenty knots with its stabilisers on. The officers were not paying attention to the events in La Palma. As they were over four thousand kilometres away, it did not matter to the safety of the ship.

  Another routine day on the QM2 was drawing to a close.

  As day turned to night, four hundred kilometres to the north-north-west, the mood was very different aboard the RV Celtic Explorer.

  Routine it wasn’t.

  The immediate and obvious priority was to get the PLU to the surface. This burden fell on the shoulders of McCrossan as the ROV operator, and Captain Killen and his officers who had to sail the ship in a manner and direction that best assisted the planned slow ascent. Operating without communications with the PLU made the task more stressful.

  While they did their best to cope with the circumstances, the crew of the PLU faced a different challenge. They were resigned to the worst. One of the PLU’s cockpit seals that was struck by a lava rock continued to weaken. Water started slowly to fill the bottom of the PLU’s compartment. Wet and cold feet and a diminishing supply of oxygen wasn’t a great mixture. Their day was anything but routine.

  Mike Smith knew his number was up. The maths didn’t work. There wasn’t enough time as the ROV could not pull the PLU to the surface any faster. If they survived drowning, they would probably suffocate. What a choice. He reckoned they might meet their demise within an hour or two. Ever the professional he didn’t share his fears with the two passengers that he had grown fond of. In reality, they were press ganged into service at short notice to undertake this expedition, and for what purpose. There was no time for survival training.

  The conservations between them were intermittent as each person contemplated their predicament and weighed up the meaning of their lives. There were so many other things that could and should be done. If only they got to the surface.

  The scientists on board the RV Celtic Explorer were also pre-occupied, greatly pre-occupied in fact, given the data sets they were reviewing. The volcanic eruption that damaged the PLU, while small was powerful, with the resulting earthquake registering 3.1 on the Richter scale. It was but one of several incidents registered on the flanks of the Eriador Seamount.

  The Chief Scientist gathered his colleagues and Captain Killen around him on the bridge and linked Vice-Commodore Brennan in on the communications network.

  ‘Captain, we’ve a developing situation that may prove to be a bit of a problem.’

  Gilmore summarised the events of the past hours.

  ‘Best I connect you to our British neighbours and the team at HUGO. I believe they too have had their fair share of unexpected observations,’ said Vice-Commodore Brennan.

  Soon all channels of communication were open. Unknown to the speakers, the three members of the PLU heard everything that was said but could not communicate back as their outwards communications cable had been severed.

  Smith, O’Farrell and Gallery with one eye on their dwindling oxygen levels knew they were on their way to the surface. The ROV’s power to pull the much heavier PLU was an obvious problem. McCrossan was doing his best. He had to be careful lest the mechanical arm snapped under pressure. They wanted to be saved. They cared little about wider implications. They faced death unless they got to the surface without any further delay.

  Gilmore started.

  ‘On the basis of the seismic readings and recent visual observations, there is a high risk that a large magma chamber is developing underneath most of the western flank of the Eriador Seamount. We’re talking about a zone that may be some thirty kilometres in length.’

  ‘We agree.’ The HUGO team confirmed. A bit too quickly it was observed.

  Their lead scientist continued. ‘It has been seven weeks since the first signs of initial seismic activity were recorded. The trend, if it continues, suggests we may be heading for a major eruption or a series of connected eruptions. The sulphide samples that the PLU managed to take at many locations show markers of increased sub-surface activity. But what is most disturbing was the sight of metre wide gas bubbles from the event that damaged the PLU. We witnessed similar signs offshore Iceland when the Eldfell volcano was being formed.’

  Gilmore was getting more and more agitated. He was hugely sceptical ever since Billy van Os disturbed his night out at the British Embassy. He now suspected, quite correctly, that the British knew much more than they were revealing.

  ‘What about the seabed sonar devices that the British and US have scattered across the floor of the approaches to the Western Atlantic?’

  There was silence.

  ‘Gerdy, Johnny Drew here.’

  Drew spoke from the safety of the LÉ Michael D. Higgins. Gilmore knew at once that he was going to get bad news. ‘The sonar devices have picked up all the seismic activity over the past two months. Their data is no different to what we’ve seen in the past few days. The main difference is that the seismic activity you believe is concentrated in and around the Eriador Seamount is on a line almost five hundred kilometres long. The Eriador Seamount may be the epicentre of much wider sub-surface volcanic activity.’

  ‘What does that mean in practical terms?’ Gilmore asked the obvious question. His Jesuit education came to the fore.

  ‘Gerdy, HUGO here again. In a benign situation, we believe initial volcanic activity across such a wide area has peaked or will soon
moderate.’

  ‘Or?’ Gilmore was getting impatient.

  ‘Or, in a worse-case scenario, we may witness an intensification leading perhaps to a cataclysmic eruption.’

  Gilmore roared. I’ve just come off a conference call with several Prime Ministers. They have demanded we provide verifiable evidence. I need more than a prediction please. We were tasked to sail to the Eriador Seamount at the express request of the British Government. Do we have any hard evidence that what was suspected weeks ago is becoming a reality? And, if so, when? Guys, what is the worst possible scenario?’

  ‘Gerdy, this is a potential Sunda Trench situation, but arguably worse if the magma chamber that lies within the depths of the Eriador Seamount erupts in a series of episodes.’

  ‘Christ, will someone tell me in plain English what is happening!’ Gilmore was rapidly losing his patience.

  Johnny Drew spoke, clearly, calmly and without emotion.

  ‘If the Eriador Seamount explodes, it will cause massive tsunamis. We’re just four hundred kilometres due west of the west coast of Ireland. We’ve calculated that a seismic event of 8 or greater on the Richer Scale will generate a series of three-hundred-metre high waves that will hit Ireland on a line almost one hundred kilometres long within thirty minutes and the wider British Isles within the hour.’

  Gilmore was now more than livid. The mood among the scientists darkened as his anger boiled over. Luckily for Drew, he was on the LÉ Michael D. Higgins.

  ‘How long have you known this might happen – and for a change be honest?’

  ‘Long enough,’ Drew said in a nonchalant manner.

  ‘Well fuck you,’ spat Gilmore.

  Gilmore knew he had to bring the meeting to a close.

  ‘There is no point in us all waiting for an event that may or may not happen. I suggest five of us stay on watch until dawn. Vinnie will you do the night shift? Sound the ship’s siren if we’ve to muster. In the meantime, getting the PLU to the surface must be the priority. Captain, you and I can take over at dawn.’

  Captain Killen took the opportunity to get a short rest. His officers manned the bridge and were on hand to support the PLU Shack and the ROV operations centre. He retired to his cabin and sat on his bunk and looked across at the photograph of his lovely Orlaith. Her brown eyes looked back at him.

  ‘I told you so, didn’t I?’ he said to her.

  Her eyes told him he was right. He struggled initially but soon fell into a deep sleep.

  The first people to witness what was later called the Eriador Eruption were the crew of the PLU. They were all on high alert. They were just two hundred metres from the surface. The cockpit was now over half-full with cold water. They shivered in their jumpsuits. If they continued to breath slowly with little movement, they had enough oxygen for the remaining minutes it would take to get to the surface.

  Miracles happen, thought Smith to himself. A sentiment shared by his passengers.

  The PLU Shack monitored the progress of the ROV as it continued to pull the PLU to the safety of the surface. On McCrossan’s orders, two divers slid into the waters ready to open the PLU’s hatch at the earliest possible opportunity. Captain Killen sailed the RV Celtic Explorer into the wind to maintain a degree of stability in the rough seas.

  There was a traumatic jolt as further simultaneous seismic eruptions shattered the sea floor. The strong seismic sound waves travelled to the surface in seconds. The PLU crew had a few seconds to realise their fate as the first hints of sunlight could be discerned above them. They had no time to prepare for meeting their Maker. It was as if the beacons of bright sunlight were calling them to Him.

  ‘Maeve!’ exclaimed Gallery. He caught her eye, briefly. It held a sad expression. They acknowledged each other visually. The final glance. There was no time to speak.

  They transitioned from the surrounds of deep darkness to sheer brilliant light. The erupting magma chamber propelled from the sea floor with exceptional force gave no notice. No sound. No movement. No chance of survival. No remains. Just deep red deadly molten lava.

  The PLU and the ROV were dissolved by a blast of red-hot magma. The crafts’ micro remnants were scattered into the waters around the RV Celtic Explorer. The bodies were obliterated beyond recognition. Death was instantaneous and painless.

  It was confirmed later, by NASA satellites, that a 9.2 Richter scale quake coincided with the eruption that burst through three deep fissures along the western slopes of the Eriador Seamount almost simultaneously. The outer core of the Eriador Seamount collapsed into a growing series of fractures along a length of thirty kilometres. The sea water meeting exposed molten lava at great temperature caused further explosions.

  The second set of people to bear witness to the Eriador Eruption got a few more seconds notice.

  The crew on the bridge of the RV Celtic Explorer were admiring the rising dawn. A deep red skyline filled with low clouds lit up the horizon: a signal of good weather. They were tired after the night’s shift. Soon their replacements would be on duty.

  The first sign of something unusual was a wide mass of gas bubbles that struck the ship, which shuddered on impact.

  Crowley didn’t hesitate in pressing the alarm siren three times. All mariners knew the import of such a klaxon call. The crew and scientists rushed out on deck to be met by a sharp odour of sulphur dioxide, the smell of rotten eggs was overpowering.

  Boggle eyed and with only a few hours’ sleep, the crew and passengers of the RV Celtic Explorer felt the sea rising slowly at first like they were being raised onto someone’s shoulders. Then up another layer and then another, all in slow motion at first. The RV Celtic Explorer, and the LÉ Michael D. Higgins astern at a ‘safe’ distance, were soon like corks on the crest of the wave, over two hundred metres above what had been sea level. The crest rose slowly but higher as the dynamic impacts of the earthquakes below triggered a series of massive landslides that displaced huge volumes of water before propelling them forward to the surface like heavy calibre projectiles. The RV Celtic Explorer, inexplicably still upright, was positioned just under the crest of the highest wave.

  Clutching onto handrails, everyone just watched and waited in silence and in awe. Then several narrow arrows of red lava shot into the air through the crest of the rising wave having travelled from the depths of the volcano’s many openings. The red dawn sky met its colourful match.

  But the crew were still alive. Not for long. Like a surfboard, and without any forewarning, the RV Celtic Explorer was propelled out of control under the crest of the line of the peak wave. Bodies were soon swept off the deck like flies in the wind. The ship gathered speed reaching two hundred kilometres an hour within twenty seconds. Suddenly, the RV Celtic Explorer exited the wave and was expelled like a bullet into the open air.

  Captain Killen decided to spend his last minutes in bed saying farewell his wife. He clutched his duvet and looked out the porthole at the blue sky in his final moments.

  ‘Orlaith, pray for me.’

  Fifty kilometres due east early breakfast was being served at a leisurely pace in the QM2’s famous Queen’s Grill on deck seven. It was a relaxed atmosphere as the early joggers and gym enthusiasts settled into their green teas, rye bread and natural yoghurts. The breakfasters got a few seconds warning – really no warning at all – as a wall of water four times the height of the ocean liner hit the ship broadside. The impact was like a head on car crash. But nobody was wearing seat belts.

  The crew on the bridge didn’t get a chance to sound the ship’s alarm never mind send an SOS. They were monitoring a news alert of a possible tsunami off the Canary Islands. The First Officer was viewing the beauty of the skyline with his Swarovski Optik binoculars when the skyline disappeared to be replaced by a wall of water. He didn’t have time to absorb what he was seeing. It all happened so fast. He just closed his eyes in resignation as the hyper-powered
wave, crashing into the bridge shattered the control centre of the world’s largest ocean cruise ship.

  Half an hour later, as the Port of Cobh Harbour Master watered his roses, an early morning ritual, he heard an enormous roar like several jet planes taking off at the same time. He looked over the wall at the back of his garden to the broad expanse of sea off the entrance to the Cobh Harbour only to see that the sky to the west as far as the horizon was filled with water. A huge wave the height of a multi-story building was approaching him at great speed. His last memory was a thought that the object in the middle of the surge looked like the QM2, upside down, spinning slowly under the crest of the leading tsunami wave. He recognised her classic red funnel.

  His roses got a watering of an epic proportion. And as for the unprepared people of the island of Ireland … Later that morning the La Palma tsunamis arrived.

  Tasiilaq

  ‘There is a saying: “our future is written in ice.”’ The tour guide looked at his clients and got blank stares in response. ‘Scientists agree with this philosophy. There is compelling evidence to hand that the Greenland Ice Sheet is a tipping element in the earth’s ecosystem.’ He was speaking to a group of Norwegian tourists at the reception area of the Hotel Angmagssalik in Tasiilaq. They had just arrived, fresh out of Oslo.

  Tasiilaq, located in a sheltered bay, is the biggest town in the vast eastern region of Greenland known to the locals as ‘Tunu’, meaning ‘backside’ – the other side from West Greenland. The hills around the settlement are lined with two hundred prim Danish-style houses painted in all the colours of the rainbow.

  As the hotel was located on a hill above the settlement, it commanded sweeping views across the bay to the Qoqqartiuaa Mountains. The town was constructed around its hills and its multi-coloured houses fanned out from the newly constructed all-weather AstroTurf soccer pitch, the town’s pride and joy. The calm waters off Oskar Point at the entrance to Tasiilaq were full of small icebergs. The much larger icebergs, some the size of football pitches, calved off the nearby Helheim and Johan Petersen Glaciers down the adjacent Sermilik fjord into the open sea.