Across the Atlantic

As we departed Sparrow’s Point I could feel the air start to clear. For the next 24 hours the ship seemed to be entombed in a dust cloud as the vessel shrugged off it’s mantle of black soot. The crew spent a large part of the voyage scrubbing the dust away. It got everywhere.

I am sure the steel works have left their legacy on the local community at Sparrow’s Point, Baltimore, as I suspect that lung disease must be higher than here than the national average. On this point, I watched a gang of workers clear up one of the ore spills. One man carefully put on a heavily soiled surgical style mask whilst his buddy happily sucked down a cigarette.

During our stay the security in the local area was high. It transpired that the Russian Oligarch who bought the mill was visiting. Despite this higher vigilance and increased police patrols nobody checked our details as we entered and exited the plant! I used the same taxi driver on a couple of occasions and he even ended up vouching for me at the same time joking to the security guard that I was a terrorist!! Claiming he sussed it out from my strange accent.



The local pilot navigated us out of the docks and then jumped ship leaving a young apprentice and his mentor to take us out to see. With the current we hit 21 knots. As the evening sun set we made our way out into the Atlantic.






Over the next couple of days we headed north up the eastern coast of America and Canada. The weather remained warm though the water temperature started to drop. So no more bathing in the ship’s swimming pool.







Days started off clear then growing steadily more and more misty. Reducing visibility to metres rather than miles. Very eery traveling at 18-19 knots blind.







Day by day the crew steadily cleaned and repainted parts of the ship. Happily dangling from bosun’s chairs from the cranes. They wiped the dirt away and repainted the hull. A definite Sysiphean task.







We then headed due East out into the Atlantic. The weather became progressively worse. With a strong swell rocking the boat by a good thirty degrees. Sitting writing in the cabin I found myself sliding from one side of the room to the other. Supper was an interesting affair especially the soup course.





Beda our steward had a major issue as the dinning room table repeatedly ended up on the floor.

Sleep was not easy. Almost every night the clocks went forward. In addition, the ship would roll from one side to the other and the constant throb of the engine and creak of the fittings meant it was difficult to find peace. I ended up using the earplugs happily provided in the room!

The sunsets were always magnificent. The sun sinking violently below the horzon splashing out vivid colours. When the clouds lifted the immense strength and beauty of the ocean made itself known. Despite the immense tonnage of the vessel one always felt in the hands of nature. We were mere visitors to this immense realm.

The Chief Engineer showed me round his empire. I thought my room was noisy, it was nothing compared to his domain. He happily showed me the engine, steer mechanism, purification plants, power generators, control room etc. An immense beast to keep running. The man was a veritable mine of facts and figures.







Over lunch we received the dramatic news that a distress call had been picked up. Falmouth coastguard, still a good three days away had received a mayday call from a trimaran heading to UK from the Azores. We were one of the closest vessels and tasked to go and assist in the vessels rescue.




So the course was altered and we headed due South towards the stricken vessel. The sees happily tossed us around as the swell worsened. Over the next five hours we headed closer to the ship. Slolwy news started to reach us. It seemed that a solo british sailor had run into trouble. Radio contact was poor and Falmouth and ourselves tried to ascertain what the problem was but with little luck. A second vessel, a Russian oil tanker headed to the location to assist.



Our Captain was concerned over the possibility of having to stop to rescue this ship. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. It was a case of the difficulties and dangers of slowing down such a large container vessel especially when designed to be moving through these seas at 18 knots. Slowing the engine meant that the ship would be caught off balance and this could have a disastrous affect on the cargo especially as we were carrying 8,000 tons of steel which if dislodged could rip a hole in one of the cargo holds. In addition the crew would have to try and throw a line to the man and assist him up a scramble net. This would be about a 7-10 metre climb in rolling seas. So rescue out here would be no mean feat.




At 5 in the afternoon we caught site of the Russian tanker close by was the small trimaran heaving up and down in swell as if on the worlds scariest rollercoaster. The tanker started to make a pass to pick up the man, but first time was unable to do so. So the vessel turned and tried again, this time slowing almost to a standstill. The swell bucked and tossed the mammoth ship. It was a long procedure. Our bridge was full as everyone watched through binoculars. Finally the ship pulled away and we could see a man clinging to a scramble next hanging down the side of the tanker. A good half an hour latter and with the assistance of one of the tanker crew, who climbed down to assist, the man was finally pulled aboard. His ship was left to alone to be claimed by the ocean.

When I arrived in Hamburg I put a search out on the internet and found the following website about the boat: http://www.jesterinfo.org/nicholasbarham.html

The next day the Captain sent a fuel report to Rickmers HQ in Hamburg. He guessed that the total rescue operation would have cost the two ships approx US$ 40-60,000 in fuel and time.







Doc and Marion were good conversationist for the journey. Their choice of topic always steered round to US politics, in particular Obama’s campaign. They will be devastsed if he doesn’t get in.




Doc had an amazing background. His Father was originally from the Caribbean. He seemed to have done everything. Trained to be a pilot in the USAF, changing to air traffic control, worked as a merchant seaman, a cab driver in New York, trained as a doctor becoming a GP and then a psychiatrist. He worked for the navy attaining the rank of Commander. He worked in Nigeria during a coup. Promoted boxers in Vegas in his freetime and was elected the Mayor of San Bernardino. He moved to France three years ago and has just fought off cancer. His wife Marion was the daughter of one of the scientists on the Manhattan project developing the bomb for the US Government. I leant her a copy of Ron Howard’s “The Missing”. She didn’t watch the whole film as she found the film a little to close for comfort. After the war, whilst working for the Government, her Father disappeared. Some years later he reappeared as if nothing had happened only now he was working for a US civilian company. She never did find out what happened. But during the intervening years she learnt that she was constantly being followed and watched.




Stopped to ‘bunker’ (take on fuel) in Falmouth. Frustrating to be so close to home but unable to leave the ship. Found I had reception on my UK mobile. So spent practically the whole day on the phone. Wonderful opportunity to catch up with family and friends. I literally called everyone in my address book.

















Finally off to Antwerp. The channel was busy with tankers and freighters forming up like the Spanish Armada.