"Norwegian"
1) Arctic Games
Story
telling is labor intensive - typing, or writing these accounts take time, and
especially if non-fiction, getting the facts straight after many years, and
presenting them in proper fashion, not easy for me. I am a stickler for detail,
and sometimes that detracts from the account.
Fortunately, for me, I was in a profession that offered lots of adventure,
though most of the time I thought of it as a mis-spent
life.
As a
seaman working for the Government in Oceanographic Research, I had the added
intrique of way-out global areas such as the Arctic, and Antarctic...places off
the beaten path for the mariners engaged in commerce. The time in history spent
at these places also contributed to the adventure, and suspense...the "Cold
War" era. This era put us into
oceanographic research in the interest of national defense big time, and
any endeavour in that context becomes instantly "classified" -
"Top Secret".
As a seaman, or captain of any vessel engaged in such work,
little was known of the technical aspects of what was entailed, but knowledge of
the areas was enough to demand us being "cleared" for it. Our job was
to transport the scientists, and technicians, and their equipment to specific
areas, the same for our counterparts on the "other" side. This story
deals with a contest between me, and the skipper of a Russian Icebreaker, who's
job it was to shadow us, and report back to his headquarters our activities.
This was nothing new with me, nor probably with him, and we both understood each
other's part in the scheme of things... the only difference being he had a
"Commissar" breathing down his neck, and I hadn't.
This surveillance ship - ice breaker, picked us up on our
way to our "op-area", which today we know he had advanced info of from
our own citizens recently uncovered. Nevertheless, he still didn't have all the
scoop on what we were doing as far north as a ship like mine could go without an
ice breaker, or breakers. In essence, the top of the Greenland Sea in summer.
Weather wise, a lovely place...sunny most of the time, with no storms hardly,
the nearest "civilization" being a few hundred miles away in an
outpost on Svalbard ( owned by Norway, but manned by Russians on contract )
called Longyearsbyen. It was at one time a coal mining town, but now used for
Arctic research. With several hundred in population, there was a hospital. For
the reason of there being a hospital there, I kept the place always in the back
of my mind, having no medical facilities to speak of of my own. We had no
doctor, nor nurse aboard, but I knew our shadow, the ice breaker, which was
quite large...did. For this reason I had mixed emmotions about him being with
us.
He took up position upon redezvousing with us, off our
starboard quarter, about three-hundred yards...a clear view for him right into
the technicians spaces where the devices we deployed were assembled.
Whether stopped, or steaming, he was always there, his big
spy-glasses, and binoculars trained precisely. Sometimes while dead in the
water, he would come in very close, close enough for hailing, or speaking. With
a cordial wave, he would greet us. I'd wave back, acknowledging, and
smiling.
I could see him smiling back when I did. He knew all about
me personally...my family, history etc. I learned this from our
"people" who knew who knew what about us. I couldn't care less, and
was rather flattered by that. I didn't particularly care about his biographical
data, but did have "intelligence" about his ship, and this showed me
that I wasn't going to "shake" him off by trying to out run him.
We had devices we had to deploy, and
couldn't while he was around.
He could inspect the gear on deck all he wanted, and all
he'd see was miles of cable, and floatation spheres. It was where we planted
these devices that was critical to him...and us. Days went by as we assembled
our gear.
I had a routine of my own, taking a "nooner"
everyday after lunch. The hour or so snooze helped break up the day, and always
put me in a good mood afterwards...and on one particular day, a playful mood.
As always, I'd repair to the bridge after my snooze for a
cup of coffee, and a chat with the watch officer, and helsman, and check the
weather, etc. On this particular day, my friend was at his usual station off the
starboard quarter. It was a lovely day, sunny, warm, calm...as usual.
Our main engines were
shut-down, but I had the "trolling" engines
running.
Small diesel of 600 HP, coupled into the main shafts. We
were twin-screw, controlable pitch, and twin ruddered. These auxiliaries could
drive the ship at five, or six knots, and "twist" the ship easily in
good weather.
We didn't have anything in the water because of our friend,
and also we hadn't finished assembling it, so after I poured my coffee, and
assessed his position, and distance from us, I flipped the starboard throttle
handle full ahead, and the port full astern, and gave 'er hard-left
rudder.
Slowly we started to twist, or turn in our own distance to
port. Remember, these were the small diesels, so we didn't zip around, but
turned slowly.
Vrooooom, we could hear, and a big puff of black
diesel smoke we could see come up out of the breakers stack. A bit later alot of
propellor wash from his stern, as he positions himself to resume his spying
position.
He was about two, or three-hundred yards off now, doing
about ten knots in a circle, trying to maintain this position, as we casually,
without a strain, continued in our tight little "twist". After a
complete circle, I stopped the engines, and settled down long enough for him to
catch up, and do the same...stopping his engines, and getting his sights lined
up on our labratory.
By this time, after informing our
scientists, and letting the rest of the crew know what I was playing at, our
decks were lined with spectators, as was the decks of the breaker, what with the
sudden rumbling of their engines trying to keep up.
I
poured another cup of coffee, and let a few minutes pass, and then reversed our
twist. Vrooooom...again, more black smoke, and great aggitation of water, as the
breaker gets underway to play this silly game.
They had to hear the laughing from our vessel to theirs as
we kept ahead of them...at least see it. I did two complete turns this time, and
then finally ended the game. This time, when he caught up, he came right up
alongside within a few hundred feet, and he - the skipper, shaking his fist,
jovially yelled over: "I'll get you Cap'n Friberg.' He did know my
name!
All I could do was laugh back, raise my coffee cup, and
wave a good bye as I left the bridge, and he returned to
his.
Fun, and games were now over. We did
not come thousands of miles for nothing, and we had to deploy our array, and
that had to be done in secret. Using the term "intelligence" in the
loosest of forms, this was just that - an intelligence gathering device. Any
research, or data collection in the interest of national defense is classified
as such, that is why this ship was one of many of the "intelligence"
gathering ships, or as some people called them "spy ships". Though the
instrument itself wasn't anything you could'nt put together yourself for a
half-million smackers, it's purpose, and location was. It would be a simple task
for the breaker, which like our breakers, to retrieve the array. Used not only
for icebreaking, most breakers are fitted-out for oceanography, having
"A" frames, and winches for such.
We had
to shake this guy. On occasion we get a snow-squall, or light fog, or mist, but
radar made short work of that. We weren't far from the ice-fields, on occasion
being right up to them. I put the ships noses ( she was a catamaran ) into the
ice one time for a photo op. The ice was hummocked - piled up, and stood as high
as the bridge, which indicates there was seven times that height under water.
There was no way we could go into the ice, even the thinnest passing between the
hulls, and into our delicate controllable propellors. The unbroken, or close
pack ice in this area at this time was from four to five feet thick, no problem
for our friend, but it's not always so cut, and dry with just close-pack. The
wind piles layer upon layer, and you wind up with mini-icebergs...a danger to
even an icebreaker...at full speed.
Aha! Captains of ships upon
oceans, and seas of the world, unlike "captains" of other things,
become part of their charge through endless months away from the "head
office". Through ages of tradition, and with no one to turn to, they
develope a unique feeling for the ship, actually being "married" to
it. You know all it's idiosyncrasies, it's weaknesses, and capabilities. No one
on board can better devise a scheme using the ship as an extension of one's self
other than her master. Assaying our position in relation to the ice fields, I
got underway, proceeding to a point about an hours run out away from the ice, my
shadow diligently following in her appointed slot...about 200 yards off the
starboard quarter. No doubt, having assumed we finished putting our array
together, and were heading out to deploy it. I had to clue the scientists, and
my people of my plan...I didn't want any heart-attacks. I also needed all I
could from the engine room, and I had the right Chief Engineer for that. I had,
when I first picked up my "escort", and steaming at fifteen, or so
knots, with him "back there", turned hard-right, making a circle back
at him...just squeezing between his track, and my old one. I guess at that point
he labled me "nuts", and kept his distance. I was again about to
confirm his beliefs. Arriving at my randome point, I verred off to port - away
from his track, and made a
one-eighty.
"Okay Evert...gimmee
all she'll take," I told Evert Boyd - Chief Engineer, over the phone. The
chief then, with his jewelers screw driver, put maximum pitch on both propellors
by adjusting the "pot" on the printed-circuit board down in the Engine
Operating Station. The ship was rated at 5700 HP, but because the builders put
in the wrong reduction gears. She had 7200 HP, so we had lots of
"diesel" to spare. The chief over-rode the "default" pitch,
giving us what we should have had for speed, which was near 17 knots. The ship
was brand-new. She hadn't been "bastardized" yet by the sponsors, or
naval artichokes...she could move! Yes...she could move, but so could our
shadow, and that's what I had been hoping. Now to see if I had a good handle on
my "extension".
An hour almost up, complacency in place...on the breaker
anyways, the ice field getting closer...one mile, one-half mile, my eye on the
radar, the ice, and the clock. A look back, and unbelievably my escort is right
on station, and looking even closer. It was evident he wasn't worried about the
ice looming ahead...but he wasn't thinking...just what I was
hoping.
One quarter mile...five-hundred-yards...seventeen knots,
calm as glass, visibility unlimited...the ice seemingly as harmless, and white
as whipped cream. Six hundred feet to go....
"Full astern port, hard left rudder.' I ordered. The computers reversed the
pitch on the port wheel, the revs remaining the same, the rudders slamming over
to port, the ship hunckering down, and throwing her ass off to starboard, and
the ice, very ominous, and close now, passing harmlessy down the starboard side
about fifty-yards off.
BOOM.
Crash. Screech...four
thousand tons of icebreaker shot into the ice, it's ice-strengthened bow, and
bottom shredding as it collided with the unexpected hummocked ice. Going, going,
going another mile, or more deep into the pack. Ice flying as she went, a
pathetic-heart-wrenching scene.
"Stop the port. Full
ahead port, steady as she goes.' I ordered.
We never saw that ship again. We planted our things in
secret, and took off for port. On departure for more work in the same area we
picked up another surveillance ship...the high speed trawler type, but he wasn't
any fun...he stayed too far away from us.
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