Once we were clear of the listing Explorer and the threat of the other lifeboat dropping onto us my attention turned to my new environment. The lifeboat was surprisingly crowded even with two short of the stated seating capacity.

Fortunately, this was not a typical cross section of people; we were mostly slim to medium sized, no XXL’s here. I can’t image what it would have been like if we had a full Thanksgiving dinner. Even though the lifeboat was under capacity with thirty-seven trim passengers there was no wiggle room. And let’s not forget we are going to be here for at least six hours without a toilet.

Before we left the Explorer, Captain Wiman announced there were three ships on the way to rescue us. The nearest was six hours away. He cautioned us it could take longer as they may have to sail around pack ice.

Clearly, comfort is not part of the design brief given to lifeboat architects. It would also seem they are not required to spend any time on a fully populated lifeboat testing its functionality. I can’t believe our lifeboat could properly function using the oars while fully loaded. I guess the assumption is when you board a lifeboat from a sinking ship in the middle of the sea you will take what’s there and be forever grateful.

The lifeboat was divided into three sections; at least that is how it appeared to me from where I was sitting in the bow section on the starboard side. There were two cross sectional dividers separating the lifeboat into thirds. Sola was sitting next to me but her legs were in the midsection well. There were two people sitting on the floor in the forward section. It was likely we would be sitting like this for the next six hours, if not more. We tried unsuccessfully to shift around to get more comfortable and balance ourselves. I had someone sitting on my feet.

Someone asked what would happen to the people on the floor if we took on water? I think their chances of hyperthermia would greatly increase.

As we began to feel the wind I suggested we take turns sitting on the floor out of the wind. It was a variation on how Emperor penguins survive all winter at the South Pole. They take turns walking around the perimeter of the group while those in the middle warm up. There was never time to implement the Emperors on a lifeboat keeping warm program; Sola and I would soon depart the lifeboat.

I asked Sola to shift her feet from the midsection into the same section as mine, some instinctive parental logic. The importance of this escapes me now but it seemed important at the time. Do to the overcrowding it was impossible for her to lift her feet over the divider. We had to stay the way we boarded.

The engine on our lifeboat only took up space; it was never started. We were at the mercy of the sea current and wind. Ms Mercy was very kind to us for the first part of our ordeal. As we drifted away from the Explorer the sea was rolling with wide swells so we were not getting wet. There was a breeze but not uncomfortable. I kept my back to the wind with my hood up and thought, “I can handle this, probably longer than the expected six hours.” Sola and I were checking on each other every so often. We must have looked like two bobbing hand puppets, “OK?” OK.” OK?” OK.”

During this portion of the ordeal we were both fine under the circumstances. In November at 62o 24” South latitude the sky is never pitch black, so we could clearly see our surroundings. It was brighter toward the east than the west due to the heavy cloud cover. It was cold but we were dressed appropriately. There was very little sea spray while we were on the lifeboat.

We were tightly packed together. A ha! Maybe that’s why the lifeboat capacity is so dense; pack’em tight and they stay warm.
The large oars were impossible to use. The people sitting in the middle did not know how to row. When the oars were first taken from the stowed area, people tried to paddle with them rather than row. They didn’t know about the oarlocks. Lifting the large oars overhead was dangerous. The oars were so unwieldy it’s a wonder someone wasn’t hit on the head. I keep thinking there were serious shortcomings to the design of the emergency systems and procedures. I’ll discuss this later.

Although I left all my valuables aboard the ship I had a GPS in my coat pocket. It wasn’t something I grabbed as I was leaving the cabin; I kept it in my jacket. The GPS connects to my camera and stamps my photographs with the longitude and latitude of where the photograph is taken. This is especially useful in a place like Antarctica with few reference points. The GPS also gives direction, speed and elevation. On board a powerless lifeboat without a two-way radio with long range capability my GPS device was about as useful as light from a candle in a storm. But I knew exactly where I was, my direction and speed of travel. I could guess the elevation.

It was some time after midnight; we were now in open water drifting away from the Explorer. I thought we should try to stay in close proximity to the ship, but not close enough to drawn into the sinking ship’s vortex. Better to stay near the ship, even sinking, as it is more likely to appear on radar or be seen by helicopters and rescue planes.

There was no sign of emergency transmitters aboard the lifeboat. So long as the Explorer was above water it was more likely to appear on a radarscope than our lifeboat; especially since we trashed our radar reflector trying to keep from going under the ship. How do you keep a powerless lifeboat in close proximity to a sinking ship? You don’t.

The weather conditions changed as we drifted further from the ship. The winds were increasing and the sea was getting rough. Not in the sense of high waves with white caps just rougher than when we were first lowered into the water. The toughs were deeper so the ride was more thrilling.

The next surprise was the arrival of a Zodiac. The Zodiac wanted to tie up to the lifeboat. It appeared the Zodiac was going to tow us or keep the bow of the lifeboat faced into the sea swells and wind.

There was an unsuccessful attempt at tying up due to the knot slipping. Soon after the knot slipped a second Zodiac came alongside where Sola and I were sitting. They asked five people to board that Zodiac. Without a moments hesitation we were over the side of the lifeboat and into the Zodiac.

This is another decision that haunts me, like the one where I didn’t grab my backpack.

Why did we leave the lifeboat? I thought we were being transferred to another less populated lifeboat. This was not the case and I still don’t know why we are asked to abandon a perfectly good lifeboat.

In part, I’ll blame Sola, she jumped into the Zodiac first. The second reason I so quickly abandon the lifeboat for the Zodiac was familiarity; I had been jumping in and out of Zodiacs for nearly two weeks.

I’d never been in a lifeboat before and I felt helpless; especially without a working engine. The familiarity with the Zodiac gave me a sense of security and of being more in control. The Zodiac looked more appealing, dynamic, and easier to maneuver (a working engine!) and much less crowded compared to our powerless lifeboat. Even the name, lifeboat, has a negative connotation. The Zodiac is a vessel of action, the lifeboat just waits.

For the past two weeks the Zodiac had served us well in snow, rain, high winds and salt spray in our faces. The Zodiac had become our second home. So it was without hesitation I followed Sola into the Zodiac.

Later at the Chilean Eduardo Frei Montalva Station I learned from one of the officers that leaving the lifeboat was a bad call. On the open seas, even without a working engine, he said, the lifeboat is much safer, no a dangerous decision. It is nearly impossible to capsize a lifeboat. It can be cut in half and both halves will float. He told me if the wind got under the bow of the Zodiac it can flip over. Now he tells me.

My lifeboat-leaving leader, Sola, sat forward as she was the first to board. I sat next to her and Steen sat next to me. Jill and another man sat across from us. Once the five of us were onboard, the Zodiac pulled away from the lifeboat.

There were two crewmembers aboard the Zodiac both from The Philippines. One sat opposite Sola and the driver at the rear tending the outboard engine. I had not seen either of them before so I thought they must have worked below in the engine room of the Explorer. I wasn’t paying much attention to either of them at first. I was getting acquainted with my new vessel.

It didn’t take long to become familiar with the Zodiac. There was the buoyancy tube, wooden deck and an outboard motor. There were seven of us and nothing else. I did notice neither of the crew was wearing an exposure suit.

The fact that the crew were not wearing exposure suits and not wearing the kill switch continues to bother me. Every outboard motor on the Zodiacs had a strap that should have been attached to the operator’s wrist. If the operator fell overboard the strap kills the engine. Otherwise, the boat keeps going or the engine abruptly turns and can potentially throw us out of the boat.

I thought we were being transferred to a less crowded lifeboat. It was apparent from our aimless cruising we were on our way to nowhere. I asked the driver, “Where are we going?”

I got just a blank look staring straight ahead. The crew member opposite us just sat there immobilized. I don’t recall the forward guy ever saying a word during the entire time we were on the Zodiac. I don’t know if he didn’t speak English or was just terrified. A little information would have been appreciated and reassuring.

We were now sitting on the floor of the Zodiac. This was different from our daily Zodiac rides when we would sit on top of the buoyancy tube. Sitting on the hard wooden deck was uncomfortable. We were now feeling every bump, compared to sitting on top where all sudden jolts were cushioned.

As we gained speed the ride became rougher. The increased speed increased the angle of the deck which caused the bow to rise forcing us to roll toward the stern. The boat was bouncing on the surf. I could not maintain my balance. Sola was leaning into me and I was leaning into Steen. A couple of times the floor boards were striking my bottom so quickly I felt like I was being paddled.
In an attempt to lessen the paddling and hold my position to the floor, I found if I sat straight up I could push with my feet against the opposite buoyancy tube and hold myself in place. That was until my back started talking to me.

I was feeling very uncomfortable. My legs were trembling from the strain of pushing, then there was the pain in my back, the bouncing, an occasional saltwater dowsing and the wind. My legs were wet and I shivering from the cold. I needed a shot of distraction.

It was at this time I began my psychic exercise of attempting to keep the Explorer afloat. For the lack of anything else to do, rather than dwell on my situation, I attempted to prevent the ship from sinking with concentration. I also surveyed the surface of the sea to take my mind off the pain in my back.

Once I had the ship stabilized I then started asking questions to no one in particular, “Where are we going? Why are we going so fast? How long will our fuel last? Why not slow down and economize the fuel?” The driver just ignored me. I then asked who was in charge. Like that’s going to get a rise out of him.

I wasn’t thinking mutiny but someone should be executing a plan to keep us as dry and as warm as possible. A couple of hundred feet away was a sizeable iceberg, perhaps as high as a four story building. The choppiness of the sea and the wind was increasing. I asked the driver why we don’t we head for the leeside of the iceberg. It would get us out of the wind and the sea on the leeward side was smooth.

Jill was asking similar questions. She was getting very impatient and kept asking, why we were continuing to ride around in circles and wasting fuel. No reply.

I was surprised our driver was not keeping the bow into the wind and swells preventing us from broaching. Too often we were running parallel to the swells. I really wanted to trust and believe in our little crew but the failure to wear their exposure suits and their behavior was eroding their credibility.

The driver was wearing a two way radio similar to the type police wear with a speaker in the microphone. It sounded like the captain talking. “Isn’t that the Captain? What did he say” I asked. A shrug and the owl look.

This was the first time I heard the Captain on the radio, then I thought, the Captain going down with the ship must be an old wives tale.

A few minutes later I could hear the Captain again and this time he was clearly instructing all boats to gather near the ship.
The driver opened the throttle and we sped off in the direction of the ship. Does he know about the vortex created by a sinking ship? As we got closer I could hear the Captain shouting over the radio instructing all the drivers not to get too close to the ship.

He then told them to gather together a safe distance away from the ship. That didn’t last very long. We gathered but shortly afterwards we were drifting away from each other. We had visual contact with each other but we were not in a tight formation.

Soon after we had gathered together the wind intensified as did the sea conditions. It was not a dark and stormy night but occasionally waves were breaking over the bow. Other than the pain in my back I was relatively comfortable. Until the wave hit I had been completely dry; with my back to the wind the cold air was not bothering me. The first wave changed all that.

Back in the cabin in my haste to get dressed I did not put waterproof pants over my regular pants. I knew from my daily routine it had been taking too long to get the waterproof pants over my boots. At the first sound of the alarm I wanted to get out of the cabin as fast as possible. To avoid a delay I skipped the waterproof pants. I was still in the frame of mind that I would be returning to bed shortly so I also didn’t bring the pants with me. After the first wave went over me I suddenly gained ten pounds. My cotton khaki pants were like a blotter.

After the third wave flowed over me I asked the forward crewmember if there was a top for the Zodiac or something we could use as a cover to protect us from the water. Sola and I were still doing, OK? OK. OK? OK. Now, we were both lying.

The forward crewmember did not reply. Suddenly, a red exposure suit lands in my lap. The driver had thrown it to us. We laid it across the three of us. It was apparent this was useless after another wave came over us. It did not provide any protection from the water. Shortly another exposure suit was given to the two on the other side.

I started feeling sorry for the two crew members. Up until that point I saw them more as the authority, the decision makers, and our way out of this. The more time I spent with them I came to realize they were just a couple of regular guys totally unprepared for this, doing the best they could in an unattainable situation. If they weren’t responsible for our well being than who was and where were they.

I hadn’t taken noticed how wet they were until I starting wondering why they weren’t wearing their exposure suits. On closer examination They were both wearing soaking wet ski parkas and ordinary pants. They were soaked through looking very uncomfortable. The forward man was shivering.

We then turned toward a nearby lifeboat. I’m not sure whether it was ours or not. Everyone was wearing exposure bags with just a small part of their face showing. It was very difficult to identify anyone. As we approached the lifeboat the driver shouted to the crew on the lifeboat and small packages were thrown at us. Most of the packages landed in our Zodiac, a couple fell into the water. The packets contained an exposure bag.

That was the first time my frustration rose to anger. The exposure bags should have been given to us when we boarded the lifeboat. Everyone could have stayed dry and comfortable throughout this ordeal. It was impossible to get dry once we were drenched by a wave. Prevention is the operative word in these circumstances.

It was not easy getting into the exposure bags. The exposure bags were tightly packed into a sandwich bag. Being wet and sticky made it all the more difficult to open the packet and try to slip into it. Sola and I were helping each other. I couldn’t image how we would have done this on a full lifeboat. We had a lot more space but it was still very awkward. There was the bouncing of the boat, trying to maintain our balance, opening the bag to get into it and the final challenge of getting it over the life preserver around our shoulders. The wetness caused the bag to stick to our boots, jackets and life preserver. As I struggled to get into the bag I wondered why this wasn’t part of the abandon ship drill.

There was too much new discovery with the exposure suite. There were no arms or legs, just a bag. The hood wasn’t apparent. We could have saved a lot of time and effort if we know what it was we were trying to get into.

My first unpleasant surprise was the discovery that someone else had previously used my exposure bag. These bags were similar to a mummy type sleeping bag with an opening for the face that zipped to the chin. I could tell it was used because the zipper pull was gone as were some of the teeth. There was no way to close the bag around my head so it kept sliding off my shoulders. I tried holding it together with my teeth; not comfortable. Who knows, maybe it was part of a conspiracy to keep my mouth shut to stop my wisecracking.

Sola then told me there’s a tear in my bag. Of course the tear was facing the bow and the next wave verified there was a large hole. I tried stuffing the bag under my legs but it wouldn’t stay. The wind entered through the hole and caused the bag to balloon up. I looked like a character ready for New York’s Thanksgiving Day parade; after all it was Thanksgiving’s Day.

I found another bag on the deck near my foot. I then noticed neither of the crew had yet to put on an exposure suit or bag. I sat there for longer than I should have debating with myself whether to offer the extra bag on the deck to one of the crew or just put it on. I probably didn’t ponder over this choice as long as it seemed but I was not proud of my thought process. My survival of the fittest genes were kicking in.

The two crew members had already passed on the oppolrtunity to wear a full blown exposure suit. They then passed up a second opportunity to put on an exposure bag. I wondered if it was a macho thing not to wear any exposure protection gear at all.

At that point I would have slipped into a pink tutu if I thought it would have kept me warm and dry. The next wave that washed over me was guilt. Fortunately, before I lost all sense of community and selflessness I saw two more bags on the deck as I reached for “my” second bag. This bag was brand new with a fully functioning zipper. The second bag slipped on like a fir lined glove.

Now inside my new bag I was feeling much better. The wind and water weren’t entering through the tear. I was deflated. It wasn’t exactly a sauna but it was warmer then I’d been since the first wave.

As I settled into my new situation I spent more time then I should have rethinking my mental wrestling over whether to keep the extra bag or offer it to the crew. I was very disappointed in the direction my thought process was heading. I certainly did not earn high marks for unselfishness and generosity for my fellow man. I guess I would have been the guy building the fire at the Donner Party.

Sola was looking uncomfortable so I suggested and she accepted we switch positions. The deck was wet, our arms and legs were inside the exposure bags so we were appendageless. We had to go over and under each other. It was the most fun we had had since being dropped into the water. We must have looked like a couple of elephant seals mud wrestling.

Sola and I were more comfortable after switching positions, the crew looked miserable. Double bagged I was toasty. Sola was snuggly sandwiched between Steen and me.

Finally the crew came to their senses. I don’t see which of them went for the exposure bag first, but the other immediately followed suit. I’ll never understand why they did not put on their exposure suits. During my previous trip to Antarctica the crew let us try their exposure suits on. While ashore we jumped into subfreezing water for fun. They provide that much protection from the freezing water.

There was nothing else to do but monitor our situation, regularly exchanging OK? OK’s with Sola. So I returned to concentrating on the ship and keeping her afloat. Besides wanting to return to bed I had a second reason for keeping the ship afloat. My cabin was amidships on the port side. As I sat in the Zodiac keeping an eye on the Explorer I’m thinking my cabin is now the highest point out of the water. That means all of my equipment: cameras, lens, cell phones, computer, etc were still completely dry.

The starboard deck was just about at the water line. It still seemed possible that if a salvage ship arrived soon a couple of diver’s could board, seal the holes, pump out the water and bam! I’m back in bed. I never gave up hope until we were at the Eduardo Frei Montalva Station where I saw the debris floating above where the ship had sunk. For a fleeting nanosecond I thought, if it took the ship that long to sink, maybe it was just below the surface and it could be raised.

It wasn’t until I was carving a huge piece of beef in the Chilean Air Force cafeteria that I finally turned woke up and accepted I was not going back to bed onboard the Explorer and I would never again hold my camera. I’ve kept in perspective, camera’s are replaceable, being here to tell this is priceless.

I was getting tired of holding myself in place pressing my legs against the other side and the mental exertion of keeping the ship afloat was extremely exhausting. I started thinking of answers to the possible questions I would be asked once back on shore, “What were you thinking about out there all that time?” and “Did you ever think you were not going to survive?”

Other than that question I never thought for a minute that I would not survive. I was too busy keeping the ship afloat. I was never terrified or overly concerned for Sola or my welfare. I stayed focused on staying dry and warm. We were going to survive this.

Oddly, the first thought that came to mind was a TV news report I show last year of an eighteen year old girl whose parachute did not deploy on her first skydiving jump. Fortunately, she landed in a marsh and only sustained minor abrasions. The sensation of waiting to be rescued was like that girl free falling. I did wonder if I was heading for a soft snow bank or a concrete parking lot. I quickly dismissed this story and thought about the distance between my bottom and the subfreezing sea. I estimated it at less than two inches. Dismissed, next thought! No, I never had the urge to put my hand in the water to see how cold it felt and I don’t touch surfaces with wet paint signs.

During our daily Zodiac rides there were various estimates on how long a person can survive in subfreezing water. I’ve since looked it up on the internet. There are a lot of variables to consider, body fat, clothing, metabolism, alcohol consumption and movement, to name a few. Everything I have read since life-on-a-Zodiac says from twenty minutes to an hour in thirty-one degree water before hypothermia becomes irreversible (read — dead). I don’t believe it but I could not find anything on the Web to support my hysterical less than five minutes.

So, give me the five minutes for minute. I was sitting in the Zodiac with my head full of the less-than-five-minutes of misinformation when my focus of discomfort moved from my back and legs to my neck. The large orange life preserver was becoming a royal pain in the neck. The buoyancy tube was pushing up on the bottom of the life preserver. This was forcing my neck into an unusual angle leaning forward. Not only was it painful but it made it very difficult to keep an eye on the Explorer and quite possibly is the reason I failed at keeping her afloat.

I never thought for a minute about taking off the life preserver but I did wonder– if we could only survive for less than five minutes in the water, then what’s the purpose of the life preserver. Let’s not dwell on that. Without proper exposure suits the crewmembers could not jump into the freezing water to assist us.

The most profound memory I left this experience with was the absence of time. I now wonder if I was more aware of the danger then I realized at some subconscious level. Under such a threat I was living in a pure timeless existentialist state. I had no idea how long we were out there. It did not seem like a long time.

As I was sitting there mentally juggling all of this I was started by the sight of a bright white light on the horizon. What with the changing of boats, struggling with the exposure bags, getting wet and all the time psychically keeping the ship afloat I was not aware of time. I thought we were still hours away from being rescued when I saw the light of what turned out to be the Nordnorge. I couldn’t believe the greatest photographic opportunity in my life and me without a camera was about to end.

The driver opened the throttle and headed toward the light at full speed. We rapidly approached the Nordnorge, a Norwegian cruise ship. It towered over us. At first all I could see were the camera flashes going off in the windows. As we approached closer we could barely see the passengers in the windows seven levels above us. The Nordnorge with a 24,900 ton displacement dwarfs the Explore weighing in at a mere 2,400 ton displacement. It’s no wonder the Explorer was affectionately known as The “Little” Red Ship.

Our Zodiac was the first to arrive alongside the Nordnorge. We circled alongside until a hatch near the water line was opened and a rope ladder dropped out. The hatch was less than four feet above the water and we were directed to approach it. We came in bow first so I was the first to board. Sola was right behind me. Once we stepped aboard the Nordnorge we were greeted like runners finishing a marathon race. Two women from Hurtigruten (Norwegian cruise operators) wrapped Sola in blankets and asked if she wanted a hot shower. That was the last I saw of her for awhile. They wrapped me in a blanket and told me to take the elevator to the seventh floor. Take the what? We were no longer on 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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