The Penguin Room or lecture room was used in the evening to show movies such as “March of the Penguins” and “Happy Feet”. During the day, more sober presentations on sea birds, penguins, mammals, geology, icebergs, weather, research and history – Shackleton, Antarctica and its environs were presented. The scientific presentations were given when we were not boarding Zodiacs to experience firsthand the wonders of Antarctica. The room is laid out like a typical lecture hall with theater style seating but with benches and coffee tables around the perimeter.

When Sola and I entered the lecture room I looked for Simon. If anything happened to Simon his wife would feed me to the leopard seals. As I looked around the room for Simon I was surprised to find both computers at the rear of the room engaged with email writers. Once I spotted Simon, looked through the window to check the weather condition and wondered if shipboard computers have become the modern day message-in-a-bottle.

Everyone arrived wearing an orange lifejacket, properly dressed in warm clothing for the occasion. The atmosphere in the room was charged with anticipation and apprehension. Certainly there was no panic. We were all very keen to learn more about the ship’s condition.

Damian came to the front of the room looking reassuringly ordinary. He wanted to know how the Dutch were able to get everyone to wear the Dutch national color. Then, Raymond, from Ireland, challenged him on the rights to the color orange. Bob, the stoic ornithologist rolled his eyes.

Sola and I took adjacent seats on the perimeter seating. We were sitting with our backs in the direction of the ship’s list. The straight back bench now had a comfortable reclining angle; comfortable for sitting that is, not for a ship. I sat there trying to understand the reason for the ship’s listing. I couldn’t believe it was due to the leak. This was the M/S Explorer, a 40 year veteran with thousands of miles cruising fridge waters. I decided the list was due to the Captain adjusting the ballast tanks to keep the water consolidated on the starboard side for ease of pumping. More denial, supported by my misguided assumptions.

Everyone was assembled in the lecture room within a few minutes of the Captains first announcement. We were settling into our chairs when the Captain spoke to us from the bridge. He explained our situation and said he would keep us abreast with all the information he had available to him, even if there wasn’t anything new to report he’d tell us that as well. That was very reassuring.
Reassuring, especially for someone who had recently been on an Airbus 320 that was abruptly banked left, then pulled violently into the steepest climb I’d ever experienced on a commercial airplane. We circled the airport and made a normal landing. After the heart wrenching acrobatic maneuvering, the only announcement from the pilot was, “Sorry about the theatrics back there folks.” I never did learn what caused the pilot to do that but I was delighted Captain Winemen was forthcoming with constant information, even if it wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

Next, one of the staff called off everyone’s name from the passenger roaster to verify we were present and accounted. Roll call was always a humorous exercise aboard the Explorer, waiting to hear who we were each time. There were one hundred passengers from sixteen different countries. Correctly pronouncing the names was challenging. The mispronunciations and in some cases transposing first and last names did have a positive effect of forcing everyone to keep quiet and pay close attention.

The following series of announcements from the Captain are not verbatim nor necessarily in sequence:

“We have transmitted a worldwide distress signal with our position and current status. I have already received responses from people in Sweden and Rome.” There was a bit of laughter and wisecracks across the room.

“We have placed pumps in the flooded area and my crew is working to pump the water out. Please stay in the Penguin Room and do not return to your cabin.”

“The water level seems to have stabilized. We are now looking for the source of the leak.”

“We have found a fist sized hole and are continuing to inspect for other leaks.”

“The water level is rising again on the third level.”

“I have been in contact with three nearby ships. The two nearest ships are six hours and eight hours away.”

While waiting for the next announcement some passengers asked Damian to put on a movie. He couldn’t because it would make it difficult to hear the captain’s instructions. Instead, he asked if anyone had a joke to tell. A better question would have been, “Does anyone know any good jokes?” This was not a room full of hysterical people, apprehensive, yes. Nor was this a room full of comics.

A wireless microphone was passed around the room for wantabe comics. The jokes got progressively worst to a point that I’d have opted for a lifeboat rather than sit through anymore bad jokes. Until now, it hadn’t occurred to me abandoning ship was a possibility. As each new joke was started I began to see an upside to abandoning ship. Opening the Improv-Comedy Club was a good call on Damian’s part and a welcomed distraction from second guessing what was going on below decks.

The joke telling was interrupted with a toilet announcement. Anyone wanting to use the toilet was to meet a GAP staff member who would provide escort to the toilet. This would have to be done one person at a time. They were using an unfamiliar toilet in the galley. I’ll just wait until I return to my cabin.

Shortly after the toilet escort service offer there was an announcement that there was no running water available in the galley toilet, with an appropriate caution. Even more reason to wait until I return to my cabin.

The only two exit doors from the lecture room were on the opposite side of the room from where Sola and I were sitting. If the ship’s list increased, crossing the room could become difficult. I suggested to Sola we move to the same side as the exit doors. In the unlikely event we were going to have to abandon ship. It was also a point we would be closer to the stairs when it was time to return to our cabin. My preferred reason for moving over there.

The Captain from the bridge, “Those passengers with cabins on the first floor, room numbers beginning with one, proceed to your cabin and pack your bags.” No one from any other level is to go to their room at this time.” This was surprisingly unpleasant and not to my liking as I was in a room starting with the number 3. The level where the leak was found, This could only mean one thing; I may not be getting back in bed anytime soon. I was expecting to hear announced, something like, we could now return to our cabins and go back to sleep. Am I really that naive? Please, no emails.

Let’ see, send passengers to pack their bags and not allowing the rest to return to their cabins meant, we were not going back to bed on this ship. A moment of reality, the potential for abandoning ship has suddenly increased.

For a brief moment I left denial and thought about sitting in a lifeboat for six hours without a toilet. We were now standing near the stairs leading down to the galley toilet. For most men over fifty we learn not to pass such a window of opportunity. I was unable to find a GAP escort. In fact, I didn’t see anyone except passengers. That got me thinking about where were they until I became obsesed with my mission. The power of suggestion.

My concentration had switched from safety to comfort. I went down the stairs alone expecting to find a line at the toilet. I’d never been in the galley or to this galley toilet. I could not find it. I looked around a couple of corners and down a passageway. I knew where the nearest men’s toilet was at the other end of the dining hall. I left the galley and started forward. As I passed through the dining hall the lights went out. Oh, fudge!

The emergency lighting came on so I continued my mission. This was the first time my level of concern was elevated. I entered the toilet; a toilet with a door that was usually difficult to open when the ship was level, now it was more difficult due to the listing. It had a very strong automatic door closer. The door swing was such that the listing of the ship made the door heavier. Once inside there was no light and the floor was wet and slippery.

Wet slippery floor, heavy door, listing ship, what was I thinking?!? I made no attempt at being a gentleman by availing myself of the facilities. It was totally black, the target was not insight nor visible. This was not the time to consider seat up or seat down. There was the floor. I completed my task and went for the door. After losing traction on the wet floor I balanced on one leg while pushing with my other leg against the toilet enclosure to push the door open. I made my way back to the top of the stairs where Sola was waiting. I was still berating myself for leaving the lecture room.

While I was crossing the dining room heading for the stairs I acknowledged, that was really stupid and reckless.” Later I counted this as my first really dumb action, unless taking this trip to Antarctica counts.

As I stood next to Sola getting my mind around the last announcement, I started down the “what if” road. What if the ship listed further while I was in the toilet and I couldn’t open the door? I’m starting to imagine being trapped in the men’s room trying to push open a heavy metal door as the ship’s list increases… Stop, Enough!

Sending passengers to pack their bags was not what I wanted to hear and certainly not encouraging. Brad had come to the Penguin Room about this time and he looked haggard. This was further discouragement. Brad is very passionate about his job, even though he has spent the last twenty seven years cruising the Arctic and Antarctic. He loves what he does and is very proud to be a part of the M/S Explorer and its history. He first signed on with Lars-Eric Lindblad, the creator of the M/S Explorer. If there was such a thing as a Nauticalphiliac with Antarctical tendencies, Brad’s got it big time. Brad’s countenance was another indication all was not well.

We had been in the Penguin Room for over half an hour “warmly dressed” wearing our orange life preservers. Brad recognized we were getting uncomfortably warm. He said it was all right to stand outside by the rear door but not to wander out of earshot and pay attention for further instructions.

Earlier, I had only looked outside through the window to check the weather conditions. Now I was ready to gage the wind conditions and chill first hand. I stepped outside. It was normal for Antarctica, cold and windy. What was I expecting?

There were large swells with some breaking white caps. The ship was far enough south that the night sky was not pitch-black. It wasn’t light enough to read but everything was visible, the icebergs, ice floes, waves with an overcast sky. I went back inside having cooled down and couldn’t help notice the room’s list had increased.

Captain, “I’m concerned we are drifting toward an ice floe. It will be difficult to lower the lifeboats if we get into the floe, so I want everyone to move outside and stand near your lifeboat.” The lifeboats have a sharp “vee” hull. Lowering the boats onto a flat ice surface could be disastrous. The boats would very likely tip over dumping its contents onto the ice or worst.

The Captain also talked about the increasing list would make it more difficult to lower the lifeboats on the starboard side of the ship. I could not see the starboard side but from where I was standing on the high side I could image how close the starboard side was to the water’s surface. The combination of an approaching ice floe and the ship’s list left the Captain no option but to abandon ship. Everyone began to leave the Penguin Room toward their respective lifeboat.

The Explorer has two lifeboats on either side of the ship. On the first day at sea during the emergency evacuation drill we were instructed which side of the ship to go. Even numbered cabins to starboard, odd to port. Sola and I were in 309 so we went to the port side, the high side.

There is not much space to stand on the catwalk in front of each lifeboat, so there was a backup of passengers at each door while people waited for the next instruction. The next instruction was the dreaded, “Abandon ship, abandon ship, abandon 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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