"Vegan Fest Expo 2011", em Tuscany, Itália!
Duração: Dia 22 à 25 Abril 2011.
FLÅTEN: Her finner de flåten som stemmer med beskrivelsen av seksmannsflåten som var ombord på «Berserk». Foto: Barbara Veiga/Sea Shepherd |
SAVNET: Tom Gisle Bellika (36). Foto: Privat |
SAVNET: Robert Skaanes (34) Foto: Privat |
SAVNET: Leonard James Banks (32). Foto: Privat |
| Saturday, February 26, 2011 | ||||
A Terrible Tempest in an Unforgiving SeaCommentary by Captain Paul Watson"The worst has happened, all the day dreams must go, Great God! This is an awful place."-British Antarctic Explorer Robert Falcon Scott
The Berserk and her small crew were at the epicenter of the very white squall, but when their distress signal went off, two other ships were drawn into the witches brew in and around McMurdo Sound. The Wellington and her crew of 55 sailors were the closest, and the Sea Shepherd ship Steve Irwin and her crew of 38 was the next closest vessel. In total, 96 people experienced that storm of which three did not survive. In response to the Mayday signal, the newly commissioned ice-strengthened New Zealand naval patrol vessel HMNZSWellington turned towards McMurdo Sound as did the Sea Shepherd ship Steve Irwin, conducting a survey of the Ross Ice Shelf some 200 miles to the east. "As we responded, we were stuck in the most intense storm I have ever encountered in 19 years in the navy," skipper Lieutenant Commander Simon Griffith told the New Zealand media. “The intense winds built up 8 meter swells as spray turned to thick ice on the decks. Aerials, lighting, and speakers were swept away.” Griffith reported they even lost their stern light. Three of their life rafts were ripped off and thrown into the sea, one of which was discovered the next morning by the crew of the Steve Irwin. "We still have enough on board to keep us safe," he says. In the midst of it, Griffith got word of the Christchurch earthquake; he kept it to himself for 12 hours so as not to stress members of his crew any further. The Wellington struggled into the lee of Mount Erebus but once they entered McMurdo Sound, they got slammed again. "They were the biggest seas I have ever come across,” said Griffith. The previous Monday, the crew of the Wellington had met the three crew of the Berserk at Back Door Bay, where Shackleton's Hut stands. "They gave us a call and asked us for a packet of cigarettes. We did not have any, but we gave them a cigar," says Griffith. The yacht was warned severe weather was coming. Severe weather however, is normal for this area and even theWellington was surprised at just how severe the storm actually became. "The yacht seemed a very sturdy, oceangoing yacht and they were three cheerful Norwegians." Berserk leader Jarle Andhoy, 34, and Samuel Massie Ulvolden, 18, were attempting to reach the South Pole to mark the centenary of Norwegian Roald Amundsen's South Pole expedition. The three left on the yacht were Robert Skaane, 34, Tom Gisle Bellika, 36, and South African Leonard Banks, 32. Berserk needed to get permission from the Norwegian Polar Institute to sail below 60 degrees south. Official Jan-Gunnar Winther confirmed they did not have permission. This was not unusual for Andhoy, who has a reputation in Norway as a maverick adventurer. Scott Base manager Troy Beaumont said the storm which hit the Berserk and Wellington was "a bit of a dozy." The Steve Irwin was only hours behind the Wellington and moving at 14 knots towards McMurdo. It was not the worst storm that I have encountered but I only remember two that were more formidable, the first a typhoon in the South China Sea in 1969, and the second, a hurricane force storm off of Labrador in 1998. It was frightening to many of my crew, although I assured them that our ship was more than equal to the challenge. However, the decks and the port side of the ship were coated in thickening layers of brine ice as the spray frozen in the super chilled air and plastered itself against the steel sides and on the decks adding tons of extra weight that had to be compensated for. Our bow dove into the seas and plowed into the swells with a force that sent shuddering vibrations throughout the ship. Waves crashed against the port side as if we were being kicked by an enraged titan. The temperatures in the food storage area were so low that the cook had to put produce into the refrigerator to prevent it from freezing. Water pipes burst, and everything, including crew, not tied down flew about the inside making every step hazardous. Two of the crew’s bunks were flooded with freezing water from ruptured water pipes. One of our crew dislocated her shoulder, and another suffered a severe bruise to her arm. It was not a pleasant ride and heading into a storm like that was not practical – but because of the missing Berserk, we had no choice – as mariners we had a duty to respond, and we did. The Wellington was forced to retreat back to New Zealand. We took over as the primary search vessel and although we were hopeful, those hopes were dashed when we discovered the unoccupied life raft of the Berserk. The Berserk was lost, theWellington damaged, but fortunately the Steve Irwin suffered no damage at all. I reflected that it was such a small world. I had met Jarle Andhoy, the skipper of the Berserk years ago when he presented his film Berserk at the Telluride Mountain Film Festival. He had sailed solo down to Antarctica at 17 years of age, capsizing his vessel the Berserk I in the Drake Passage, yet skillfully recovering and completing his voyage. He was a very capable mariner. He had sailed through the Northwest Passage in the Arctic. He was not however, on the Berserk when the storm hit and I have no knowledge of the expertise of the crew that was. It was also an irony that Andhoy and his crew were commemorating the 100th anniversary of Amundsen’s successful discovery of the South Pole. We had been at the Bay of Whales only two days previous to use the centenary as a means of sending a message to Norway to end whaling. I have to admit I am at a loss to understand why Andhoy and Ulvolden set out for the pole on quad bikes so late in the season. December is the time to strike for the pole, not February. It was the weather of January and February that took the lives of Robert Scott, Edward Wilson, Henry Bowers, Laurence Oates, and Edgar Evans in 1912. By leaving so late in the season they would have endure to endure the increasing ferocity of the approaching Antarctic winter. The scientists and workers from McMurdo were already being evacuated in anticipation of Ross Island being entrapped in ice. The reason for a late February dash to the pole is mystifying but it is not my place to judge Andhoy and his team. Perhaps that was a part of their challenge. I do know that through experience that nature is extremely unforgiving, terribly so. Nowhere on earth is nature so dominant and cruel as in Antarctica, where the majestic beauty of this silent land shrouded in frigid whiteness proclaims boldly to all challengers that this continent controls those who visit. We do not control it. I wrote the following poem during a less intense storm off the Antarctic coast in 2008. The Tempest This poem was written in January 2008 as the Steve Irwin sailed south to confront the Japanese whaling fleet. I wrote it during the storm in an attempt to capture the emotions of the crew and the groaning of the ship. In confidence my ship sailed South, Oblivious to danger, I feared not the coming storm, To such winds I was no stranger. But amongst my crew were virgin sailors Some still sea-sick from just the gentle motions, For them I knew this would be a test, And fear would dominate their emotions The mild sea gave way to rising swells, Whitecaps spit their salty spray The swells did begin to rise with the tide, And upon the dark shroud did flay, The apprentices on the deck looked towards the rising clouds Young eyes grew wide with growing apprehension. Lightning crackled in the sky, There was growing comprehension. The tempest burst upon us like a bomb, The wind plucked the lines in a deadly dearth The winds wailed through the rigging, And from dark clouds the storm gave birth. With lightning flash the rains did lash, And scoured the decks completely clean, The wind rose to a frightening roar, And howled forth like a fiend. Like a Banshee’s mournful deadly wail, The evil winds did taunt Disturbing every dead sailor’s bones From the depths they rose to haunt. Within the gale we heard them chuckle The aquatic ghouls put on a grisly show They sought for us to join them, To share in their pitiful soggy woe “Ignore the fiends,” the Captain cried. “Ignore the sultry Sirens too, We shan’t be joining them tonight, No, not this gallant crew.” The ship did rock and it did roll, Like a toy boat at the mercy of the gale, Helpless we watched and kept the course, Hoping the engines would not fail, To drive into a Cyclone’s maw, Is to spit into God’s merciless face, Prayers and pleads are useless words, When salt is all you taste. The wind drives salt from your eyes, It hurls brine into your frozen face, Your skin it crawls with the crystals sharp, This hell provides no safe place. You watch the bow plunge and dive, The sea assaults the lonely deck, The hull it groans and the keel does shiver, Terrified rats get set to jump the wreck, The pounding increases as the winds rage on, Glass is shattered, the lifeboats torn away, The ship rolls and moans like a dying thing, And the crew curses every minute of the day. The savage winds rode on our stern, The monstrous gale kicked us in our ass, We surfed upon mountainous seas, Yearning for the storm to pass. Salted water flogged us like slaves As we fought to keep the ship on course, Blind and deaf we bent our backs, My God what an awesome force! Soaked and tired and frozen stiff, Fingers numb and elbows sore, Striving to stay awake and alert, Thank God, we’re far offshore. I shutter to think what a reef would do, Such winds would dash us to a crushing hell, No rocks out here to strike a lethal blow, Each roll does strike the bell. Sailors tossed like rag dolls across the heaving sea, She taunts and teases and scoffs at our displeasure. Our moans and pains mean naught to her, Her destruction knows no measure. And as if to illustrate her rage, She pelts us with hardened balls of hail, Then slathers us with hoary rotten sleet, As the gale continues to scream and wail. And through the wind blown rain I see, Just how majestic her power emerges, Admiration removes all fear, And I hear the poetry in her howling dirges. I smile and lick the salt from my lips, Content to ride this storm to hell, And in that moment the wind did sigh, And a calm spread out upon the swell, The sun pierced the dark grey clouds, A golden ray did stab the deck and mast. A rainbow struggled across the sky, The storm was over at last. Within hours calm was restored, The recent past was like a dream, The violence fled without regret, From the drying deck rose steam. A sailors first storm is a nightmarish thing, Driving fear into the heart and soul, Once over it reveals just how sweet life really is, The enlightenment achieved is worth the fearful toll. | ||||
| Friday, February 25, 2011 |
A Cruel Sacrifice Beneath the Dark Slopes of ErebusCommentary by Captain Paul Watson(click to enlarge)We are leaving the Ross Sea now, making our way back 2400 nautical miles to Hobart in Tasmania. It is not a happy departure. Three men, explorers from the Norwegian yacht Berserk, more than likely lie entombed in McMurdo Sound beneath a frigid dark shroud of inky water, churning with newly forming sea ice that is rapidly congealing into an ugly brown salty slush that preludes the reformation of the ice pack, as once again, Antarctica reclaims its frigid grip from a retreating summer. Bobbing like giant corks, pieces of dense old ice known as growlers may hold the key as to the fate of the Berserk. Ranging in size from a suitcase to a house, these ugly foreboding chunks of cobalt blue, black, and crystal clear boulders of ice bob menacingly like deadly mines just below the surface. A small boat tossed from a heaving sea onto one of these floating horrors can become stove so quickly and efficiently that a vessel could sink within seconds. Not enough time to even get out upon the deck, especially when that deck is being mercilessly flogged with sheets of sharp sea ice in the demonic hand of a horrific southern wind. A growler can split a steel hull open like it were glass, rapidly sending tons of frigid water into the boat as the sea sucks the vessel down into the briny darkness of the depths, before the sailors even have a chance to comprehend their untimely fate. As the icy grasp of the sea swallows the small boat, the EPIRB and a lifeboat are released with a pressure switch and rise to the surface. It was that distress signal that alerted the world to the fact that the Norwegian 14-meter yacht Berserk with her three crewmembers had disappeared from the world of the living. The sea can be a severely unforgiving place, and the Southern Ocean and the Ross Sea in particular can be extremely cruel to mariners. When I first received word that a marine distress signal had been received from the Norwegian flagged Berserk in McMurdo Sound, I took one look out the wheelhouse window of my ship the Steve Irwin, and thought that if the seas and the weather were anything like what we were experiencing at the time, I could not imagine how awful of a situation the sailors on that tiny boat were in. As mariners, we did the only thing we could. We responded. The New Zealand Navy vessel Wellington was closer, but had suffered ice damage and was limping back north to New Zealand having had three of their lifeboats ripped from their decks into the howling sea. British Antarctic explorer Apsley Cherry-Gerrard in his book The Worst Journey in the World, described this area exactly when he spoke of his experiences from Captain Robert Falcon Scott’s base camp on Ross Island in 1911. One hundred years later, not much has changed. The stark white barren hills are as hauntingly beautiful as they are deadly, proclaiming quite boldly that this is a dangerous place of extremes where humans venture at their own great personal risk. Two days before, I stood on Roosevelt Island, some 20 miles in from the sea from the Bay of Whales on the other end of the indescribably awesome Ross Ice Shelf. It was like the alien surface of Pluto with an eerie whiteness impossible to describe. The winds roared across the stark plateau with a vengeance, whipping my hat off my head and sending it across the polished flatness of the surface faster than I could retrieve it. I wrapped a Norwegian flag around my head to keep my ears from being frostbitten. I had the Norwegian flag in my hand because we were there to commemorate the landing of Roald Amundsen exactly one hundred years before, as he set up the base camp for his successful race to be the first to the South Pole. We were there because I felt it was an excellent place to announce that now that we had driven the Japanese whalers from the Southern Ocean, it was time to oppose the outlaw whalers of Norway in the North Atlantic. And thus the crew posed with a banner and the Norwegian flag to respectfully honor Amundsen’s achievement, and to appeal to Norway to recognize this achievement by ending the killing of whales. Truthfully, we were not that optimistic or naïve to expect that our request would be honored, so I felt what better place than the Bay of Whales at Amundsen’s base camp to announce that the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society would be returning to Norway to once again oppose Norwegian whaling. Norwegian whaling is more blatantly illegal than Japanese whaling. The Norwegians have not chosen to insult the world’s intelligence by pretending that they are killing whales for science. In Norway, is it very much about the money and thus it is a violation of the global moratorium on commercial whaling. We were set to release the photos and the story of the announcement at the Bay of Whales when I received the call from the New Zealand Search and Rescue centre that a distress signal had been received from the Norwegian vessel Berserk. As mariners, the call to assist in the search for the Berserk became our priority. We turned our bow westward and into the most fearsome onslaught of wind, ice, sea spray, and heaving swells. Erebus, looming over Ross Island, was not going to make it easy to approach the gates of hell as McMurdo Sound had become. For 16 hours we took on the rage of the sea, until suddenly, the ocean gave up the fight and a calm stillness spread across the horizon as the swells flattened out, the sun beamed down with relative warmth, and visibility became perfect. We launched the helicopter and began a meticulous search pattern of the entire sound, finding nothing until the morning of February 25th when we came across the eight-man Avon life raft from the Berserk drifting 45 miles north of where the distress signal first occurred. And that was that – except for the life raft and later some ration and first aid packets from the life raft, not a trace of the yacht or her crew, no oil on the surface, no clothing or other debris in the sea. The tragedy reminded us of just how fragile our lives are and how quickly nature can snatch our most precious possession from us. It also reminded me that although we landed at the Bay of Whales to send a message to Norway to end whaling, the fact remained that the Norwegian men on the Berserk were still our fellow human beings. We began our search with hope that we could find them, and ended the search in sadness that we had not. Admunsen escaped the tragedy that took the lives of some of the brave men of the 1911 British Antarctic Expedition. One hundred years later, Antarctica continues to extract its lethal tribute of sacrifice from the human spirit that continues to challenge it. All of us on the Steve Irwin, volunteers from nations around the world share the loss of these men with their families and loved ones. We did not know them, but in searching for them we experienced concern, compassion, hope, and remorse. We also deeply felt a connectedness that wherefore they had gone, any of us could follow, and that nature in all her magnificent beauty and demonic fury does not hold favorites. And thus we felt their loss as we glimpsed the fragility that all of us as humans are burdened with. To their families, we can only say, we tried. We scoured the entire search area three times by air and sea, and we searched for them as if they were our own brothers, for in truth they were! Brothers united by different goals, but sharing the rare awesome passion for adventure and knowledge that for a century has brought men and women like us to these remote, frozen, and forlorn shores. |
| Thursday, February 24, 2011 |
The Life Raft for the Norwegian Sailboat Berserk Has Been FoundThe position was only two miles from the Steve Irwin. The lifeboat is being recovered, and the description of the life raft matches the characteristics of one on the Berserk. New Zealand Search and Rescue has been notified. The liferaft was unoccupied, half filled with water, encrusted with ice and the canopy had been clearly torn half off by strong winds. The condition of the seas at the time of the recovery were ideal – glass smooth waters, no swells, clear skies, and excellent visibility. The position in which the raft was discovered is 45 miles North of the position where the distress signal was issued and is consistent with the drift and wind. Captain Paul Watson regrets to say that the three missing sailors are most likely lost at sea and the recovery of their bodies is very unlikely. The shorelines have been swept in search of survivors. “We will continue searching, but the boat and debris would not have drifted further North than this raft, and we have done a very extensive and meticulous search of the area between the positions where the distress signal was issued and the raft was found. In my opinion, the conditions at the time of the distress call presented some very serious threats to such a small vessel. Considering that the distress signal was automatically sent and the lifeboat appears to have been released after the vessel was submerged, my opinion, and I hope I am wrong, is that the Berserk sank rapidly at the point where the distress signal was first detected in a depth of about 500 meters and a distance some six miles off shore at the position of 77 Degrees and 25 Minutes South and 166 Degrees and03 minutes East. Considering the extreme conditions it is unlikely, but not impossible that any of the crew were able to leave the vessel before it was lost. Unfortunately we have seen no evidence of survivors.” Photo: Barbara Veiga |