George Waite
23-08-2010, 11:43 PM
Indian Ocean Storm
This is an account of a true happening as observed by a passenger on the vessel concerned and is dedicated to the Master and crew of that vessel who in trying conditions displayed both humanity and superb seamanship. I have used the term “Skipper” to describe the Captain of the vessel in this tale but the term “Skipper” is more properly applied to a fishing vessel Master, not a Merchant Master. However, frequent use of the term Captain would seem a little pompous. For a photo of the type of vessel involved in this tale refer to “my gallery” Vessel “HUAFA” (http://backyardboatbuilding.org.uk/forums/album.php?albumid=24&pictureid=592).
09.30 hrs on a day in January 1984.
35 nm East of Bombay High Oilfield, Indian Ocean.
Wind : westerly force 7 and rising
Sea state: 5-6 deteriorating
The rig supply vessel slowly corkscrewed her way along in the following sea with her three big 800hp EMD diesels rumbling away down below. In the wheelhouse the engines can be felt through the deck plates as a gentle rhythmic vibration as they come in and out of phase, the only other sounds being the creak of furniture etc as the ship heels, and the hum of the gyrocompass. In the corner sits the skipper, representing the fifth generation of his family at sea, just completing his notes in the log at the end of his watch and sipping a single malt as an aid to the four hours sleep that he is looking forward to. At the wheel is the First Mate, just on watch with a fresh eye to the day's work ahead. “Shit weather coming up John” the Mate remarks to the skipper. “Well, with any luck we will be nicely tucked up in Bombay by the time it hits” the skipper replies as he heads for his bunk.
One hour in to the Mate’s watch two radio calls come through in quick succession, one on the SSB from a sister ship en-route westward to Muscat with a cargo on deck informing the company that the deck cargo had been cut away as the winds had reached force ten to eleven and the vessels stability was in question. The other call on the VHF was from the platform complex that they had left only an hour or so before asking for help as they were surrounded by small “country craft” (native fishing craft) all trying to shelter behind the platform legs in the worsening conditions. The mate engaged the autopilot and went first to raise the skipper and then to request the Chief Engineer attend the bridge. There are not many times in a Captain's career when his authority has to be put aside for a consensus but the skipper knew that this was one of them.
“Well what do you think lads” he asked. The mate replied “well, we are light ship” (no cargo) and the Chief added “we have plenty of fuel on board, I just need time to move it around a bit”. The skipper glanced across to the passenger, who gave his nodded agreement. “OK Bob bring us about, let’s see if we can make some way against this weather. Chief, can you ask cookie to prepare some food for later and plenty of it?" And turning to the passenger “can you ask the Bosun to rig lifelines for at least two crew members and to make them the same length as the work deck and no longer, lifejackets all round?”
Progress back to the Oilfield was at a reduced speed as the vessel was hitting a head sea and the helmsman was trying to avoid the vessel “tramping” with the associated risk of a broken back. The 10 metre rise and fall as the ship hit the oncoming seas was like riding an express lift (elevator) and very tiring. As the flare stack hove in to view on the darkening horizon the skipper took over the helm and asked the mate to supervise deck operations. The sea was now filled with flying spray and the wind was moaning in the radar mast atop the bridge. All the field lights and the ships deck lights were now turned on to illuminate the scene unfolding around the platform legs. The radio crackles in to life and a voice edged with fear relates “Captain, as an Indian citizen I thank you for your help but I must warn you that you are in direct contravention of International Maritime law operating this close to an offshore gas complex under these conditions. God bless you and good luck. We will afford you all the assistance that we can”. The platform crew could in reality afford little help as they were 25 metres above the sea and with the platform shaking and vibrating were probably in fear of their own lives.
The skipper took in the scene before him as he looked aft over the work deck. The deck lights were picking out a mixture of small boats looking like kites on a string in the 12 metre seas and odd bodies floating in the water alongside them. The after peak tank had now been ballasted down by the Chief anticipating the skipper's need for little or no freeboard over the stern roller when attempting recoveries. The skipper thumbed the loudhailer, asking the fishermen to release their boats one at a time but was not clearly heard above the scream of the wind and the roar of the sea. He turned to the passenger and with combined idea the passenger ran down the companionway to find a seaman that spoke the fishermen’s language. The crewman relayed the instruction over the loud hailer but the fishermen either misunderstood or panicked and all started cutting themselves away from the platform legs. The sea 100 metres astern of the ship was now full of floating bodies and broken boats.
The skipper, realizing that things were now desperate, shouted into the loud hailer for the deck crew to stand by as he pushed the throttles to the firewall to gain speed astern, using his vessel as a giant scoop putting the engines hard ahead at the last moment both to brake the vessel and to push away anyone unfortunate enough to go under the stern counter. At the moment any of the fishermen hit the deck they were thrown bodily toward waiting arms standing astride the accommodation watertight doors. As the fourth run was completed the skipper sensed a presence behind him in the blacked out wheel house. “I know what you are doing John but the clutches wont take a lot more of this.” “OK Chief, just a couple more runs.” At the completion of the sixth run the vessel was “walked” sideways away from the platform using its thrusters then allowed to drift downwind to pick up any fishermen who had drifted with the wind and tide. Whilst carrying out a searchlight sweep of the sea, the platform called to remark that there were no more people to be seen in the sea within range of the lights.
The after peak tank was de-ballasted before the ship performed the dangerous manoeuvre of turning about and running down sea heading East with all watertight doors dogged down. Ten minutes after turning about the Mate came up on to the bridge. “We got 56 John, only two serious, lots of minor injuries, I have used up the med kit and we are tearing up sheets.” The sea was moderating now but the 12-14 metre following sea was making the vessel corkscrew uncomfortably. The skipper had fallen asleep with exhaustion in the corner of the wheelhouse. About half an hour later he was awakened by the feeling that someone was watching him and awoke with a start to find a rag-wrapped, small, and very old skeletal figure looking at him speaking in halting English. “I thank you for my life. My two sons died in the last storm and their families can’t exist without me. God must have sent you tonight.” The skipper, visibly moved, replied “Well he chooses some bloody funny helpers”. After shaking hands with the fisherman, he turns to look out the wheelhouse window and reflect on the number of men that went down in to his propellers in the desperation of the rescue. This he would have to live with for the rest of his life. Unable to sleep, he makes a tour of the ship to find bedraggled souls secreted into every corner of the vessel, including the ones suffering most from exposure stuffed in to warm corners of the main engine blocks and generator flat. Returning to the bridge he radio’s Bombay port control to ask them to have a medical team at the quay when they dock and gives them an ETA. His bunk awaits.
Dawn finds the ship making entry to Bombay port with the passenger standing helm watch spelling an exhausted Mate. The ship eventually ties up at the designated Quay, which is deserted. The skipper, suspecting a communications error sends one of the crew to the port office on a bicycle . One hour later, an ever more angry skipper spots a port official walking down the quay toward the ship and takes him to task. When the official starts to grin, the skipper finally explodes and hoists the little man up by his braces and demands medical help for his 57 shipwrecked fishermen. At this point the official realises the seriousness of the situation and promises to see if he can find some help. His final remarks when leaving the Captain's company are sincere but only serve to show the enormous cultural gap in their conversation. “You should not upset yourself so Captain, this happens two or three times a year”.
George Waite I. Eng. A.M.RINA. (ret'd).
This is an account of a true happening as observed by a passenger on the vessel concerned and is dedicated to the Master and crew of that vessel who in trying conditions displayed both humanity and superb seamanship. I have used the term “Skipper” to describe the Captain of the vessel in this tale but the term “Skipper” is more properly applied to a fishing vessel Master, not a Merchant Master. However, frequent use of the term Captain would seem a little pompous. For a photo of the type of vessel involved in this tale refer to “my gallery” Vessel “HUAFA” (http://backyardboatbuilding.org.uk/forums/album.php?albumid=24&pictureid=592).
09.30 hrs on a day in January 1984.
35 nm East of Bombay High Oilfield, Indian Ocean.
Wind : westerly force 7 and rising
Sea state: 5-6 deteriorating
The rig supply vessel slowly corkscrewed her way along in the following sea with her three big 800hp EMD diesels rumbling away down below. In the wheelhouse the engines can be felt through the deck plates as a gentle rhythmic vibration as they come in and out of phase, the only other sounds being the creak of furniture etc as the ship heels, and the hum of the gyrocompass. In the corner sits the skipper, representing the fifth generation of his family at sea, just completing his notes in the log at the end of his watch and sipping a single malt as an aid to the four hours sleep that he is looking forward to. At the wheel is the First Mate, just on watch with a fresh eye to the day's work ahead. “Shit weather coming up John” the Mate remarks to the skipper. “Well, with any luck we will be nicely tucked up in Bombay by the time it hits” the skipper replies as he heads for his bunk.
One hour in to the Mate’s watch two radio calls come through in quick succession, one on the SSB from a sister ship en-route westward to Muscat with a cargo on deck informing the company that the deck cargo had been cut away as the winds had reached force ten to eleven and the vessels stability was in question. The other call on the VHF was from the platform complex that they had left only an hour or so before asking for help as they were surrounded by small “country craft” (native fishing craft) all trying to shelter behind the platform legs in the worsening conditions. The mate engaged the autopilot and went first to raise the skipper and then to request the Chief Engineer attend the bridge. There are not many times in a Captain's career when his authority has to be put aside for a consensus but the skipper knew that this was one of them.
“Well what do you think lads” he asked. The mate replied “well, we are light ship” (no cargo) and the Chief added “we have plenty of fuel on board, I just need time to move it around a bit”. The skipper glanced across to the passenger, who gave his nodded agreement. “OK Bob bring us about, let’s see if we can make some way against this weather. Chief, can you ask cookie to prepare some food for later and plenty of it?" And turning to the passenger “can you ask the Bosun to rig lifelines for at least two crew members and to make them the same length as the work deck and no longer, lifejackets all round?”
Progress back to the Oilfield was at a reduced speed as the vessel was hitting a head sea and the helmsman was trying to avoid the vessel “tramping” with the associated risk of a broken back. The 10 metre rise and fall as the ship hit the oncoming seas was like riding an express lift (elevator) and very tiring. As the flare stack hove in to view on the darkening horizon the skipper took over the helm and asked the mate to supervise deck operations. The sea was now filled with flying spray and the wind was moaning in the radar mast atop the bridge. All the field lights and the ships deck lights were now turned on to illuminate the scene unfolding around the platform legs. The radio crackles in to life and a voice edged with fear relates “Captain, as an Indian citizen I thank you for your help but I must warn you that you are in direct contravention of International Maritime law operating this close to an offshore gas complex under these conditions. God bless you and good luck. We will afford you all the assistance that we can”. The platform crew could in reality afford little help as they were 25 metres above the sea and with the platform shaking and vibrating were probably in fear of their own lives.
The skipper took in the scene before him as he looked aft over the work deck. The deck lights were picking out a mixture of small boats looking like kites on a string in the 12 metre seas and odd bodies floating in the water alongside them. The after peak tank had now been ballasted down by the Chief anticipating the skipper's need for little or no freeboard over the stern roller when attempting recoveries. The skipper thumbed the loudhailer, asking the fishermen to release their boats one at a time but was not clearly heard above the scream of the wind and the roar of the sea. He turned to the passenger and with combined idea the passenger ran down the companionway to find a seaman that spoke the fishermen’s language. The crewman relayed the instruction over the loud hailer but the fishermen either misunderstood or panicked and all started cutting themselves away from the platform legs. The sea 100 metres astern of the ship was now full of floating bodies and broken boats.
The skipper, realizing that things were now desperate, shouted into the loud hailer for the deck crew to stand by as he pushed the throttles to the firewall to gain speed astern, using his vessel as a giant scoop putting the engines hard ahead at the last moment both to brake the vessel and to push away anyone unfortunate enough to go under the stern counter. At the moment any of the fishermen hit the deck they were thrown bodily toward waiting arms standing astride the accommodation watertight doors. As the fourth run was completed the skipper sensed a presence behind him in the blacked out wheel house. “I know what you are doing John but the clutches wont take a lot more of this.” “OK Chief, just a couple more runs.” At the completion of the sixth run the vessel was “walked” sideways away from the platform using its thrusters then allowed to drift downwind to pick up any fishermen who had drifted with the wind and tide. Whilst carrying out a searchlight sweep of the sea, the platform called to remark that there were no more people to be seen in the sea within range of the lights.
The after peak tank was de-ballasted before the ship performed the dangerous manoeuvre of turning about and running down sea heading East with all watertight doors dogged down. Ten minutes after turning about the Mate came up on to the bridge. “We got 56 John, only two serious, lots of minor injuries, I have used up the med kit and we are tearing up sheets.” The sea was moderating now but the 12-14 metre following sea was making the vessel corkscrew uncomfortably. The skipper had fallen asleep with exhaustion in the corner of the wheelhouse. About half an hour later he was awakened by the feeling that someone was watching him and awoke with a start to find a rag-wrapped, small, and very old skeletal figure looking at him speaking in halting English. “I thank you for my life. My two sons died in the last storm and their families can’t exist without me. God must have sent you tonight.” The skipper, visibly moved, replied “Well he chooses some bloody funny helpers”. After shaking hands with the fisherman, he turns to look out the wheelhouse window and reflect on the number of men that went down in to his propellers in the desperation of the rescue. This he would have to live with for the rest of his life. Unable to sleep, he makes a tour of the ship to find bedraggled souls secreted into every corner of the vessel, including the ones suffering most from exposure stuffed in to warm corners of the main engine blocks and generator flat. Returning to the bridge he radio’s Bombay port control to ask them to have a medical team at the quay when they dock and gives them an ETA. His bunk awaits.
Dawn finds the ship making entry to Bombay port with the passenger standing helm watch spelling an exhausted Mate. The ship eventually ties up at the designated Quay, which is deserted. The skipper, suspecting a communications error sends one of the crew to the port office on a bicycle . One hour later, an ever more angry skipper spots a port official walking down the quay toward the ship and takes him to task. When the official starts to grin, the skipper finally explodes and hoists the little man up by his braces and demands medical help for his 57 shipwrecked fishermen. At this point the official realises the seriousness of the situation and promises to see if he can find some help. His final remarks when leaving the Captain's company are sincere but only serve to show the enormous cultural gap in their conversation. “You should not upset yourself so Captain, this happens two or three times a year”.
George Waite I. Eng. A.M.RINA. (ret'd).