The Way Back To The Sea

Welcome, thank you for reading. Please be aware, this story contains depictions of peril and death at sea that some may find upsetting, so reader discretion is advised. It is also longer and with less sex and a little more heart than other stories I have written, but I do hope you enjoy!

As I readied myself for my watch on the bridge of the container ship

Atlantic Endeavor

, I noted that she seemed to be rolling fairly heavy. I supposed it was unsurprising that the Bay of Biscay was a little turbulent today as we chugged west. We were headed toward the wider Atlantic running parallel to the Spanish northern coast and the sky had been dark all day.

It was the fourth week of my summer cruise on the

Endeavor

. I was about to enter my last year at maritime college and this summer was dedicated to gaining experience on merchant ships. I had sailed on the college's training ship the last two summers. In a year's time, I would graduate with my degree and a deck officer license.

Before I made my way to the pilot house, I stopped by the galley to grab dinner. The cook, a middle-aged Greek-American man named Niko, greeted me with a friendly smile as I slid my tray past the window where he dished out the food. Some of the crew were unfriendly or indifferent to cadets, but Niko seemed to enjoy looking out for us.

"Brian! I think it's my best dinner yet. You'll see." He set the plate on my tray with a wink. "Since it's a long watch ahead, I gave you a little extra."

"Thanks, Niko! Your stuff is always worth an extra helping. Is the food this good at your uncle's restaurant?"

"Even better! We're not stuck with the ship's supplies there. Victualers wouldn't know fresh ingredients if they were looking at them. When we call in New York I'll take you. Rose and Ben, too. Poor cadets have to be kept fed." He laughed out loud.

Rose and Ben were my classmates who were onboard with me for the summer. Rose was a deck cadet like me, and Ben was learning to be an engineer. Ben and I had been good friends and roommates before, but Rose was just an acquaintance prior to this trip. I was getting to know her better out here on the ship and I liked her as a colleague. She was near the top of our class and had a well-deserved reputation as a sharp professional. I enjoyed her cheerful demeanor and friendly personality as well.

"When are you gonna open your own restaurant instead of serving these old sea dogs?" I asked the cook.

"As soon as I save enough," Niko said with a wistful grin. "I've got the kids to think about and I need the nest egg first."

"Well, I can't wait to come to the opening," I said. Niko laughed and reached for something behind the counter.

"Don't forget your coffee." He passed over a Thermos. Niko knew I liked to have a hot drink on night watches. He always had it ready for me.

"You're the best, Niko."

"I know. Tell your friends." He laughed again.

Sadly, I wasn't able to savor the meal, as I had to get up on watch. Nonetheless, there wasn't a bite left on the plate when I dropped it in the wash basin. With my Thermos to hand, I climbed the metal ladders up to the navigation bridge.

As I entered the pilot house, the movement of the ship felt more pronounced higher above the level of the sea. I was surprised to find the captain and the first officer there conferring with the off-going officer on watch. Rose was standing by the radar keeping a diligent lookout for other ships that might cross our path. She saw me come onto the bridge to relieve her and she offered me her usual friendly smile. I nodded a silent greeting so as not to interrupt the conference underway.

The senior officers were discussing the weather report and the deteriorating conditions outside. The seas were the worst I had yet seen, though my length of experience on ships was obviously not long. Looking out the windscreen of the bridge, I could see that the wind and waves were battering the starboard bow - the front portion of the ship on the right-hand side looking forward.

The front of the ship would meet slam into each wave, rising to meet the wall of water. Fountains of spray, and sometimes green water, would cascade over the deck. Because the ship was not taking the wind and waves exactly head-on, the ship would heel over to port -- to the left looking forward -- as the wave first struck. The water would race aft along the deck until it washed back over the side. As the wave passed under the keel, the ship would roll back passed level as the bow dove down into the trough and the crest lifted the stern. The ship seemed to corkscrew through each series of waves and the deck I was standing on was rising and falling sickeningly.

In addition to the spray from each successive wave, the wind whipped the surface of the sea and a heavy rain lashed down from an angry gray sky. The captain, a patient mentor, invited Rose and me to listen into the discussion and to look at the weather information for our professional learning. He was never pleased to take risks with the ship, cargo, and crew under his command, but continuing on this course through the heavy seas seemed a reasonable choice. The large vessel should be able to bear these conditions and the weather was not expected to worsen. On this course, we were also opening up more sea room between ourselves and the rocky coast of northern Spain.

It was gratifying to be welcomed to the conversation. The captain listened to the opinions of his subordinates, but ultimately the decision was his. After weighing all of the weather information, he didn't hesitate to order the ship to continue on its present course. He dismissed the off-going watch team, but rather than leaving himself, he settled in the chair reserved for his use in the center of the bridge. The old man was going to see this one through himself.

Rose moved toward the exit at the back of the bridge with the rest of her watch, but the captain stopped her.

"Rose, Brian has relieved you, but I would like you to stay with us on the bridge. I'll alter your schedule to give you rest later. This may be a unique opportunity for you to see the ship handled in heavy weather."

"Thank you, sir!" Rose answered enthusiastically. "That would be great." Her usual smile and eager expression betrayed no hint of bitterness at being denied her rest. She truly wanted to be the best mariner she could become. Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

As I had taken her place at the radar, Rose moved toward the windward side of the bridge to increase our lookout in that direction. I looked up as she walked by, and she gave me an eager thumbs up.

As the grey late afternoon was settling into evening, I perceived that the waves were increasing. Those of us standing on watch held tighter to the brass rails that ran along the overhead. The captain was rubbing his chin as he stared out to the darkening horizon. The rhythmic sound of the wipers on the windscreen was occasionally drowned out by the sound of the rush of water pouring over the ship with each wave.

About an hour and a half into my watch, the captain asked me to print him updated weather information. I walked to a workstation along the back wall of the bridge, staggering slightly with the angry roll of the ship. When I ran the latest report, I was concerned to see that predictions had considerably worsened for this area. With frightening rapidity, the outlook for the storm had grown to something truly terrible. The captain digested the information but betrayed no concern. He thanked me and bade me return to my radar screen.

The captain and the first officer, who was now the officer on watch, chatted briefly. The course of action did not change. At this point, the ship was committed to ride through the worst. As it was, to attempt to turn around would require the ship to expose its broad beam to the building sea. It would wallow in the trough off the waves and the potential for damage to the ship or injury to her people would be very real. Another few hours would see us through. Minor course changes brought us around to face the occasional steeper wave head on, but we generally kept our original bearing.

It was Rose who spotted the monster first, stationed as she was looking out to windward. The rogue wave loomed up like a mountain racing toward us out of the diming evening. It was twice as tall as any of the huge waves we had thus far encountered. Rose called a warning to the skipper. The captain rasped out a sharp order to the helmsman to steer into that ship-killer, but it was too late. The first officer shouted to hang on. I grabbed the console in front of me as the blow struck with a roar. The

Endeavor

heeled over sharply. My Thermos clattered from the place I had lodged it next to the chart table and a radio microphone popped loose from its cradle near the overhead to swing wildly by its cord. The first officer fell onto the deck, but appeared unhurt. The ship rocked over harder and farther than I thought was possible for it to survive.

The mass of green water washed over the stacks of containers on deck. As the wave passed, metallic groans, snaps, and crashes told us that several containers of cargo were going to be lost over the side with it. The ship recovered from the near knock-out blow and surged back upright again. There were a few more sounds of rending and knocking. The sea was draining off the deck as it should, and the ship was still bravely advancing under power to meet the next wave. It seemed we had come through the crisis.

After ensuring that the bridge crew was unhurt, the captain picked up a phone and called another watch officer to the bridge. Then he ordered the first officer to muster some of the hands and commence a damage inspection. No one was to go out on deck, which would have been extremely dangerous, but they were to check the ship over as well as they could from the sheltered walks and passageways. The captain made a brief satellite phone call to the home office to report the ship had experienced an incident resulting at least in the loss of some containers over the side. A detailed report would follow for the company and the authorities.

After a time, some reds lights flashed on the status board. The first officer called the bridge from a handheld radio to report that there was flooding observed in cargo holds two and three on the starboard side near where the blow had been struck. His damage control party was unable to locate the source of the flooding, but there was water coming into the ship somewhere on that side. The pumps were at work. The captain made another call to report the worsening situation, but his voice remained level. I was beginning to get nervous. The vessel had sustained some damage, it seemed. However, seeing the professional crew responding in accordance with established procedures inspired my confidence. Everything still seemed to be in hand.

I began to notice a certain sluggishness in the way the ship met the oncoming waves. She didn't rise up to meet them as readily and more green water was washing over the sides as a result. I asked the captain, and he agreed the ship was handling more sluggishly. As we slogged on, I noticed that she was beginning to list slightly to starboard, despite the effect of the waves and wind that should have had her heeling to port.

The captain and the first officer conferred by handheld radio about what was to be done. The flooding was apparently more serious that we initially believed. The first officer hypothesized that the flooding might be coming from damaged hatch covers. The captain ordered the helmsman to steer farther to starboard, through the eye of the wind, so that the wind and waves now broke over the other side of the bow. The hope was that this would reduce the amount and force of water attacking the weakened part of the ship. It would also take us further to sea.

Now, however, the wind and waves were heeling the ship over in the same direction of the developing list. The combined effect was readily apparent as we settled on the new course. The ship now had a pronounced lean to starboard. The captain picked up the satellite phone and updated the company again. I heard him say that if the situation deteriorated any further, he was going to alert the Spanish maritime authorities that the

Atlantic Endeavor

needed assistance. His voice remained calm as he gave orders, inspiring my continued confidence in him.

The change in course did not help. With each wave, the wounded ship was tilting over that much farther. The captain ordered ballast pumped over into the port tanks in order to control the rate of list and maintain stability. Before this operation had time to take effect, another red light lit up on the status board and small alarm sounded. As the captain walked over to the board, the rumble of the main engines became much quieter. One of the engines had shut off. The helmsman had to make small helm corrections to keep the ship on course with the loss of one of the screws.

The bridge phone was ringing. "What's happened?" the captain asked answering the call. His voice was still calm. I did not hear the reply. "Get that engine back online before we have real problems." He hung up the phone and explained to the watch officer. "It's the engine oil level. Because of the list, engine isn't drawing oil because the level is too low. It triggered the automatic shutdown. The chief is trying to pump in more oil from a reserve tank and shifting the ballast should help. I think it's time to start thinking about requesting assistance."

Before the captain could reach for the radio microphone, the other engine shut down. An electronic alarm sounded, and more lights lit up on the control panel. The ever-present churning and rumbling sound of the main plant died away completely. It was replaced by a deafening silence punctuated now only by a howling wind and a crashing sea. Without propulsion, the wind and waves would quickly turn the ship until she was beam to the waves and wallowing under their punishment. The violent rocking would do more damage, could injure personnel, and would undoubtably worsen the list to starboard. While the situation had already been concerning, it had just turned deadly serious.

I felt a fear begin rising inside me. I glanced over at Rose and read the same fear and uncertainty in her eyes. Again, the reassurance of the captain's calm demeanor helped to stave off any panic. He ordered the watch officer to begin mustering the crew. As the general emergency alarm rang throughout the ship, the captain lifted the radio microphone.

"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is the

Atlantic Endeavor

with 21 souls on board and in distress. We are taking on water and without propulsion. We require immediate assistance. Mayday."

The radio squawked and a reassuring, professional voice from the rescue coordination center in Spain replied. The radio operator asked for our position and further details of our distress. The captain provided the information that the rescue center needed. As he spoke, I could feel the ship turning with each successive blow of the passing waves. Soon, we were rocking violently from side to side in the troughs of the huge waves. Disturbingly, the ship was listing ever more sharply and beginning to settle lower in the water.

The conditions were too rough for a ship or a boat to come to our assistance. As the list became more and more pronounced, the likelihood of restarting the engine or controlling the flooding was vanishing rapidly as well. The shore station called back on the radio to inform us that a helicopter was being launched, but it would probably be an hour before it was on scene to evacuate us. In the captain's steely eyes, I read concern for the first time.

"I don't think we have that long," the captain soberly pronounced. He picked up his handheld radio and called to the first officer to get everyone to the aft deck where the enclosed lifeboat was stored. It was becoming difficult to stand upright on the bridge due to the increasing lean. Rose and I followed the bridge crew as we all headed for the ladders down to the lifeboat.

A voice came over the handheld radio, but it was not the first officer. It was Ben calling from the engine control room. Why would he be the one calling? Rose and I froze to listen by the door.

"Bridge, engineering, I need help," he cried over the radio.

"Go ahead," replied the skipper. The ship was leaning even further with each wave. There was now the pronounced danger she would roll over. The wind howled outside the windows and the waves crashed.

"Bridge, the chief fell on the ladder and hit his head bad. I can't get him up the ladder. I need help down here. Please help me!"

"Just hang on, son. I'm coming to help," the captain replied. He shouted at the rest of us to get moving toward the lifeboat and he pulled himself hand over hand toward the ladder that led down to the engine room. The watch officer grabbed his arm to stop him.

"You can't go down there. There's no time. You'll be trapped, sir." The captain pulled his arm away.

"Get them to the lifeboat," he said, jerking his head toward Rose, me, and the helmsman. "Tell them to hold on for us as long as they can. I'm going to get the chief engineer and that cadet." Without another word, the captain disappeared down the ladder. I would never see him again.

The rest of us stumbled down other ladders toward the rear of the ship where the lifeboat was cradled. On the way, we passed a locker containing survival equipment. Several of the other crewmembers were there struggling into the orange immersion suits and donning life jackets. We followed their example and then all of us struggled out toward the lifeboat.

When I emerged from the watertight door onto the small deck on the stern of the ship, I was stunned by the fury of the wind. I had to hold onto the railings and fixtures to withstand its power. Rain and spray lashed us. One false slip could lead to a fatal slide down the deck with the ship leaning over so far. Most of the crew was already there in that crowded space and struggling to unpack life rafts. I was confused for a moment, until I looked up where the lifeboat should be. It was gone. The cradle and equipment were smashed and bent, either by the force of the sea or perhaps by one of the cargo containers as they went overboard. I was seized by panic and momentarily frozen clinging to a fixture. We were going to die, I knew it. With the enclosed lifeboat there was a good chance, but the rafts would not save us in this sea. The second officer grabbed me by arm and shouted something at me, but the words were lost. He gestured and I understood he wanted me to help with one of the rafts. I nodded that I understood and refocused on trying to survive.

It was impossible to launch the rafts in the savage wind. Two were blown overboard before they could be secured. We began trying to carry them down the slanting deck closer to the rising waterline where the ship might shelter us. I watched with horror as one of the crew missed their footing and fell down that steep incline. I did not see who it was. The sailor bounced violently off a stanchion and disappeared over the side. There was nothing anyone could do to help. The mariner was swallowed by the sea in an instant and did not reappear.

We managed to struggle down to a point far over on the starboard side of the stern deck, which was now the bottom of the steep slope. In that little bit of shelter, we were able deploy a raft and keep it from blowing away. It was a large six-sided rubber raft with an orange rubber canopy to provide some small shelter from the elements. There was a small hole on one side of the canopy to allow the sailors to get inside. One of the officers grabbed a sailor and urged them to get into the raft to help weigh it down. The sailor complied. The officer shook me by the arm and gestured for me to follow. I was trying to negotiate the opening of the raft when it happened.