Traversing the North Sea (Holland to UK)...
 
Well, here we were, finally. A good year after finding Fenrir, she lay moored up ready to catch the first morning lock out to the sea. To say I was nervous would be a understatement... I fully confess to being less than enthusiastic for what we were about to do.  In the weeks building up to the move, I had worried endlessly about how the barge would react on the open sea. Fenrir’s slender dimensions, small draught and tall body hardly instilled confidence.
 
There is inherently nothing sensible about taking a barge out to sea. They are not designed for it, they often lack sea-faring equipment, and the age of the hull and equipment added to the sense of craziness. In our particular case, bar the previous days jaunt through Holland, the engine had not run for several years! For months now, anyone I had mentioned our plans to had confessed utter surprise that it was possible, particularly those from Holland! To add to these concerns, I knew I was likely to suffer from sea sickness. Allied to my own fears, I was uneasy that I had brought No.1 into this madness.
 
My concerns eased as we left the lock, a giant thing with vast walls which made Fenrir feel like a toy boat. Of course, it’s not as if the water in a canal appears any different from the water at sea. We drove out and navigated the various buoys that marked the safe route away from shore. Thump-Thump went the engine, it didn’t seem to care whether we were at sea, or in a canal. It all felt quite normal, and the Boss even gave us the wheel quite early on. The general principle was to follow a compass bearing as closely as possible, while keeping a keen eye out for other boats and buoys. We didn’t have enough battery power to run the radar system, so our focus was on keeping lookout, punctuated by checking the maps, compass and GPS. Keeping the barge on a straight course would save us time and conserve fuel. We rotated our time on the wheel, which was just as well, because it required a fair degree of concentration.
 
I confessed to The Boss my concerns about getting sea sick, and his sage advice was to ensure that I was either on the wheel concentrating, or sitting/lying down below deck. Getting caught between those two states would be likely to trigger motion sickness. When I felt queasy, I should simply close my eyes. He told me I was also to eat Ginger Nut biscuits as much as possible, which sounded like a most excellent idea! Well, the instructions were invaluable, and pretty much formed the basis of the next 14 hours of my life. Meanwhile, No. 1 busied herself making cups of tea, ensuring everyone was well fed and keeping things tidy.  First Mate always seemed to have tasks to do, with The Boss ensuring that all the systems were checked regularly, including oil feeders, greasing points and dipping the fuel tanks.
 
Time drifted by in a slightly foggy haze, with the occasional high-spots being the odd cup of tea, ginger nut biscuit and hot soup. To my surprise, we hardly saw any other boats, the odd ferry here and there, and we quickly concluded that the bank holiday weekend had eliminated most commercial traffic... which was all good in our view! According to the GPS, we were maintaining around 4-5 knots, although at times, if the sea was rougher, we would slow down. All the time, the Thump-Thump of the engine maintained a metronomic pattern to the journey. At no point were any of us inclined to stress the engine any more than necessary.
 
Entertainment came mainly courtesy of the radio, which burbled away telling stories of other boats going about their business.... Container ships that had ‘lost’ containers over the side, and large ships under ‘two-mile tows’. Two miles of chain! Unbelievable. It all added to the sense that we had stepped out into another world. Of course the primary benefit of the radio was to warn of the weather conditions, and I got to listen to (and write down) the shipping forecast, on a boat, in the sea. It all suddenly made a lot of sense.
 
Many hours passed, and eventually, the light began to fade. This brought an added ‘frisson’. With the generator going continuously we had our navigation lights on, some internal lights, and enough electricity to run the radio and GPS. With the light fading, and entering the shipping lanes of England, The Boss called us all into the wheelhouse to keep a constant vigil for other boats or obstacles in the area. And finally, we saw the lights of Margate! It was a fantastic moment. We all did a mental ‘high-five. Three miles off the coast and here was England.
 
Unfortunately, we were about to become the ‘obstacle’ that we had all been looking out for. The reliable Thump-Thump of the engine had been a constant presence throughout the whole journey and while First Mate regularly checked it, to No. 1 and I, it was a noise that we had pretty much blocked out. But suddenly, the noise wasn’t there. Panic.
 
Was the engine dead? Could we get it restarted? Would we have enough air? What would we do? Of course, The Boss took control. There was a blur of activity as he and First Mate ran around trying to find the problem. Of course, as the barge was now ‘un-powered’, we were drifting off course and rolling uncomfortably. Suddenly, the lights of Margate were no longer comforting, but had become a potential hazzard of their own.
 
The trouble is that without power, the barge would go wherever the tide or current wanted. With the boat pitching around, every day simple tasks were proven impossible. I was cursing myself for trusting in a 50 year old, untried engine, but soon The Boss and First Mate were talking about fuel not reaching the engine. Vince’s words ‘give her air and fuel and she will run’ ran through my head. But in fact, it was worse than that. The fuel system was clogged with sticky gunk and nothing would shift if.
 
With the boat drifting, ship lights visible on the horizon, the shipping lanes to our right, and  the coast line to our left, we had to do something. The Boss elected to get the anchor down. It was clear the fuel system would take time to sort, and the problem could be even worse if the engine itself was out of action. Which was all very well, but the failure to find a windlass was coming back to bite us!
 
With orders to try and keep the barge pointing in the right direction, I was left at the wheel while The Boss and First Mate went to the bow to get the anchor down. It was now pitch black all around, bar the odd light here and there. The anchor went down... at least now the boat would not drift. I’m sure for a brief few seconds, this made us all feel better. But the sea was not happy. It had been having fun pushing us around, but now something stood in its way. In these circumstances, an un-tethered barge rolls and drifts, but with the anchor down, the barge became a bucking bronco.  
 
Things were unravelling fast. We had gone from a pleasant day out to the Perfect Storm in just a few minutes. It was terrifying, We were being tossed about like a rag doll, lurching one way, pitching the other. The angles the barge was making were getting worse. Surely it couldn’t handle this? I feared the barge would simply roll straight over.
 
As the situation deteriorated, The Boss opted to put in a call to the Coast Guard. I stood with him as he spoke calmly into the radio, requesting the Coast Guard. But there was no reply. Again, and again, the message was broadcast, and still no reply.  After 15 futile minutes or so, even The Boss’s composure was beginning to crack. Eventually, we got a reply! Possibly the sweetest noise I have ever heard. The Boss explained the situation and the coast guard promised to relay a warning message to all boats in the area. We promised to keep them informed of the situation. Communication complete, The Boss turned to me and said ‘It’s always good to know there is someone out there’. Too right!
 
Of course, trying to fix a mechanical problem in a cramped confined space like an engine room is not always pleasant... but with the boat pitching at crazy angles, I can’t imagine how the guys coped.  I was terrified enough in the wheelhouse where we had enough problems. With one wave, the spare compressor leapt from the wall and started sliding around. I remember No. 1 on top of it trying to hold it down. As oil spilled out, the wheel house became a skating rink and she was literally sliding all over the place, at one point, smashing her thumb between the compressor and the wall. Probably not broken but painful all the same.
 
Meanwhile, as First Mate desperately tried to get the fuel supply working, he received a face full of diesel. Temporally blinded, all we could think to do was use a mobile to ring ‘NHS Direct’ to find out if diesel was corrosive. ‘Address?’ they asked, ‘Errrm, we are on a boat in the North Sea...’ ‘Ah...not had that before!’ was the reply. The irony was not lost on us... 15 minutes to get the coast guard, 30 seconds to call NHS Direct!
 
If we needed further evidence of the serious stresses the boat was under, the life boat in the wheelhouse suddenly rose up, and launched itself across the wheelhouse, pinning me against the other wall. On reflection, a rare comedy moment, but at the time, very painful!
 
To add to our troubles, the engine room generator had decided that 30 degree angles were simply not for it, and repeatedly died. That meant no navigation lights or electrics. Each time the generator died, we became a ghost ship - not visible to anyone and leaving us  unable to see. With the generator getting thrown around, it soon started triggering the carbon monoxide alarm, which was just adding to the stress. After ten minutes of high-pitched screeching, The Boss shouted out ‘Somebody sort that ******* alarm!’ It was promptly thrown through the air and landed in a pile of pieces, never to screech again. ‘Well sorted’, you could say.
 
Despite the efforts of The Boss and First Mate, I felt the situation was spiraling out of control. At this point, they were trying to create a fuel feed from one of the drums, using a simple siphonic hose-pipe directly into the engine - bypassing the fuel lines and filters. It all seemed a little implausible.
 
But finally, the engine spluttered into life. To hear that ‘Thump-Thump’ again was a major relief, but we were not out of the woods yet. The anchor was down, and it wasn’t budging. Without a windlass, it was left to First Mate and The Boss to manually pull her up. Under their instructions, I positioned the bow straight over the anchor chain, but still no success. Hardly surprising... an 80Kg anchor, a 50Kg chain, and 50 metres of heavy, wet rope! In the end, The Boss came back to the wheelhouse looking glum.
 
We discussed calling the coast guard again and asking for help. I didn’t expect what I heard next. The Boss told me that if the coast guard came out and felt we had not been prepared properly, we could be liable to pay for the ‘rescue’. It could be thousands. In particular, they may not be impressed that there was no windlass. I couldn’t believe it. In the absence of a windlass, the plan had been to cut the rope and lose the £300 anchor - but The Boss was reluctant to set off without an anchor. I was a bit frustrated by this at the time, but of course, he was right. We resolved to find a solution.
 
Well it turns out the solution was to add a third member to the lifting team. Me. But at least, we’d had the bright idea of finding a small winch that Scotty had purchased ‘just in case’, and we trudged to the front of the boat with our harnesses on determined to succeed. This of course left No. 1 on the wheel, with instructions to keep the rudder straight. No mean feat when a boat is being buffeted by wave after wave. This was a truly terrifying time. A few days prior to setting off, No. 1 had told me of a dream she had had, where I had got caught up with an anchor chain and pulled deep into the water. Of course, this stark image was now all I could think of, as we clung onto the bow and desperately battled to lift the chain. As for No. 1, she was left on her own in the wheelhouse, arms being ripped apart by the wheel’s movement, and all she could see of us was the occasional head-light as we moved about. This went on for at least 2 hours... it took us that long to lift the anchor. For No. 1, it must have been terrifying, not knowing if we would return, left on her own, in the dark, drifting towards the shipping lanes.
 
With the anchor finally aboard (well, hanging off the bow), we re-grouped and set off. It was now 2.00 in the morning, but we did not get far before the engine stopped again. Mercifully, this time First Mate knew the problem instantly. The hose-pipe had kinked! As Vince would say... give her Air and Fuel and she will run! Finally, we were under way and in near silence, we navigated our way around the coast and into the Thames Estuary.
 
With a good hour or so of trouble-free sailing behind us, No. 1 and I retired to catch some much needed shut-eye, leaving First Mate and The Boss on the wheel. While, we were extremely weary and emotionally drained...  I remember reflecting that we had made the right choice with these guys... their commitment to saving the day had been extraordinary. Well beyond the call of duty.
 
In the morning, I knew No. 1 had bounced back because she was delighted to discover the dinner from the previous evening still remained on the hob, safely lashed to the port hole. That was about all that had survived. Equipment wise, we had lost our air compressor and generator, while the boat had sustained several injuries... radiators were bent, walls were cracked and the place stank of oil and diesel. Most of the furniture, painstakingly ferried to Holland, was now ruined. But none of this mattered in the least.
 
I went up to the wheelhouse to find First Mate on the wheel, and The Boss asleep on the floor. Of course, needing to be ‘on-call’, we had taken their beds! The Boss stirred and confessed that he had wanted to sleep being able to hear the engine. So even while asleep, The Boss was still on duty.
 
Being so tired, the rest of the journey was a blur. The Thames Estuary is massive, not feeling like an estuary at all. We called our families to let them know we were still alive, and relayed some of the story. A plan to pick up Scotty and Sparkles at a pier in Essex was abandoned as were running late... and there was a general feeling we all wanted to get back without any more interruptions. Soon we were entering London and taking in all the sights... the dome, the barrier, the docks... and finally of course, Fenrir’s new home... Tower Bridge. A glorious sight.
 
Unfortunately, our lift had somewhat forgotten to pick us up, so we were left on a mid-stream mooring, waving at our friends and family on the shore, without any means to get to them. A tad embarrassing! The Boss flagged down a passing boat and managed to get ashore, looking for a means to get us across. Eventually, the local river police happened to pass by, and they graciously ferried us to the shore. Several hundreds miles, and we had failed to make it to dry land by just a few metres! Oh well, it summed up a truly crazy experience.
 
All that remained was to go to the local pub for chips and beer!
Sunday, 16 April 2006