The Northwest Passage – Prologue

Some might consider us unlucky. Unlucky that our Sir John Franklin adventure to the Northwest Passage had to be abandoned within the first 24 hours. At times I might think that myself, but the harsh reality is that we have been extremely lucky, and more than we will ever know.

John and I had just been to the mudroom on a lower deck to change the rubber boots, which had been loaned to us by One Ocean – along with essential wind/waterproof jacket and trousers. My boots were far too big, whereas John had been given two right boots. If he was not to spend the whole adventure walking around in circles, we had to get his changed!

This was to be followed by a zodiac safety briefing – zodiacs are the small inflatable boats which take us from ship to shore. We had just completed the mandatory lifeboat evacuation briefing some 20 minutes earlier.

Having wondered if we had missed the call to attend the second briefing I headed to reception to enquire further. As I almost reached the stairwell taking me down a deck there was an almighty crash and shudder. My initial thoughts turned to an earthquake – it couldn’t be an iceberg as there was no ice in the region. Then milliseconds later there was another crash and juddering. A crewmember rushed past me. This was serious, I thought. I realised I had to get back to John in the cabin. I dashed back so quickly that my Apple Watch recorded my heart rate had increased 300% over my norm. I rushed along the passage, bumping into the captain coming in the other direction. His cabin was next to ours. The thoughts of ‘serious’ turned into thoughts of ‘danger’.

Once in the cabin I hurriedly put my windproof trousers and jacket over the four layers I was already wearing. The cold weather can get to one’s bones almost immediately and putting on this gear is a slow process. We grabbed the lifejackets and awaited instruction. John did his best to reassure me that the evacuation sirens had not been sounded, but as I stared towards our cabin window through which we once saw a low horizon, that horizon was now way up in the air. Our ship was listing to the starboard side – the side our cabin was located.

After some time the ship steadied itself and the many tannoy reports and briefings did much to reassure us that we were not in immediate danger. We were told to go to bed, dressed in preparation should the worst scenario happen – a command to leave the ship. A sister ship was on its way, but there was no knowing when it would arrive. In typical reassuring fashion, we were told of a beautiful sunset and I took myself off to view it. The realisation of our danger was awakened again when I saw a Hercules aeroplane circling overhead. A crewmember, with a strong Russian accent, said: “It’s the coastguard…. About our problem.”

Rather than the 7am wake-up call, we were awoken again at midnight with further reassurances. We found out later this was to ensure we were at least somewhat alert. The  rocks had relinquished the ship’s hull after almost 12 hours and there were tense inspections to see any changes inside the hull.

The sister ship did arrive the following morning, along with a coastguard ship and helicopter. Again, in a most orderly way we disembarked, joining the Akademik Sergey Valivov’s most sympathetic passengers who, although their departure was delayed, at least had completed their trip.

We eventually got back to Edmonton on Sunday, having spent three days basically getting nowhere. Arriving on terra firma we discovered more of our dangers. The hull had been breached and water had come in although into a confined area. Had we not been stalling for time we may well have been going faster. Had we been positioned more to the left or right there were additional dangers too awful to imagine.

So although greatly disappointed that we are not currently delving into Franklin’s voyage history, seeing the wildlife, and gaining knowledge from the feedback of our 35 scientists aboard from the University of Rhode Island Northwest Project, at least we live to tell the tale. Thankfully, I didn’t need that apple sauce after all.

©Sue Barnard 2018