The captain told everyone to move outside and assemble near our lifeboats. Sola and I could only get as far as the door before the line halted. There were too many people on the catwalk and insufficient space for all the passengers to gather outside. The passengers outside tried to make more space by repositioning themselves. I think the cooperation and mutual support by each of the passengers was a major factor that ultimately resulted in no injuries. Reflecting on the entire ordeal, we were fortunate to have such a well disciplined and focused group.

We’d moved a little then waited before being able to move again. There was never any pushing or shoving. What was going on while we waited might surprise to those not present. There was quite a bit of joking as we waited to get outside. One person started singing, “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” then another, followed with “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”. Someone else started a game of Complete This Sentence. “Rather than boarding a lifeboat right now I’d prefer to …”

More space became available on the catwalk as the aft lifeboat started loading. By the time we got outside the aft lifeboat was nearly full. We turned forward and waited again. At this point there was some grumbling about why it was taking so long to board. In fact, why weren’t we boarding, rather than waiting alongside our boat?

All forward movement stopped by the time I had inched my way from the door to the stern of the lifeboat. Our lifeboat had three crew members aboard the boat taking turns trying to start the engine. I was standing opposite the lifeboat engine. It looked like a single cylinder diesel with a flimsy silver painted exhaust system pointing straight up over the engine. I heard on one of the other lifeboats someone grabbed hold of the exhaust system and unintentionally broke it off. It was onboard one of the lifeboats that was unable to start the engine. I can’t imagine what it would be been like sitting next to diesel engine without a muffler. I guess it didn’t matter the engine was never started.

The crew members were taking turns trying to start the engine to our boat. That’s right, “trying” to start it. The engine starts by turning a crank just like a Model T Ford. It took two of them to work it; one would crank the handle while the other was holding a lever. The cranker would get the handle spinning but once the lever was released the crank abruptly stopped. A couple of times the person cranking would leap back holding his wrist. It looked very painful. After a couple of attempts they would switch crankers. This was not very reassuring to watch.

I couldn’t understand why more importance was placed on starting a problematic engine than letting us board and abandoning ship.

I asked, “Can’t we board and you continue working on the engine once we are off the ship?” Besides, where do they think we were going that we needed an engine?

Regardless of all that was going on, my attention deficit kicked in. I lost interest in the crews cranking and shifted my attention to looking closer at my soon to be new prospective home. In the process of viewing the lifeboat I asked myself why I hadn’t studied the intricacies of the lifeboat on a fair weather day, not leave it until there is an emergency. Now I’ve got to do a quick study while trying to maintain my balance on a listing ship on a windy starless night.

The first thing that caught my eye was a small sign on the stern of the lifeboat stating the maximum capacity was 39 passengers. I asked the people around me if anyone had determined if there was sufficient space for all of us onboard. A couple of people counted us and found there were only 37 of us, so we would all fit. ”Only 37” felt like significantly more once we were all aboard the lifeboat.

I became more frustrated watching the crew’s failed attempts at starting the engine. I now turned my attention to the fore and aft cables and the mechanism to lower our boat. There was an overhead cable that ran the length of the lifeboat with heavy lines hanging down like subway straps. I didn’t have a clue what that was used for. I kept looking for something familiar that I understood.

Two days later after I was ashore and reflecting on my actions and thoughts at this time, I wondered if my sudden curiosity of the detail workings of a lifeboat was a distraction from total terror. I never felt frighten throughout the ordeal. Instead I was focusing on understanding my survival vehicle, ”Welcome to your new hood bro.” I hadn’t begun to think about where I was heading. This was all about survival, stay dry, stay warm, be cool. Staying warm was a relative term here.

My attention moved to the clevis snaps that clipped to shackles on either end of the lifeboat. They were clasp-type hooks but there was a thick rope around the clasp. I asked if the rope should be removed but the crew did not respond. They were focused on starting the engine. Still? Separating the hook from the shackle was encumbered by the rope around the hook.

Under the circumstance, I could not understand the importance of getting the engine started. As we waited, there was no GAP staff around where I was standing. Nor was there any evidence of someone in charge. I assumed the starboard side was more critical; as that side of the ship must have been very close to the water by now. I assumed once the starboard lifeboats were launched attention would shift to port side. By the time I stepped aboard the lifeboat I did see Lina, the doctor, watching us board.

As much as I enjoying the trip, the informative GAP staff and the ship in general, during our trips ashore I thought the Zodiac operation was understaffed and a potential risk. As we waited to board the lifeboats this thought returned. In 2004 during my first trip to Antarctica every Zodiac ride had two crew members’ onboard wearing exposure suits. The reason they were required to wear exposure suits at all time was to be able to immediately jump into the frigid waters to rescue anyone falling overboard. The second person continued to operate the Zodiac.

On the Explorer there was only one crew member aboard each Zodiac and never in an exposure suit. I could only conclude the ship was understaffed so the owner required the lecturers to double as Zodiac operators. They were all qualified Zodiac operators but there was not a second safety person onboard every Zodiac. I don’t fault the crew with this oversight but the GAP Adventure owner.

The shortage of qualified GAP staff on the Shackleton hike was also evident. Although a relatively short hike we crossed over a ridge in driving snow, strong winds with very limited visibility. There was only one GAP staff qualified to lead us and he only joined the hike at the last minute at the insistence of one of the passengers.

During the entire time we were waiting to board the lifeboat, Jill, standing next to me, repeatedly asked why the life rafts weren’t being deployed. We could see one from where we stood. It was forward near the bridge. Her quires went unanswered.

The life rafts would have been my preferred domicile for a night on the high seas in comparison to an engineless lifeboat or an open Zodiac. As the life rafts were not deployed they were not an option.

The life rafts were probably the best emergency vessels onboard the Explorer, as there were no covers on the lifeboats or the Zodiacs. Worst, the Zodiac’s can flip over in high winds and waves. By contracts, the rafts are completely enclosed, much like a dome tent. They are self righting and designed to withstand high velocity winds with multiple buoyancy compartments. We could have stayed dry and out of the freezing and wet spray throughout our ordeal.

The first time I saw the life rafts in the water was when we watched the Chilean TV evening news during dinner at the Presidente Eduardo Frei Air Force Base on King George Island. There were four life rafts floating with debris from the ship. They must have self deployed as the ship sank.

We stood alongside our lifeboat gathered into small groups discussing what was going on, who was in charge, where were the GAP staff, how much longer were we going to wait to board the lifeboat, why weren’t they deploying the lift rafts and why wasn’t the lifeboat engine starting. How much further could the ship list and not interfere with lowering the lifeboats?

In a strange way abandoning the ship was fascinating, that is, when I wasn’t thinking about all the camera equipment and possessions I had left behind. Here I am about to board a lifeboat that was going to be lowered into freezing waters then set adrift only to wait to be picked up in perhaps six hours. I thought of Alfred Hitchcock’s movie “Lifeboat” and the story of Eddie Rickenbacker’s twenty-four days in a lifeboat but then they weren’t in Antarctica.

Here we were boarding lifeboats, when earlier that day we had visited Elephant Island where Shackleton had left his men for 120 days. He then sailed to South Georgia Island in a 23 foot boat. Just a couple of days before that, we had retraced Shackleton’s hike across South Georgia Island after he had sailed nearly a thousand miles. This was getting far too authentic.

The captain would periodically step out onto the exterior wing of the bridge to check on our progress. About the third time he came out, he could see we had not begun to board our lifeboat; we were still standing outside of it. He became very animated and was shouting but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. The passengers closer to him relayed he was saying to board the lifeboat now. He went back inside and used the PA system to announce again to abandon ship immediately. We no longer waited for the crew to allow us to board. It was apparent from the captain’s reaction we were not meant to be waiting; he wanted us in the lifeboat. There was no surge, we just boarded one at a time.

Once we were all aboard the lifeboat, it was extremely crowded. In fact, it was nearly impossible to move our legs or change position. I now had a closer view of the ropes hanging and the cable attached to the bow, I was right next to it. I then noticed three straps that wrapped around the boat. This did not look right so I got one of the crew member’s attention and pointed to the straps. He removed them. I’m not sure that was important but I felt better after they were removed.

Finally, the lifeboat was lowered. I was relieved to see what I thought was a motor was instead use to soften our landing. It was some type of clutch to control our rate of decent. The decent went from thrilling to terrifying once we hit the water.

I couldn’t see what was happening at the stern but at the bow, where I was, the crew member was having trouble removing the cable to free us from the ship. The rope around the clevis snap was preventing him from detaching the cable from the shackle, all part of the equipment to lower us. There were a couple of tense moments as he struggled to remove the rope then separate the snap from the shackle. From the difficulty he was having and the way he went about it, it looked like he had never done this before. It is also possible he was just scarred and couldn’t concentrate or remember how to remove it correctly.

The lifeboat is now free from the Explorer and is rising and falling with the swells. The ship is now well over on its side. It probably hadn’t listed any further since we were lowered. It was just the angle of list was more apparent from my new perspective. The rising and falling sea were opening and closing an area under the ship. In a brief hallucinating moment it looked like a giant mouth opening and closing. An opening we were being drawn into.

At hand, was a short pole with a metal radar reflector at one end. The person sitting at the bow grabbed the pole to push the lifeboat away from the ship. He crushed the reflector on the first push. Our chances of being found by radar had just been greatly diminished. The combination of the weight of the lifeboat, the current and the ship’s movement made it impossible for one person to push us away from the ship. The pole was too short for more than one person to get their hands on it.

There are four long oars on the lifeboat. It was not easy removing the oars from their stored location. The oars were stored along the back of the bench seat so everyone in front of the oars had to maneuver out of the way. Both sides of the boat had passengers blocking access to the oars. With some degree of difficulty one oar was freed, that oar was passed forward. While the people in the bow were trying to use the oar to push us away from the ship, failed attempts were made to paddle us away using the oars. The oars were eventually put in the oarlocks. It was impossible to row because it was so crowded; there was inadequate room to move the oars back and forth to get us away from the ship.

Looking back on that, the oars became a hazard due to the size, weight and by being unwieldy. It is a wonder that someone wasn’t hit on the head by a flailing oar. The oars were out of control due to the abrupt movement of the boat and their size and weight.

By now our lifeboat was perpendicular to the ship, with each passing swell we were drawn toward the underside of the ship. The blade end of the oar was pressed against the ship’s hull. The first couple of attempts to push away from the ship were unsuccessful, the oar only slipped across the steel hull. Eventually the oar blade held and we were pushed away from the hull.

We were still close to the ship’s hull but not being drawn in. Unfortunately, we were still in harm’s way. The ship moved forward as we rotated parallel to the ship. The relative movement of our lifeboat and the ship put us directly under the yet to be lowered aft lifeboat. If it had been lowered then it would have come down directly on top of us. We all shouted that we were directly below.

Fortunately, they heard us. We soon drifted out from under the aft lifeboat and away from the Little Red Ship.

© Copyright Michael Morrissey, All Rights Reserved.

Article by Michael Morrissey is considered one of the new generation of adventure and travel photographers. Based in Bangkok, Thailand with a passion for travel, Michael got hooked on photography while driving a bus from Istanbul to Katmandu in the 70’s; an obsession briefly interrupted with a twenty year career in business. You can view his photography at: www.mjmorrissey.com

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