"It's an Ill Wind" - read the full story here - from "Thirty Shades of Coffee" - Just launched

A Force 9 Gale, the engine seizes up...

‘I’m easily the oldest person on the whole beach,’ I told Elizabeth. ‘And you’re the youngest.’

‘We’re sixty-eight and sixty-five,’ she pointed out. ‘And we’re the only ones here.’

‘Sheer luck.’

‘If it hadn’t been for those robberies on the ship…’

‘Total providence,’ I agreed. ‘If you and I hadn’t happened to be on the captain’s table last night…’

***

Captain Larsson had said he obviously knew about the discontent among the American passengers. ‘They are all demanding compensation for stress, and are being generally unbearable. It’s very understandable – they have paid a fortune to come to the Antarctic to see the sights – the penguins and seals and whales, and spectacular bergs and glaciers. I am very conscious that a spate of thieving from passengers’ cabins is not exactly what was advertised.’ He spoke in that rather formal, correct English that Scandinavians seem to adopt. ‘It has to be a crew member—someone with a key. The master keys are numbered and specifically allocated. We can check. Tomorrow. We shall get it all solved and sorted tomorrow.’

He was feeling kindly towards us – the only English aboard, and he was Norwegian, like the ship and the crew. We’d been to Tromsø, Narvik and Trondheim on holidays aboard this ship, so he felt like he knew us. He liked us. We were the only ones who weren’t getting in on the class action suit against the company, and weren’t being generally ill-mannered about it all. He was pretty much like us in that respect – he couldn’t bear the crassness.

Out of consideration, he would arrange for us to be elsewhere on the morrow. ‘We will be having a day ashore; a special trip onto the most wonderful and wild beach in the whole of the Antarctic Peninsula. There are estimated to be ten thousand penguins; one thousand leopard seals; and two hundred elephant seals. Suppose I arrange for you to be on the first Zodiac out, and be there before all the other passengers? Have the beach to yourselves for a while? Hmm? There is no need for you to be put out by this criminal activity.’

So, first thing a.m. today, the Strålende Vasa was hove-to about half a mile from a spectacular rocks-and-boulders beach. Near-vertical cliffs backed it up, forming a huge, stormy bay that faded into the sea-spray to the right. On the left, there was an enormous glacier, a vast wall of ice reaching into the sea. We stared at it for a time, towering down from the mountains and ended alongside the beach in a vertical face of ice, a white version of the rock cliffs. Absolutely vertical. Sheer. We saw one ice slab calve away and took loads of photos of the splash and radiating waves. But, at half a kilometre or so, we were far enough away to be safe, and barely felt any rocking as the waves passed under the vessel. Yep, she was a big ship, fair enough, the Strålende Vasa. Great flat sides, bright red, with huge orange lifeboats and broad flying bridge stretching each side of the superstructure.

Captain Larssen had sent the passes to our cabin – as yet unrobbed – and promptly at seven we’d gone down to the embarkation bay where the large semi-rigid inflatable boats were stored and launched. Sure enough, we were booked on the first Zodiac; the one that would dump medical and survival gear, shelters and food on the beach. It was just in case any sudden inclement weather stranded anyone. ‘We once had to leave a group overnight. They thought it was very exciting,’ the bosun told us. ‘There is always room for a couple of passengers in the first boat.’

The boat crew, however, were becoming a bit dubious about going out, ‘The wind is picking up rapidly. The forecast is not good.’ But we dropped into the Zodiac with all the gear, strapped ourselves down and got the signal to be away.

It was fabulous. The first fifty metres were fairly calm, but once we were out of the sheltered water in the lee of the ship, the waves were bigger than we expected, and we were all grateful for the layers of waterproof overcoats, boots and underclothing. But we sure had to hang on tight. The four guys who manned the Zodiac seemed to be calm about the seas, though a bit grim-faced, maybe. A moment or two muttering about orkan, and I asked, ‘Orkans? Is that whales?’

‘No,’ they said. ‘That’s Orca. This is orkan – hurricane. Gale winds come. Very big wind. Very strong. Not good to be out today.’ They jointly shrugged, ‘But captain wants to keep Americans happy with beach landing. Sort out the stealing from cabins.’

We crashed over the wave-crests, racing down their long black faces like on a water-slide. One of the guys was on the walkie talkie to the ship, checking… being told they must get onto the beach and check it out. It sounded as if they were a lot more doubtful by then. I think they mentioned their passengers – Elizabeth and I – and the wind getting stronger ‘minutt for minutt’, almost roaring in from behind us. Then they shrugged and muttered something in Norwegian to each other.

‘We go in,’ the bosun told me and Lizzie.

And so we did. In a sea like that, there was no standing off for five minutes to assess the situation. The waves were bigger and blacker by the moment. Where the water shallowed-off, the wave crests piled higher accordingly – an absolute maelstrom of crashing water-peaks. So we had to take it at a run. Perfectly timed to skid down the onrushing wave-face, up the pebbles and boulders, beaching ourselves with extreme efficiency – the four crew out into the water in an instant, and pulling the Zodiac a few feet higher.

Ten minutes to unload all the gear, not that we were allowed to help, even with dragging any of the packs higher up the beach. We watched them, and the ship – a huge incongruously bright red vessel just sitting there, possibly eight hundred yards away, keeping its place perfectly; its broad vertical starboard standing against the wind. Giant lifeboats swaying.

‘We use the side impellors to hold her in place,’ Handsome Bosun told us—he was Bosun Hansen, really, but Elizabeth rather took a shine to him. ‘They are for use in harbour. To move ship against the berthing dock.’

‘Not meant for long strong use like this,’ one of the others was shaking his head.

‘It is gale force now. Eight.’

‘Maybe nine.’

‘Ay up,’ I called. ‘The ship’s moving. Oi! You lot!’ I was pointing, having to shout into the wind, and the rushing crash of the waves up the boulders and pebbles.

They turned. The Strålende Vasa was moving, alright. Sideways. Slowly. But in a few seconds, she’d halved the distance to the face of the glacier. It seemed inexorable. ‘Nei. Gud Nei! Nei…’

I couldn’t move. We watched it closing in, flat broadside towards the ice. The crew came scrambling high up the beach next to us to see better. Gasping, ‘No no no. Min Gud, nei.’ Staring, low voices, ‘Motorer mislyktes,’ Hansen glanced at us. ‘Engines failed… Trouble.’

Huge sigh of relief: maybe a hundred metres away from the cliff of ice, the huge red ship stopped. Waiting then was the worst bit – it was as if we all held our breath. ‘Takk Gud,’ The bosun sighed, sagged. ‘Should not use side engines for long time like this. Too much hard; too long. Get too hot. Oil feed cuts out, switches side motor off. It happen on last trip.’

Yes, the ship had stopped. We could see more people on the top decks. No sound, not in that wind.

‘Orkan wind too strong,’ all watching in dread.

A faint, muffled grinding sound. Then they really looked at each other in horror, ‘Nei! Detter klippin.’ Something like that. ‘She is on the rocks. Oh nei… nei.’

The ship moved, leaning sideways in the onshore wind. More and more. Listing badly within moments. ‘Going to capsize.’

People were sliding down the decks, some into the water.

‘God no! Gud! Nr! Nr!’

A sudden freeing. ‘She must have dragged free under the surface…’

‘She’s closing in on the ice wall.’ The great red ship was righting itself, and penduluming back, rocking once… twice. Then the Glorious Lord and the ice – the Strålende Vasa and Isvegg – met. Silently as far we were concerned. Slammed together in a mighty cloud of spray, slap up against each other. Vertical faces of metal and ice neatly nestled together. The portside flying bridge seemed crumple like a crisp packet against the glacier’s solid wall.

‘She’s stopped. Not sunk. Thank God. She’s okay.’

‘But there’re people in the water.’ We couldn’t see them, lost in the huge waves, drowned or crushed between the ice and the ship.

It wasn’t okay. Not at all. The Strålende Vasa began to lean the other way, away from the ice…

‘Is she lower in the water?’

‘Must have ripped the hull… she’s flooding now!’

We spotted a second Zodiac hovering close by as the ship listed more and more… People slid and tumbled as decks reached a terrible forty-five degrees… sixty. The bridge was almost torn free. One huge orange lifeboat swung out over the waves, more people toppling from it.

The last moment was just that – a moment. The ship suddenly rolled onto its side, and a bit further. An enormous wave slurped away from her, swiftly lost in the mass of waves hitting the now vertical decks.

We’re standing there in the blasting wind – look at each other – horror-filled faces, mouths working… eyes fixed…

‘She’s settling.’ More and more. The black underside was showing, so stark against the blue-white of the glacier; the red of the sides against the white-lashed waves.

She rolled again, completely upside-down. Waves washed across the black, near-flat hull. The second Zodiac, too close to the ship, had vanished. Then the whole ship just went down. She was gone. Not there any more. I stood in total disbelieving shock. The waves were battering against the base of the ice as though nothing had occurred.

We stood. Utterly aghast – the loss of life.

But the four crew were made of sterner fibres. Open-mouthed in shock they might have been, but they were dashing down to our inflatable. Shouting and pointing. Incredibly dangerous to turn it round and drag it into the beach-rushing swirls, and roar the engine into the next full-faced wave, rising almost vertically on end. Blunt nose skyward-reaching. Plunging back down.

Made it!

Or, no. They hadn’t. Fifty metres away, a wave caught them at a slightly different angle, and the nose reached for the sky again. Pitched over backwards. Strapped in or not, they weren’t coming up – the upturned Zodiac was blown like a child’s float-ring towards the ice face. Vanishing under the roaring spray.

So, in about two minutes, utterly shocked, we were alone in the Antarctic. Marooned on a narrow, boulder-beach. Trapped here by the vertical cliff immediately behind us. The glacier’s icy face squeezing round the end of the cliff onto the beach. Almost disbelieving if we hadn’t seen it happening.

‘There’s just the two of us.’ I felt empty.

‘Plus thousands and thousands of penguins – noisy little things.’

‘We’ll not notice soon: the waves are loud, too. And the wind’s still picking up.’

‘All because some thieving git on the ship was robbing rooms.’

‘I don’t suppose anybody’ll ever know who did it.’

‘I think we might drink a toast to… whoever it was. If we get rescued.’

‘Someone’ll come looking. They’ll find us. Eventually.’ I put my arm round Lizzie and hugged her close.

‘Well,’ she was saying, ‘we’ve camped all over Europe, and in Hawaii, Alaska and Africa. Plus Oz and New Zealand, so Antarctica will fit pretty well into our CVs…’ She had that sort of sad, philosophical smile.

‘We need to find the highest part of the beach, well above the water. It’s not very wide. I’ve no idea what kind of shelter and food there might be in the packs…’ I’m looking around.

‘In the meantime, do you know any penguin recipes?’

Penguin Pie, anyone?

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