Saturday
15/10/2016 -3°C,
10m/s; Sunrise 10:29 – Sunset 16:55
There’s quite
a swell at the entrance of Isfjorden as we take our early morning leave and
continue south. We help to raise the sails
and it’s certainly quieter and smoother than last night.
Dark until mid-morning
and much colder, ice lies over the deck. The light changes fast. We travel in grey
black sea, bruised pink clouds hang over snow-covered mountains, the usual mist
drifting over peaks. We pass all those glaciers again, this time in reverse
order. Sometimes it just doesn’t look real.
Snow sweeps in
covering the deck; we slip and slide across it and more sweeping ensues; an
endless task.
I retreat to a sheltered corner to draw in my small sketchbook - using snow to smudge the charcoal, chalk and graphite into the paper.


Afternoon. Chaos
erupts; siren sounding, we stumble out into swirling snow.
‘Man overboard’ has
been called; confusion. Then we’re told that Oscar’s machine to test for
plastics in seawater that has been trailing behind the boat has come loose,
disappearing into the sea, along with a life belt.
 |
Oscar’s machine for collecting plastics - before it disappeared |
The next few hours are spent
with the Captain shouting angrily at us to look out to sea and find it, to
treat this as a drill for a lost person (although given the sea conditions by
then they would not have survived more than a few minutes). Tensions rise, it’s
very cold, visibility is poor, there’s a general feeling that this is all
pretty unnecessary, our captain has over-reacted, but captains rule their ships and demand obedience it seems.
Our teams - starboard and port - take 20 minute turns to line the perimeters of
the boat and peer into sea and mist and swirling snow, then retreat to the
saloon to warm up. Miraculously, after two hours - it might be longer since by
now I’ve lost sense of time - the life belt is finally recovered, but the
machine has vanished to become part of the detritus in the Arctic sea and
perhaps to wash up somewhere years later as with the discovery of Andrée’s
discarded ballasts thrown into the air from his balloon long after he had
disappeared into the void. By now it’s too dark to draw; I think we are all pretty fed
up.
Increasing wind brings a greater sea swell - not good for the seasick
sufferers. But it’s exciting and I sit out on deck and eat dinner while
watching the boat pitching, waves rising and falling, sometimes breaching the
side as the boat leans. Around me stand the suffering, hanging on, looking pale
and wan, an occasional figure dashing for the side. With a slight change of
direction and sails back up the pitching lessens and the sea and people calm.
Later with a full moon shining over the sea there is music dancing on deck. I
take to my bunk, falling asleep to the thump of revelers above my head, the
moon bright through my porthole. We sail through the night.