Maritime Salvage Tales Of The Unexpected...

Roosendaal, the Netherlands, March 08, 2009 Dear reader, First time I am trying ‘Sea-speak’ here, English in a simple form that I learned along the way. Following, you will find some info about my person. Author: G. A. C. Theunisse. Short: Geert Theunisse. Born: 06 -15 -1941. Nationality: Dutch. Family status: Since 1970 happily married to Rina. (One son). Occupation: Former owner of a MaritimeSalvage-Company (retired). Bio: A bit too long I’m afraid… Started in 1973 with a small – but later-on rather well known – Salvage Company, situated along the River ‘Volkerak’, a part of the former estuary waters of the North Sea in the Zuid-Holland en Zeeland Provinces of The Netherlands. In time, I acquired a solid status as a Government paid Rescue and Firefighting

station, and also official status as a ‘SAR Unit’. A ‘Search and Rescue Unit’ resorting under the Coastguard part of the Dutch Navy. I managed to keep up with this tough and heavy line of work until the end of 1995. Then, ‘the old sack of bones’ was finally letting me down. I sold the place and we, my wife and I, wandered off into the great wide world. We did so by private boat of course. We made a fiveyear long trip, visiting many countries and places. Among them, we spend two years – by far the best in fact - on the Eastern Seaboard from the great, great USA. And I’m not kissing ass here! During my work in the salvage business, I did 725 salvage and rescue jobs on all kinds of ships, in the greatest possible variety of difficulties. Some of them right down dangerous, some of them easy. All those jobs are also as many stories. Some of them, actually most of them, happy ending, some ending funny and some sad. During the last years from our long boat-trip, I

started reminiscing about some of those stories again, and since I kept the whole lot pretty well documented, I sat down to write about them. Why in the world should you read my books? Well…huh, because I sort of was asked for. When we traveled along the Eastern Seaboard, from Key-West, FL in the south, up to Camden, NJ in the north, vice-versa, twice, we met many other boaters, as well as shore-people of course. Among them were, besides a large number of US-civilians’, also many people from your Coastguard, Firefighters, Police, folks from Sea-tow and Boat-US, etc, all visiting us onboard and vice-versa. We had long and pleasant talks with everybody about everything, having a wonderful good time, those two years over there with you folks. They liked also my maritime stories, a lot in fact. Better still, all of them feverously applauded the idea about writing them down once, and they finally pushed me into it. So…well, this is the main reason that you are

reading this. My writing is not fiction; it is straight out of real life. The good life we lived and survived so far. Challenges and hardship, but also joyful, even glorious moments, are plentiful in my stories, I didn’t need to beef them up. They happened as I wrote them down. To be honest, I did not care much for any more artificial thrills anyway, working as I was in a very real and sometimes wild trade. Of course, I started to write the manuscripts in my native tongue, being Dutch. When the first one was finished, I tried to get it published, tried that is. Anyway, The Netherlands is just a very tiny country with a rather small reader’s audience, and would-be writers growing in abundance. Therefore, now I just started trying to write in ‘English’, mutilating this beautiful language in the process, and very probably causing all by myself the reason that I shall flunk it also this time. At least I try to flunk in front of a much bigger readers-audience now!

My poor and insufficient excuse is that I never studied any foreign language. Now that I come to think of it, I didn’t study much about anything! I somewhat, somehow just picked things up by occasion along the line that is called life. From my little notion of the English language, I learned most during our extended visits of the United States. So if it’s really crap, don’t blame me, blame my teachers and hit delete to finish me off! As soon as I finish one manuscript in proper English, I will let you know. Anyhow, this English writing of me, I guess, is the same gamble like back in the old days, arriving at the scene of a vessel in trouble, almost sank already, sky-high grounded, helplessly drifting without engine or rudder in stormy weather, or engulfed in roaring flames: “If we don’t try it now, we sure loose it!” Therefore, we went on, working our tail off again … Yours truly, Geert Theunisse

Salvage tug Furie-3, still going strong today

From the book: “Hurricanes & side effects” Copyright Geert Theunisse © 2004

Preface Those are little but true stories and all names, ships and institutions are very real. I did not feel like changing anything of them because some folks just don’t deserve that. Some mentioned people just deserve being named because of their genuine and positive attitude

every odd time when you call on them. Some of the named institutions just deserve to being exposed by all means and methods, and that’s all there is to it. Particularly one of them happens to be the Dutch Government… The following little tale is about the difficulties of a small- scale ships salvage company, about the wonderful things that can happen in the tough daily existence and adventures of this trade. I don’t emphasize especially now the hard labor on waves in turmoil and all that crap, but more about the stuff that should follow after the job is been done well. This time I mean collecting the cold hard cash! Especially this part of the job can sometimes lead to nice and even slightly hilarious situations of great mystification and suspense, during which enterprises one can end up at thrilling locations and meeting unusual people. With great pleasure, I sometimes linger back into those adventures. Have Fun! Geert Theunisse

HURRICANE AT THE HARINGVLIET By Geert Theunisse

FOREPLAY January 31, 1983 was it blowing like hell in a terrible blizzard when the empty British coaster ‘Greta-C’ - with indeed very little ballast taken in - entered the port of Dintelsas. The tide was

just dead-high, with another 4 Ft on top of it, because of the very strong wind blowing for two days now and driving vast amounts of surge water from the North Sea into the Eastern-Scheld estuary. Greta was heading for the Lock, but this had temporary closed, with the double red lights on because of the high water. Therefore, she first had to tie-up at the jetty on her starboard side to wait before the lock could reopen again. The wind was wild and straight off. The Bosun and two deckhands managed to fasten a bowspring, in the three seconds that the captain could close-in the bow to the jetty enough, and the ship started slowly to try moving her stern towards the jetty. This is common and even standard procedure to handle a vessel of this small size…under normal circumstances. Ships of this size very seldom ask for tug assistance for mooring and/or any other harbor movements, for economic reasons, of course. However, because of a very nasty outburst of wind at the precise moment the slowly

swinging ship started to expose her starboard broadside more and more to the wind forces building up multiple Tons of pressure on this large and still growing surface - the Captain, already in need of significant horsepower to keep sweet Greta moving in the first place, gave another push against the telegraph for more power on the propeller… Heavy and large, sticky flakes of horizontal wind-driven snow had first completely covered the wheelhouse front windows, and was now very rapidly blinding the starboard side windows, isolating the captain behind the wheel from the outside world, totally blurring his sight on the jetty…and causing him to think that his ship was not moving any more. So again, he pushed the throttle just a little more close to full power now - with the rudder already hard to port; doing so, quadrupling the forces on the rope because of the angles between the rudder, the ships hull, the wind force, and the bow-spring, finally resulting in a terrible - fatal - strain on the poor bow spring…

That is why this rope finally snapped, and in no time, the coaster taken by the wind smashed onto the rocky boulders from which the dike on the windward canal side had been built. From a nearby farmhouse, the crash was clearly seen and the terrifying droning - BANG loudly heard. Thus, the farmer called me: “Geert, I don’t believe that everything goes well at the Lock-entrance. Maybe you should take a look over there.” I pulled the whistle from my salvage tug Fury-2 twice shortly to call for my runner Tony and a few minutes later the two of us went over there; and sure the Captain liked it very much being hauled off that rocky spot he landed on. Like because of the water very soon going down a good twelve Ft. or so, and all that crap… “P... Please, help me out of here very quickly! If that’s possible at all?” We placed the towrope at her stern and with one mighty swing; we pulled dear Greta from the rocks and back into the deep! Fury-2 nearly capsized in the process, but it sure helped. The

British Captain in great relieve, hung bungling on his whistle cord for quite some time! Tony came to the wheelhouse, still a little pale around his nose and told me: “Well, I could‘ve nicely tarred our portside-chime a minute ago but couldn’t find the tar bucket quick enough…!” With Fury-2, we maneuvered Greta’s stern against the end of the jetty and she moored securely now, with their heaviest rope. Then they dropped our towrope and we pushed the vessel’s bow towards the jetty, were after she tied-up fore and aft firm and strong. Everybody was happy again, especially the Insurancepeople from Greta. Well, okay, okay, me too, after a wile… when the Mailman came again…

Salvage tug Fury-2, BHP 600. Main engine Deutz VM-536, 400 Hp.

CLIMAX February 1, ’83: the weather had slowly deteriorated into a grim prospect when two minesweepers: ‘HMS NAARDEN and HMS OMMEN’ from the Royal Dutch Navy were approaching the Sea-lock at Stellendam to quickly flee inside before all hell would break loose. At home we, of course, heard them talking with the Lockmaster on VHF channel 13. We just

had lunch at midday when those people started their little chat on VHF-13, (What’s in a number…?) Just yoking between two bites, I said to Rina, “Boy, if one of those ships would run aground one day! Sky-high with them ball’s on a nice, big flat sandbank! That would be something else, wouldn’t it?” I was just yoking, fooling around a bit! I swear I was! Ask Rina…! However, I was still busy writing my report about Greta-C, so I admit, this little outspoken wishful thinking was a bit naughty and greedy of me. Meanwhile, it blew strongly, at least 40 knots all the time and it peaked to 50 knots and higher in the heavy blizzards. The weatherforecast warned for a very severe storm with 60 knots or more from the northwest in the next 24 hours. This forecast really came thru. In evening hours, it deteriorated from already very bad to even worse. At midnight, the phone rang. I stumbled out of my bunk, all sleepy, and picked up the receiver. Leonard Koese, the Skipper from the

lifeboat ‘Zeemanspot’ from Stellendam was online: “Yo, Geert! Did you got it?” “What, Leonard? I sleep at most nights, Leonard. You know, eyes closed, snoring and all that.” “You’re Nuts! Who sleeps with this kind of weather? Listen, man! Two minesweepers from the Navy in big trouble close to Middelharnis! They’re working on channel 13! Huh? Do I pull your leg? No, you fruitcake! Are you still sleeping? I ain’t yoking! Get on with it, do you hear! Go! Go with this tug of yours and make it real snappy!” …?...!...?...! I was wide-awake now. “Okay, okay, Leonard! Thanks, man! I’m on my way now!” I slam the phone down and step in one leg of my trousers. The telephone ringing again… Jan, the Lockmaster from the Volkerak-Locks online: “Geert! Drag your lazy ass onboard and go, man! Two minesweepers aground on the Haringvliet near Middelharnis, yelling, and

begging like crazy for tug-assistance! It’s about the OMMEN and NAARDEN, you know them! We have contact with them on VHF! Get going, man! We have a lock ready and waiting for you! Go, go, and go!” “Damn! Yeah, Jan, yeah, I’m coming! I’m there in few minutes or so!” Jesus… Gimme a break here! First, my other leg in my pants! Meanwhile, the Lockmaster notified the ships that he had contacted me and confirmed that I was proceeding. Before leaving, I make just one quick phone call to my faithful and welltrained runners, Theo and Ruud, sound asleep in their bunks at the little Den Bommel village. “Hey, guys! A.S.A.P. to the Volkerak-Locks please!” “Right-on, we’re underway as of now!” Five minutes later, I was on my way with Fury2, out of the harbor and onto the completely berserk waters of the Volkerak. I had a straight downwind ride to the lock and tried to do fullspeed, of course, being in a bloody hurry as I

was. Bad idea! Because of too much speed, I almost managed to broach heavily two times. When one is sailing downwind with a real good blow, the large waves tend to stick under your ass for too long, with the result that the rudder is dangling in relatively still water, having about the same speed as the boat has. Then the pressure on the rudder’s flanks gets too low and varying too much, which makes that one is steering ones boat in a way that it looks if one has gulped down a whole bottle of gin in a record short time. This was not the case of course, not in the middle of the night and with 50 knots of wind! Luckily, it was also pitchblack dark and no other ships sailing on this mad water anymore, so nobody saw it… A little less throttle did the trick. In the lock, Theo and Ruud just climbing down the ladder in the lock wall, the intercomspeaker clicks. Jan’s voice sounded, “Hey you, nutty bunch off wild sea-horses! Take care will you? The Anemometer here is ticking 60 knots now, you know! It never blows below 55

anymore! As long as you, guys know that, hey! Be careful out there!” “Yes, Jan! Sure, Jan! We’ll be good boys, Jan. Thank you, man!” And out we went. Out from the lock harbor and entering the three-mile wide Holland’s-Deep we quickly got Jan’s drift. The wind was already slowly veering to the west and went from very bad to very nasty. The sea state was deteriorating quickly. Spray was flying over the whole boat all the time, with large white explosions of water and foam against the pitchblack darkened sky; a mighty and splendid sight to whom who can appreciate it. Just as we passed underneath the HaringvlietBridge the patrol-vessel ‘RWS-17’ from Dutch Traffic-Control came after us, out of the Dordrecht direction. Normally, these patrol boats go easily twice as much our speed, overtaking us as if we just dropped an anchor or two. Not tonight, no Sir! They followed us on a little distance behind and with no intention what so ever to overtake us. It just was not any

sort of hurry-up weather anymore! Meanwhile, we made VHF contact, of course, with the two minesweepers. About the exact position, the situation, and how they were doing and so on. You know: the reassuring soothing kind of small talk in this kind of situations. Well, they were aground just opposite of the so-called NATO-jetty in the Navy Practice Area, a mile or so east from Middelharnis. And they were not doing great either they told us, having the distinct feeling that both ships were still dragging higher on the sandbank, ever further away from the fairway buoys. That was very much possible, of course. Those old US-Navy designed minesweepers are 45 Meters long, but they have a height-abovewater and wind-catch that is more appropriate for a ship twice that length. On top of that, those are very light-built ships, of wood…! Both Commanders reported us that sometimes they could hear loud cracking and squeaking noises, deep down in both their ships...

The weather was completely off the rocker now. It screamed and howled all the time, sounding terrible even inside the safety of our wheelhouse. This big, fat low-revs Deutz engine of Fury-2 blasting at full power, stiff up to the safety pin, of course, banging and smashing into the steep waves in the Vuile-Gat fairway between the island of Tiengemeeten and the Zuid-Holland shore. A mighty feeling that is! Just mighty! Almost out of the Vuile-Gat, we got a radarecho of the vessels, way of on the bank and 400 to 500 yards apart. A little later, between the large clouds of spray water and occasional snowfall, we could see sometimes the many bright emergency lights, blinking high up in the masts from both ships. I thought it a mightily touching and deeply moving sight. One simply cannot believe ones eyes at the first sight on such scenery! You know what I mean, do you! Two clients in one! Later, Theo and Ruud told me over and over again for the sworn-truth that they started to

get a little worried about my mental health in the Vuile-Gat. They still tell everybody willing to listen that I was all the time jumping up and down like a kangaroo behind the wheel, yelling like crazy: “Now we have something! Now we have something…!” And so on and so forth. Tsss! A dirty pair of plain liars, that is what they are, I tell you! The RWS-17 made it safely to the port of Middelharnis en vanished rapidly inside, not to be been seen again until morning light. Mr. Schouwenaar, the River-Master onboard, called his office with a rather stout message: “This surely is the stupidest boat I ever was sorry about to sail on until now!” The RWS-17 was one of those modern, featherweight designs, brand-new and also quite a bit ‘jumpy’ with this kind of weather. Just like me, sort of! We confirmed with the Naarden that we first would try to re-float her. She went aground west from her sister ship and seemed a little more in need of action. I warned her that I

would shoot a line over, downwind over the foredeck. I was not that keen to come close to those ships in the circumstances. Afraid as I was to hit the sand also and then, not maneuverable, got thrown into her wooden flank with this heavy boat of us, which would be not good at all, no Sir! “Crack…! Crack...!” Normally, we are not that afraid to hit mother Earth now and again. But now, with this kind of wind blowing, maneuvering with a directreversible engine like from Fury-2, can take just a little too much time. You know: switching the engine from forward to reverse and back; and every time a necessary new blast of compressed air to start her again. It all together takes just a little longer than with your average reverse gearbox. The Speedline went over and down nicely and all-hands over there pulled the towrope over. I never made that rapidly a tow-connection before! With 36 sick-worried Navy-occupants onboard over there, small wonder though! We started working on this first minesweeper.

We could bring her bow straight into the wind and were able to swing her over a nice wide angle from port to starboard and back again; every time, with the help of the depth sounder, of course, approaching just the rim of the bank with the boat. But re-floating her was still something else. We stood on a long rope, about 500 Ft. It had to be that long because of the shallow rim of the bank. Therefore, flushing sand away with our prop-wash from underneath her bottom was not possible on this trip. We only could try to work her slowly thru the sandbank by heavy pulling while swinging port, starboard, and so on. The weather went still crazier all the time and seas were building op accordingly. The haul to port was easy. Then we moved along with the wind and waves to the east. The haul to starboard was another piece of cake. Then we moved, the boat listed dangerously, in a westerly direction up against wind and waves, with two Ft. of water on the starboard part of

the deck. The door to the engine room is also on starboard, with a doorstep of only one Ft high... Therefore, I appointed Theo to act as ‘EngineRoom-Doorman.’ Closing the door timely before the starboard-haul, open it up again quickly at beginning the portside-haul. This was necessary for a very good reason. With the door closed, engine-revs went down with eight, caused by just not enough airflow to feed the engine air-intake. That, we could not allow! We needed all horsepower we could lay our hands on this night! The hatches on the engine-room top all closed down of course because of all this water flying around in the air. So, on deck stood good Theo. Up to his knees in water every four minutes, attending the door right on time! Carry on, boys…!

Shit! Wet feet again…as usual!

We made very slow progress, about 35 yards in three hours. Meanwhile, HMS OMMEN was not happy at all. She did not have any help yet, and with each extra large wave slowly drifting a little further on the bank. She started complaining and whining after a wile: “…If I could not ask someone else to join in for a bit more horsepower?” I thought it was the best thing to do. If they start yelling around for help again on the VHF, it’s running out of my hands completely, and that wouldn’t be no good idea at all! We had to succeed that night. We had to! Because of the wind, there was a rather high storm surge of water present. When the wind

would ease down, the gigantic gates in the Haringvliet storm barrier would open up rapidly and the water would go down again. Refloating the ships then could prove virtually impossible. That’s why I made this historic telephone call with the Tugboat-Central at Rotterdam and got connected with Smit-Vos Tug-Services, part of the large and famous Smit-International Salvage Company. They rather quickly liked the idea and we agreed that they would send two tugs over, the ‘Noordpool’ and the ‘Spitsbergen’. They still had to sail Oude-Maas, Spui, Korendijkse-Geul, and Beningen before arriving at our position. Meanwhile, we proceeded along, of course, pulling and yanking on this Naarden tub. I’m still convinced that we could have managed to pull her off, but it took a whole lot of time and patience. At early morning hours, the wind was up to hurricane force, over 72 knots. Water was literally flying way over the masts now! The

highest wind speed, measured at Hook of Holland, - very close to our workplace - tipped 79 knots. Massive lumps of water stepped onboard at the somewhat lower stern deck from the Naarden… About our own - rather low - stern part, I will tell you in a sec… Finally, the Noordpool and Spitsbergen arrived and from the Naarden they shot a line over to them were after in a short time their towropes were connected. Then, now the three together, we started to do some serious business. With a grand-total of 1,700 Hp from the tugs, minesweeper Naarden gave up soon and floated again after another half hour. She stayed on the deep now like a good girl, standing-by and waiting until we were finished with her companion Ommen. In the meantime, the RWS-17 was on scene again, and breaking daylight was just enough to make some pictures. Pictures are always okay, for later… One moment, Ruud entered the wheelhouse. We had just started to work on OMMEN with

our tree tugs and I was busy as hell. Working with three tugboats close together on the same ship and in hurricane weather conditions, you need also at least three pairs of eyes in fact. Ruud said “Listen Geert. I don’t want to be a spoilsport or nagging on your head or something. I really won’t! But did you have a look at our stern lately? It looks to me that we are slowly sinking there, you know!” While Ruud takes over steering for a moment, I stumble down on deck to have a better look at the stern. Shit! The stern is down, with the deck in the water, the waves rolling straight over now. Oh boy! I take a quick look in the stern room. More Shit! The water is way above the floorboards already! This damned stern tube gland again! I race to the engine room to switch on the bilge pump. Boy! Oh boy! One could founder quietly, working and working like an idiot on a very tight towrope!

Early morning exercise… On the far right, one of the clients.

Yeah, it was just one of those facts of life. Fury2 came finally at the end of her long and heavy road. Her lovely 13 Tons Deutz engine running as smooth as ever. All pumps and other equipment still being in good working order. But the hull was gone, along with the ruddergear and also along with the stern-tube and the prop-shaft. The outer-bearing from the sterntube was so completely worn-out that the shaft, jumping up en down like a mad frog while running full revs, destroyed the gland-seals every time. Well yes, and then working feverously on a very nice job, one can forget something sometimes you know. Like a little pumping now and again…

However, do not despair! On the drawing boards, the brand-new Fury-3 was growing already. The Mother of all Salvage-Tugboat’s was about to be borne! Until she is finished, just try to stay surfaced with the old faithful, you moron! Pumping a bit now and again, if it is not too much to ask of you, you sorry kind of a meathead! Those minesweepers meanwhile could barely use their own engines any more. The whole of them cooling systems filled with sand from the bank, and temp-gauges went rapidly into the red sector as soon as a demand for some power came up. The Ommen behaved like a good girl also and after some struggle, she did float again. We moored her as the first on the NATO-jetty and brought the Naarden alongside her. Well, this was it then! Finished with a very nice job and succeeded! We tied-up alongside the minesweepers and went onboard to have a little chat, and to do

some business, of course. Meanwhile, a squad of Navy divers showed up, quickly commencing inspections on both ships bottoms for damage. It didn’t take long also before the Shore-captain of Smit-Vos arrived. He had jumped his car at Rotterdam as soon he heard that the ships were floating again and started racing like a maniac from Rotterdam. So, the two of us went to the Commanders of the sweepers. But this sneaky little devil of a Shore-captain was already been there without me, waiving with two ridiculous ‘Harbor-Towing-Contracts’ to be signed by the Royal Dutch Navy. Those stupid little contracts were an offence by themselves to the Dutch Navy, I tell you! However, the two Commanders had decided that they preferred to wait for me also being present… Now, that was one hell of a smart move to make from those clever boys! Full marks for you! I had no real objection against those specific contracts of course, but I had ordered the two tugboats on an hourly basis. Simple: so many

hours, two boats, so many horsepower, type the invoice and be done with it! Now, this Shore-captain tried to wriggle himself out of that, thinking he was already longer awake then me. No way! Well, after a good and hearty discussion with him, a few calls with the Smit office, we went back to the two Commanders. To set the new course, so to speak. Those Navy guys couldn’t agree more then they did with me. They had ordered ME for assistance, I had asked Smit later, and that was it! It therefore took me not too much time to feel the mood and spirit those guys were in, deciding that I had a fair chance here. Therefore, a wile later, I said to the Commanders, “By all means, Sir’s, please do sign those contracts from Smit.” Which both of them did! The Shore-captain, at once with this big, dumb, satisfied grin on his face? The moment the papers were undersigned, he grabbed them from the table and they vanished into his pocket; if it were the

only and very secret maps of the biggest diamond field of the whole world. The silly beggar! Where after…I pulled two brand-new ‘Lloyds Open Form, No Cure – No Pay’ contracts out of my pocket and invited the Dutch Navy Commanders politely to undersign these also... Immediately, the Shore-captain started complaining and yelling, waiving with his pathetic little contracts in the air, whining: “What’s the use of that now? We already have these contracts!” Continuing waiving with those sickening worthless little papers. I told him, “We will find that out later. Don’t worry. It will do no harm.” Again, the Navy boys agreed with me and signed my papers also. Bingo! On top of it, they poured us a generous drink afterward. A stiff drink, I might say… The minesweeper boys safely moored and we could sail homeward bound; completely satisfied, cold to the bone, but warm inside and very content because of a job well done.

Yes…Is it not? The wind was still veering slowly. If one looked long enough, one could think that it very slowly diminished. It was a mighty and beautiful sight on the four mile wide Haringvliet. The sun rising for a short while now and slanted streaks of bright light beaming thru between the big black storm clouds, sweeping over the furious gray-green waters. It was still blowing around 50 knots and the foamy crowns of the breaking wave-crests, lit by this harsh light were of the brightest white I have ever seen; and Fury-2 swaying slowly up and down on a downwind course in the middle of it! Beautiful, it was! Just beautiful! Back into the Volkerak-lock, Theo and Ruud went home, dead tired and soaked - but so completely satisfied - back to their bunks. After another rather bumpy ride over the Volkerak, I moored back home, first told the complete story of course, and then catching up with some sleep and rest. Later in the afternoon, I applied first for an

extended and written report from the KNMI Weather Institute, and the same about the tide and surge details from the Department of Water. A few days later, I received also some pictures from the rescue action, made by the RWS-17. This was very nice! Pictures are always good…for later… Not too slowly, my business instinct started to awake on this one, and for starters I made a phone call with Wout, the director of ‘Van den Akker’ at Flushing, another work-company from Smit-International, and by occasion sometimes my counselor. And a fine one he was! I told him the whole story and Wout liked it a lot. He nearly couldn’t stop laughing! Especially the part about the Sore-captain’s ‘Tow-Contracts’, he appreciate a lot. Boy, oh boy, we sure had a good time! Wout: “Listen up, son! Be advised that I go with you to the first meeting about this yoke at the Head-office in Rotterdam. I won’t miss it for the world, I’m telling you! Better still! You first make

an appointment with the people over there, then I’ll pick you up at your place and we travel together. At the same time, I can keep an eye on you!” A few days later, I contacted with the Smit head-office to set a date for a meeting. This day came, Wout picked me up, and on we went; meeting with Bram, Joop, and Bill and so on, gathered in their very luxurious head-office, and me telling the whole story in detail. When everybody finally calmed down after many roaring outbursts of laughter and sheer joy, the two ‘Tow-contracts’ from the Shorecaptain were ripped to a thousand pieces and vanished were they belonged in the first place, into the wastebasket that is! L. O. F, No cure – No pay contracts, undersigned by two Royal Dutch Navy Commanders are somewhat better, you see, slightly more valuable. They are a special kind of Royal treasure bonds, one could call them. Well, we yoked around for a while in this fashion. Repeatedly, those guys came up with

questions about this or that detail and started over and over, scribbling away little notes about it, and so on, etc. Suddenly, Wout grumbles with his very low voice to Bram: “Hey you! What kind of a lousy, greedy host are you anyway? Do you know at what godforsaken early hour I started to drive from Flushing this morning to this worn-out dump here? Do you? No, of course you don’t! That’s what I mean, see! I would appreciate some decent grub by now, you know!” By very noisy acclamation, we decided to move the meeting over to ‘Mary Dear’, a little restaurant, a block or so away from the Smitoffice. They served A Captain’s Dinner, with a few nice steaks each, to beef it up a little, and of course some very strong spiritual liquids in between now and again, just for the ambiance. Overall, it went to a fruitful and lighthearted day. Very late that evening we agreed fully on the headlines of the strategy, sometimes even in tears, drenched in heavy percentages of

intoxicating fluids. Oh no, not Wout! Wout was the chauffeur see! We agreed in brotherly unison that I was and would remain to be the principal Contractor in the case. But hey, man! Can’t we agree on a fifty-fifty basis? Of course, they had brought in three times more horsepower with their two tugboats then I did with Fury-2. I thought it okay already and we agreed to join forces again. Now ready to go into battle against the Dutch Navy! Now to collect our rightfully owned salvage reward...

Stormy, occasional, early morning merger

AFTER JOY It took us almost a year before we could collect our hard-earned money. But well, you know… the Dutch government… One day, I was completely fed up again, waiting and waiting for nothing to happen and I got this idea: I drive to The Hague tomorrow morning, and I make a little chat with the lawyer over there who is handling the case at the Department of Defense. (I should say of course, ‘non-handling’ the case!) Better still, I do not call him in advance to make an appointment. I just drive off here and drop myself right on his deck, out off the blue sky! Yeah sure…! The next early morning, I jump in my little Fiat and set course for The Hague. It went smoothly until I pass Voorburg, a suburb city from The Hague. I already had traveled many times to The Hague, of course. To the Department of Justice that was… I had to go there endlessly and repeatedly for another salvage job I did for

Her Majesties Government… Boy! Oh Boy! If I have to start telling you about that one, I will never finish… Therefore, I know my way around a little in The Hague. But now, after a rather long time, my destination laid somewhere in the narrow and complicated ants nest of the old city. Searching, sounding, and navigating along I was… After Voorburg, I ended up in a roadblock and had to make a detour. Of course, I didn’t had updated charts of this part of the coast on board, and I had not read anything about it in the Notices for Mariners either. So I got lost… At a bus stop, an older lady was waiting for a city bus. It was a lively and literally sharp kind of a woman. She was dressed in a gray-blue raincoat and with a little Navy-blue hat on her head. Out from that hat were two of those sharp hatpins sticking up from between some insignificant camouflage of plastic fruits. It looked like the antennas of an old and grumpy

Russian espionage trawler. It seemed rather dangerous to me… I stopped the car and asked her politely for my way to the Department of Defense at the Queen Maria lane. “Oh gosh!” she tweeted. “What a coincidence that you ask me, Sir! I live just one street away from there, you see, and I am on my way home! You know what! I jump in with you and I’ll show you the way! Then I’m home again and you’re at the right place the same time! Isn’t this funny!” The old lady jumped in, pointing forward with a sure and steady finger, saying: “just drive on, Sir. I’ll lead the way!” Then it started… She cranked up to babble away about everything: about her neighbors, about her worthless family in law, about politics, about the bad weather lately, about everything. And all of it on the highest possible revs from her little steam engine, even that… “…Well, I told her from two stairs up, I said…you have to turn right here… Oops, that was close isn’t it…? Well, I said, isn’t that

something, woman…Yes to the left here…Well done, Sir…You did that very nicely, just nearly missing that other car…were was I...? Oh yes, so I said to her, isn’t it outrageous woman? I said… Oh my…! You had to turn left again here!” I turned the wheel as fast as possible to the portside. Just a little too late… With a loud BANG, we bumped over the curbstone of a nice flowerbed between the two lanes of the broad street we were navigating. I just managed to miss the tick and heavy tree by a few inches. Red flowers and green leafs were flying in the air outside the windows of the wheelhouse. It looked a bit like green and red spray, colored by the ships position lanterns, sailing thru the night in very heavy weather… With a heavy SMACK, the little Fiat smashed down from the opposite curbstone into the left lane. The electric streetcar, who was just full ahead approaching the green traffic light – green for him that is – was instantly switching his motors

back in full reverse with a terrible whining sound, ringing with his anchor bell like an idiot, and at the same time blasted a very prolonged and totally unnecessary attention signal on his foghorn. But I couldn’t spend much time on him right then. I just barely managed to enter the street from that next and latest course alteration. Moreover, I just felt this strange tic in my left eye again… The little woman on my right was suspiciously quiet for a while – for the about three seconds while we were airborne that is – and I had a quick peek to her, my navigator in harms… She just started to giggle. “My, my, Sir! What a wild and naughty driver you are! She was bareheaded then. Her little hat was hanging above her, the dangerous pins shot clean thru the ceiling of the rooftop from my poor little Fiat. “Oh dear, look at that! What a naughty rascal of a boy you are! My, my!” With a firm yank, she plucked her hat out from the sealing, like ripe fruits plucked from a tree,

and putted it firmly back on her head again, still very sharp and ready for the next attack… And she continued rattling, her good old self again: “At the end of this street you have to turn right again you know! Yes, I say it just upfront now hey! Hihihi! We are almost there, you know! Oh, gosh look, we still made a better time then the bus could ever have done. You did well you know! Yes! Stop here! This is your address. Are you in politics or something? I mean, coming all the way from the Brabant-County as you are. Ah, you are a sailor! Ah well, then this is the right address for you, you know! This is the Navy, you see! Well, many thanks for the ride, Sir! Goodbye, Sir! Bye, bye!” I now also felt these alarming twitches in both hands again, waiting for the traffic light to turn green to enter the gigantic parking lot. Having found a spot, I stepped out and spontaneously I looked at the rooftop of the car. Mmm, no holes… First, I checked in with the Reception, still a little shaky: “I very much like to speak with Mr.

von Heijden…” First, I received a visitor’s pass. One of those modern little labels that you have to clip on the coat, confirming ‘To-Whom-It-May-Concern’ that one is temporary allowed to be present in this building of utmost importance. The Reception lady was meanwhile checking all those names in a large kind of logbook on her desk. The Department of Defense is the working area for, say around 2,500 employees. Huh well, working area… Let us say, a place to be during office hours. After all, we live more or less in peace now. After a wile, she exclaimed “Oh! I’m so sorry for you! Mr. von Heijden called in sick this morning. Just a few minutes before you arrived, you know. His back hurts, you know.” “Shit! Shit! Shit! Etcetera…!” To calm down a bit I found myself back in the canteen to buy a cup of coffee. Thinking over the desperate position, I’m in, aground in this bloody hellhole here. But then I decided that I still want to know why in the world it takes so

much time again just to pay me a simple salvage-fee for a job well done. Moreover, especially after have lived thru such a perilous journey as I did just a few minutes ago! So, back to the friendly Reception-lady and I asked for the Chief from Mr. von Heijden. And make it snappy, please! After a wile, an Officer of the Guards appeared. He was at first sight recognizable by this big bright, shining silver shield bungling on his fat belly with a silver chain around his neck. He was the so-called picket-officer. This is some Guard figure they still think to need at this kind of places… He asked me - flashing with arrogant brilliance like a paradise bird - for the reason of my visit and I told him so. For a wile, he was gazing very suspiciously at me. As if, I came rowing down by lifeboat all the way from my place to The Hague. Like the famous Captain Bligh from the Bounty did. Then suddenly, he started to march in front of me with droning, hollering steps thru all these long corridors and stairways until we halted in front of the hundred

and something office door. I had to wait outside he was telling me. He first would notify the Chief about my question. So, I waited another ten minutes on that long and empty corridor. The Guard-joker came out again, and flashing and sparkling he told me: “The Chief thinks that you do better if you leave the case to your lawyer since you have already (!?) given the case to him. Now the case is handed over to a lawyer, the Chief only wants to, and in fact is only allowed to, speak with him.” All devils in hell! Now what? I’m the principle Contract-Party here and the Chief is a highranked member from my Counterparty! We shall speak whenever I feel like it! I told the radiant guard-bird that I had to make a very urgent phone call! Now! He was convoying me rapidly to an empty office, but with a still working telephone. I grabbed one of the many letters from my lawyer –Eric - out of my briefcase and stuck it under his big liquor nose: “You dial this number

in the letterhead here and ask for Maitre Eric. Now!” He was studying the letter, as if grave suspicion had been raised about me being seriously suspected of counterfeiting confidential States documents. At last, he dialed the number, got connected and said “Good day, Sir. This is the Department of Defense at The Hague speaking. Here is a mister Theunisse for you who likes to speak with you. One moment please”. He handed over the receiver and retreated to the open door, waiting with his ears peeled on what would happen. Eric was online and laughing his head off. “Hey, Geert, you son of a gun! You hopeless fruitcake! What’s up?” “Eric, listen good! This morning, I drove in all peace and quiet to this damned place to ask very politely why they refuse to pay me my well-earned money. Now I’m here, this Chief from Mr. von Heijden refuses to talk to anyone else but you! This von Heijden person stayed home this morning because of some sort of

stupid illness. So, now I’m stuck here! Therefore, this is what I going to do here and now for today. I sack you! Understood? You tell this joker here that you no longer represent me any more! Got it? Or I start to throw some randomly people out of windows here!” The guard-bird retreated at once from the open door, vanishing tactically into the corridor. Eric was most inappropriate laughing like crazy on the phone, but after a wile, he was more or less able to speak again, “Okay, okay, understood. Gimme that joker again and I will tell him so.” I slammed the phone on the table and stormed to the open door. Damn, almost too late! The guard-bird had sneaked away almost to the end of the corridor already. I made a few steps in his direction and signalled him friendly but urgent to get his ass back to the phone. “Please, Sir, come back to the phone. There’s a message for you!” It resounded nicely up and down the long corridor, echoing three times back and forth and received well. The guard-bird came

shuffling back – trembling and shy like a young virgin in the very last seconds from her already shaking and collapsing existence – and he listened what Eric had to say to him: “Oh no, Sir! Ah, yes, Sir! I am so sorry for you, Sir! Yes, Sir, I shall immediately convey this message to the Chief, Sir. Thank you so much Sir! Goodbye, Sir.” He putted the receiver down; very carefully, as if it was a very valuable and fragile piece of jewelry and addressed me: “Very good, Sir. I think that the Chief is willing to speak with you now. Will you please follow me, Sir?” We returned to the Chief’s office. The guardbird knocked on the door, opening up the same moment and we were in a secretary-office with a large desk. Behind the desk sat an obviously elderly woman, very sophisticated, with meticulously well-done, beautiful silver-gray hair. She started slowly and stately to stand up, but was just only halfway when my guide steamed full-ahead across the room with full revs and military paces towards a tinted glass

wall with a door in it, with me on his tail on a very short towrope indeed. She started to speak... “But, Sir! I first have to introduce you again, befo…” Alas, she was too late. We already entered into the heart of the Counterparty. Ah! Straight into the “CENTER OF POWER” at last! There, behind a desk sat a very small and unbelievably old man. But his desk was much bigger and beautiful made by an artistcarpenter. The desk was made from softly shining, very dark, almost black wood. A marvelous piece of furniture it was! The desk was also completely and spotlessly empty, except for just one dossier cover, opened in front of him. This man was so terribly old that I just couldn’t believe my eyes! They had left him behind! The same instant, it flashes thru my brain… They just had abandoned him from the time that Napoleon got defeated here and very rapidly thrown out! And they just forgot to send him after!

On the wall behind him hung a beautiful painting from an antique battleship; it is proudly cruising on a stormy sea with square-rigged, bulging sails. Enormous tricolor flags standing proudly in the strong wind, accompanied by many yards-long Royal-orange banners. The grim barrels from the two rows of many cannons are pointing out of the opened gun ports. The ship was completely ready and very able for just another glorious and smashing battle at the seas. This was His last ship…! I know it for sure! I swear it is!

His ship…!

My front-trooper, standing before the desk, was respectfully whispering all kinds of information to the ancient sailor. The last part containing words about him standing guard and for protection for himself and about asking for more troops, and so on. But the little wrinkled old salt, with an ice-cold glance in his watery eyes, was waiving him out of the room. My former front trooper started humbly back sailing behind enemy lines now, closing the door in the glass wall without a sound. So: doing business at last? Hell no! Well, almost nothing... The living sea-mummy started a very, very long monologue. Really, for many minutes he babbled on with the same monotonous, teaching, and college-like droning sound. He was unstoppable going on about the ‘System’ and the strict rules of Navy bureaucracy, which are the only true and sound foundations of a strong and healthy Navy-organization. With a grave and solemn voice, he declared

that they – the Servants from Her Majesties Navy, appointed from and sworn in by Her Majesty the Queen herself – were simply obliged to fulfill absolute correctly all regulations first in matters of the greatest and utmost importance as those very serious cases on hand now, and so on, etc... He took so much time for his cold-wardeclaration that I calmed down completely. Worse, even! I nearly fell asleep! But…but…that was just the standard diversion tactic from back then and now! Blabbering on endlessly until the enemy drops totally exhausted on the floor! That’s it! First, mislead the enemy as much as possible! Put him asleep and hypnotize him! Cheat on him until he starts crying aloud from genuine and great misery! Then… Attack and destroy the miserable, pitiful, and begging for mercy, pathetically complaining bastard, brutally and unwanted emerged from the scum of nation’s ignorant inhabitants!

This negotiating tactic is worldwide known as the famous ‘Dutch Poldermodel’ and so skillful deployed here in all of its glory by this little seamidget! This salty mini-troll from ancient, cold, and mystic Ultima Thule! However, when the little sea-cherubim paused for a while to have a sip of water to top-up his rusty old boiler, poured in ever so carefully out from a crystal carafe with a trembling wrinkled little hand into a very old wineglass on golden footing placed on a dark-blue velvet placemat, – just offered to him by the secretary, glancing at me with great hostility – I suddenly startled to consciousness again. Quickly awakening, I grabbed my one and only chance to interfere in his fatal tactics and escape from this devious attack. I asked him politely to see to it that some progress would be been made now. That he surely must understand that it is impossible for us to keep on investing good money in salvage jobs, and afterwards being forced to wait for our payment

for such long times. That in that frightening dark and stormy night when this desperate cry for help came - from TWO of her Majesties battleships for crying aloud! - We immediately sailed out to do our duty, even in those unfriendly, yes, even rather dangerous circumstances. End that it would be wise, generous, and prudent of him to grant me at least some advance-payment if the ‘system’ should continue to need so much time to solve those insignificant little matters at hand. Ah…! The little old salty beggar started to smile ever so little, with feeble and faint hiccup-like sounds, bubbling-up from his crummy and dented inner standpipe. There was even a weak twinkling of a tiniest pleasure visible in his already, for centuries long dimmed and faded eyes. “Well, yes…huh…Mister Theunisse, I almost think that our Minister, Prof. Mr. J. de Ruiter, could be persuaded by me to make a little gesture to you under these rather pressing

circumstances. You know, I am afraid that our denial of any obligation to pay you anything at all would possibly fall on bad ground in this case. I understood that our distinguished commanders did undersign some, huh… well, some sort of documents after this misfortunes event took place. Particularly wrong intending legal schooled figures could possibly even extract a certain legal force from these papers, laid upon us to pay you some amount of money anyway. Therefore, a modest and sufficient moderated advance-payment, well…yes, why not, I dare to say. Well yes, I almost even dare to think that I could defend something of this nature before his Excellency the Minister. What do you think? Would a sum of, let us say 25,000 Florin’s will do the trick to keep you going? Of course, I first would like to receive a written consent about this arrangement from your, huh, well, colleagues, Smit-International, I mean. If you would be so kind to first explore this little matter with those people in the

Rotterdam area? Were after, I am of course will await a written approval from them? And after that… well naturally, we will transfer this amount of our national currency to one of the accounts of your choice. I guess I can promise you this here and now.” Right, so far so good! It is something at last. I thanked the little old salty sea-swindler, but with great hesitation, I very carefully shook his outreached tiny hand. It looked so brittle and vulnerable. As if…if it could come off any second! In addition, I did do better to forget quickly the words he spoke about the undersigned documents, which made it impossible now NOT to pay me! Grrmpf! The cheating little beggar! Anyhow, with some relief and reasonably cool I left the premises after having my visitors pass returned to the friendly and helpful receptionlady, who saved my day after all. Since I was already busy that day with climbing the steep and narrow ladder up to the higher

regions of society anyway, being advanced into the real “Center Of The Defense Of The Kingdom” as I was just minutes ago, I decided to march-on and visit yet another Galaxy of the real important institutions of the earth: SmitInternational Worldwide Salvage Company at Rotterdam. Without further nerve-racking complications, I managed to sail out free from this tricky The Hague labyrinth and a little later safely dropped anchor in the parking lot at the Zalmstraat. The door attendant took care of my announcement upstairs and few seconds later, I could report to Bram and Joop. I started with just a simple, global, and brief report about my soundings at The Hague, only mentioning the headlines about the advancepayment. Bram promised at once to send a letter to the Department, confirming that they had no objections what so ever against this deal. Good! Some money started to flow in the right direction at last! But then, those evil characters started picking

on me again! They began in a most devious and treasonous way to ask for details. They went relentlessly on and on and at last, I broke and I had to give away all details to them. They both forced me to elaborate about getting lost in our National Capitol, about my babbling female Pilot and her dangerous hat, about my hastily and sloppy gardener job between the two curbstones, about the guard-bird, about the ancient sailor, about the old painting, etc. So, sitting there in that most decadent, expensive office, telling them most reluctantly and unwillingly all those insignificant little things; first Joop started to make those funny little squeaking, suffocation noises, immediately followed by Bram with blue-faced outbursts of mightily roaring sounds. I could hardly hear myself speaking because of the racket they made! The smashing looking, young female secretary from Bram had already fled from the room by that time, with both lovely little hands covering her gorgeous lips. However, few minutes later,

she bravely returned, her very attractive self completely regained – she thought – now accompanied by Mister Scheffer, the Big Boss of this well-known, worldwide Salvage-outfit that time. Boy! What a mess they started to make now of this detailed report that they wrung merciless out of me! Okay, down to the real business now! The final meeting about the case was been planned at the famous ‘White House’ at Rotterdam. There was seated the also worldwide known and most distinguished Ships-Experts and loss adjusters firm: H. S. & N. Mister van Dorp, a most experienced, really integer and righteous Member-Expert from this firm had being appointed by the Dutch Navy to try to solve our little business in a final and decisive battle. Joop and I arrived nice on time also. A large convoy of Navy-brass was just entering the meeting room. Really heavy! It looked like a decisive meeting from the top admirals of the

combined fleets from the Low-Countries to finally establish once and for all the absolute hegemony on the world’s seas. In addition, the States-Lawyer walks in… … ‘#@ %SHIT&!>!*♫☻?,... ‘THE FUCKING STATES-LAWYER?!’ The States-Lawyer, Mr. Brant Wubs on this occasion, beat me with just one second when I stormed in, about 2 Ft behind him. With my steam-pressure-gauge dangerously far into the red sector, and large surpluses of adrenaline escaping from all of my safety valves, swirling useless around in my scattered wake. “Mister Theunisse! Hum… Please Sir…! Before you start to explode again, I am only present here incase we perhaps, maybe, possibly, eventually shall NOT reach an agreement today. In that case, we have to shape up a course for our next possible movements, and that is the one and only reason I am here today. I have no intention to interfere in

anything else. I really won’t do that today!” And I have to be honest, he didn’t. That he pulled both my legs in a most scandalous way a little later in a different case is another matter of course. It is another book even… It turned out into a maritime/judicial/political documentary drama in fact! Going on, and…going on, and… We DID succeed in that final gathering! We, Joop and I, retreated a few times into the corridor. Well, I didn’t’ exactly demanded for blood… Although… But for sure, I did demand for some real nice money anyhow and anyway. At a certain moment, biddings stuck on a difference of 15,000 guilders. The Navy-brass, with serious faces, already busy gathering their large stacks of papers, filling, and closing their many briefcases. Mister van Dorp was looking genuine worried. The States-Lawyer was looking somber too… But not for real, no way… He thought “Oho! There comes a fine bunch of work again! Money, money, money…!”

In our last corridor conclave, Joop started yelling. At me…? “Damn you, man! We must agree now! Now, you hear!” Me: “No way, not this time! We need the fifteen big-ones they are still sitting on with their fat asses, for lost of interests after almost yet another year of waiting for these jerks!” I won! We strolled back inside as lenient as a concrete seawall, sticking stiffly to our standpoints. Finally, they gave in! All interests included. State’s lawyer Brant did not need to come in action. That time anyway… So, another won race, would you think? Yeah, well, back at you in a minute… Our many USA friends have a nice proverb for that: “It ain’t over until the fat lady sings…!” We had a cozy and rather wet after meeting, back at the Smit-office and Bram told me: “Well Mister Main-Contractor, you know the drill, don’t you. You make the Invoice, and you see to it that we receive our money as soon as possible.” So what? This is no big deal, is it! I sailed back

home without any trouble and sat down to properly write an invoice for the total salvagefee. The biggest invoice since I started my little enterprise. A very good feeling, I might say! The invoice was a brief summary of the agreement about the principal sum… plus VAT of course, minus the already received advancepayment. With at the end this nice sentence: “Payment of this Invoice shall fully and completely discharge the Royal Dutch Navy in this case.” As soon as finished, the invoice went to the mail carrier. A month later, I received a rather sour letter from the Department of Defense. The Minister of Defense, by his spokesperson Mr. von Heijden, was boldly conveying to me that during the meeting from Sept. 21st, not a word had been mentioned about any VAT payment… Moreover, that the agreed amount for salvage-fee was the maximum amount that the Navy was been prepared to agree upon. That therefore the Navy is awaiting an invoice

from me for that amount only. It is the truth, I swear! Look for yourself! But…? But…! VAT is a disaster coming from the outside. It is an act from a non-God. It is invented by and laid upon us by terrible greedy and money-hungry third persons, a.k.a. as the Government, binding for all and with very few and very rare exceptions. It comes automatically after and upon any and all commercial business transactions about delivering of services and/or goods, completed by inhabitant business firms and persons in the country. It therefore does not need to be been mentioned or calculated during none of the pretransaction gatherings or meetings or negotiations. One is just obliged to add it afterwards as a fixed percentage of the principal agreed sum, after the price of the goods or services has been established between parties concerned, then forming the total amount that must be been paid. The deliverer of the goods and/or services, appointed by the same terrible greedy

third-party persons, a.k.a. as the Government, without any right for some remuneration for this labor, is been obliged by Law to collect these sums of VAT money, and to immediately hand over this cash to the Department of the Treasurer; so I’m told thoroughly and many times, at the cost of many stiff fines. But hey! One is of course still a little impressed, receiving a strict VAT rejecting letter from a Minister, if I may say so! I decided to ask around and I called Joop. He was choosing my side, of course: “Foreign vessels are free from paying VAT in Holland. However, we can hardly call the Dutch Navy foreign, can we? On top of that, the job was done in Dutch waters and carried out by Dutch companies. So, ergo?” To be one hundred percent sure about the matter, I decided to make a very daring and perilous move… I contacted the States VATCollector for utterly decisive advice! The VAT Collector was ready in no time with my very provocative question: “Of course is the

Dutch Navy obliged to pay VAT! All Dutch ships on all Dutch waters pay Dutch VAT for all delivering of goods and/or rendering of any services from Dutch companies. No matter if they are aground or not!” Personally, I liked this last short sentence of him. It was somewhat prophetic about the years to come…! “And Geert, just a little bit of free advice; be sure to produce an invoice with VAT calculated and included, because if you don’t, we come to your place to collect those 18 %, you know! The Navy should take care of their own shop; like we must do also!” Now what? Damn! VAT on this invoice! Regardless what stupid letters I receive from the Minister of Defense, or any other nutcase for that matter! Me paying VAT that I never received to begin with. No way, not in this life I will not! Alas, before this already happily smoldering conflict is escalating into yet another thunderous confrontation between the

Bureaucratic morons and me, the already joyfully growing flames of battle fire smothered in a next event. In fact, it smothered in two events! The first was that the Dutch Navy, after long, intensive, and bloody meetings on the highest Departmental levels about this grave and threatening affair for the existence of the Kingdom, became finally allowed by the Treasury to pay NO VAT in this case! Well, what about that one? I was allowed to write a Net-Invoice and send that to the Navy. And of course, I for sure didn’t have to pay VAT also. Umm, well, okay then… Since I already did send an invoice with VAT to the Navy, and received over there, I made the same invoice but now with the header ‘CreditInvoice’. I distracted the VAT amount and typed at the bottom-line the amount that still had to be been paid for. I was all set and the invoice went with the mail carrier again…

The second event was that the notorious ‘Mailstrike’ broke out that year. For three long weeks, all mail was carelessly thrown down into the dungeons of the various departments. The mailbags piled up in stacks of 10 Ft high. Like the coffee bales, once stacked onboard the ships of those famous Dutch multinationals of the old days: ‘The West- and the EastIndies-Companies’. Those enormous firms, who in heroic sea and land battles – but mainly with large-scale slave and drugs trade – gathered the necessary start capital to build the sound foundations of our glorious Royal Dutch Navy from today.

The gathering of wealth…

And somewhere between those millions of letters, my mail was waiting idle… From which I didn’t hear anything, know nothing… I’m desperately counted the heavy, life-threatening fits I suffered every long, long waiting day; reading the newspapers and looking at the TV, seeing and hearing the blabbering nonsense, uttered by this dumb strike leader, Jaap van der Scheur… Damn! At last, with no end of the strike in sight, I called the Department of Defense. Luckily the phone still worked. I got connected with a paymaster of some sort and I explained the problem to him. Which was very short: I now need my damned money! More or less, I could convince him about the urgency of the situation, and he finally spoke the words of great relief! “You better come to The Hague again, with a copy from the invoice, and we’ll see what we can do about it.” Happy as a whistle, I drove my limping Fiat to The Hague. She was dragging a little to

starboard on the rudder since ‘then’? But thanks to my pilot ‘then’, I arrived safely at the ancient green, double doors at number 17, meeting the helpful paymaster. He studied my invoice for a very long time. As if, it was a very early hieroglyph scripture that I had found in the ruins of ancient Egypt, and secretly smuggled out from that faraway country… And he got lost in it…! “I’m afraid that I cannot decide on this. I suggest that you go to the Navy-Main-Office at Scheveningen. I expect that they can deal with it.” Oh boy, I thought. Major shit is coming up again! Nevertheless, once more, I approached the little pencil pusher as persuasive as possible: “You know what? Why don’t we go together? I bring you back here for sure. Promised on my solemn word of honor!” At first, he was looking very doubtful and suspicious about this honor of me, but then he decided like a man.

“Okay, I will. Otherwise, I’m just sitting behind my desk in this dusty office all day anyway!” “That’s the spirit! Good for you, Sir! Let’s go!” Without any problem, thanks to my new Pilot, we navigated in a jiffy thru The Hague and to Scheveningen. He leaded me to a brand-new very large, all-glass building; an ultramodern Sea-Nerve-Center, and for sure a blinding sublimation from our rich and famous Maritime History. We were allowed entering, approved by a retired admiral attending the door, and started wandering around in mirroring glass corridors, from one wing into the other, and all of them exactly alike. So confusing was the surrounding that my Pilot got completely lost! His problem was obviously so complex that he started to be all nervous and sweaty about it. I cannot comprehend why he was so upset. I had told him long ago already that I would never again leave this gigantic glass-inferno without my money! Grrr!

In yet another corridor, we met human life at last. A lady-housekeeper was busy wiping the countless windows. A lifetime job here with the reassuring prospect of an infinite steady income! My companion, desperate by now, asked her, while she never stopped wiping, about a certain room with a mysteriously sign on it, assembled from many symbols and numbers. “Ah!” She said “No sweat! This corridor, in that direction, second turn right, first left, second door to the right. You can’t miss!” A real insider, that’s what she was… We entered into the room, now arrived at the real Paymaster’s office at last. He was still young and talked like a skilled paymaster. Moreover, he was friendly and understanding! Sitting behind his sorry overloaded desk, he looked just one second into my Invoice - which I had carried with me all the time, as if being a top-secret States-document of the greatest importance - and he said, “That invoice looks fine by me! Nothing’s wrong with it!”

He fetched a large rubberstamp out of a great number of rubberstamps, scattered over his totally cluttered desk, with stacks and piles of papers and dossier-covers. He plunged the rubberstamp deep into an ink cushion and rammed a stamp on my invoice with great force, as if he was testing the foundations of the building, now thoroughly for the first time. He looked friendly up to me and said, “Shall we say fourteen days? Then you’ll have your money!” Deeply moved by such a display of selfconfidence and awareness of ones own responsibility, I grabbed both his hands and uttered a thank you. We left this blindingly, sunlit-catching and thanks to the cleaning lady sparks-reflecting building, swaying from emotion and from crying welders-eyes, and I transported the little pencil pusher back to his office with many thanks. A promise is a promise. I sailed back to my homeport with renewed hope for the little and insignificant members of

humankind. Ten days later, 11-28-’83 the payment was found in the mail. Pause…

Well, I guess it’s about time to proof this story…! DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE Civil-Law office Queen Maria-lane 17, Telegram address: Navy The Hague. Telex nr. 31335. To Mr. G. Theunisse, Sasdijk AB, 4671 RP DINTELOORD Our number Proposal-/order number 1009208/ 1004679 The Hague, July 22, 1983 Subject: Salvage Hr. Ms. Naarden / Hr. Ms. Ommen (2 /443) With respect to the letter from Mr. E. Fleskens dd. July 7, 1983, in which is mentioned that Smit-International, as well as yourself, agree with a advance-payment of f. 25,000— on you account number ………, I convey to you that

this before mentioned amount will soon being transferred to your account. We consider this amount as a down payment on the later on to establish salvage remuneration. THE MINISTER OF DEFENSE For him, THE HEAD OF THE CIVIL LAW OFFICE Mr. F. A. von Heijden

DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE Director Personnel, Royal Navy. Civil-Law office Post office box 20702, 2500 ES The Hague Telephone 070-169111 Telegrams address Navy The Hague. Telex nr. 31335 Our number -1010623/1004679 Subject: Salvage Hr. Ms. Naarden / Hr. Ms. Ommen (Jzc 2/443). To Mr. G. Theunisse

Sasdijk AB, 4671 RP DINTELOORD Proposal-/ order nr. 200/3/400/01220 Datum October 10, 1983 With respect to the meeting of September 21, 1983 at Rotterdam, I convey to you that I am prepared to pay - under the condition of full and complete discharge - for the salvage of the ships Hr. Ms. Naarden en Hr. Ms. Ommen, on February 1, 1983 at the Haringvliet, carried out by the tugboats Fury-2, Noordpool and Spitsbergen; the amount of f. 150,000— (One hundred and fifty thousand guilders). Since an amount of f. 25,000- is already paid to you, a further amount of f. 125,000— will be been transferred to your account. I request you to send me proof in writing from Smit-International that they have given their approval to you to handle this case in their name. THE MINISTER OF DEFENSE, for him, THE HEAD OF THE CIVIL-LAW OFFICE, Mr. F. A. von Heijden

DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE Legal affairs office Telegram address: Navy - The Hague To Mr. G. Theunisse Sasdijk AB, 4671 RP Dinteloord Our number Proposal-/order number 1011113/1004679 The Hague, November 11, 1983 Subject: Salvage Hr. Ms. Naarden / Hr. Ms. Ommen (Jzc 2/443) With respect to your letter October 11, 1983, I bring to your attention, if still necessary, that on September 21, 1983 at Rotterdam parties agreed fully about the amount to pay by us. After long deliberations and talks, both parties agreed with the amount of f. 150,000VAT was never been mentioned at this meeting, neither by you, nor by the Mrs. Noordzij or Bom from Smit-International. During this meeting, it was clear on both sides that the offer of f. 150,000— was the highest offer to which the Royal Navy was prepared to

go. For this reason, I request you to send me a letter conform my request in my letter dated October 10, 1983. THE MINISTER VAN DEFENSE, for him, THE HEAD OF THE CIVIL-LAW OFFICE Mr. F. A. von Heijden

Well, what did I tell you?

THE END…

Radar-navigation From: “Salvers-Working on Water”. Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

To navigate correctly by Radar on the very busy Dutch waters requires learning and gaining experience. In addition, the large Dutch estuary rivers in fall are blessed with a wellknown phenomenon called ‘fog’. And now I mean the sticky, dense wet soup in which one cannot find ones own ass with both hands and a search-light to wipe it clean. Picture this for example: at six thirty in the morning, the sky is crystal-clear and ships, big and small, loaded and unloaded, all in a rush to make a days pay, start to move about, lifting anchors, hauling in moorings, ships engines already happily humming. At seven fifteen, when everyone is finally on his way, the thick white curtain goes down in only ten seconds. Then it starts, the sudden rattling and clanging of anchor chains again, at places were with clear view you never would find a skipper crazy

enough to anchor. Not for a million bucks, he wouldn’t! On the VHF, those emergency anchoring maneuvers are immediately followed by those peculiar kinds of prayers to the strangest breeds of Gods, with a wide variety of hellfire, damnation, cursing, and some very complicated comparisons made by skippers among each other, about more specific names of parts of the human body from every gender, which I shall gracefully omit here. In about five minutes, the river is now speckled with radar-echoes big and small, and everywhere. VHF ship-to-ship traffic-channels are completely cocked-up with strange noises, faintly tickling ones oldest DNA particles of ones memory about those long forgotten secret and bloody barbaric ceremonies from our ancestors in the long gone far away dense woods of the evening land. And…rests assure: when there is a fog coming up quickly as this, the tide is falling, always! Therefore, in short, you must be one hell of

quick learner, navigating by radar on these waters in fall, when you are suddenly called for by a desperate mayday, being just a rookie salvage captain! A real good lesson I learned from River Master G. de B., at the time assigned to ‘RWS-Post Wemeldinge’. We were searching like howling madmen in the densest of a fog for a large “Eiltank” motor tanker with an evenly large tanker barge attached alongside, which unit had short before reported herself grounded – at falling tide, of course – and from then had vanished from the radio channels. Afterwards, it turned out that after she hit the ground, the captain had started telephone frenzy with his owner, reason why we could not reach him no more. We, searching and searching along in great haste, staring ourselves silly in the radar screen, and didn’t found shit! Until Ger called on the VHF from twenty miles away, “Hey you, dude, turn you ‘gain’ knob slowly back until your screen starts to look real empty!”

Mind you about this Radar, onboard Fury-2 that time; this was an ancient DECCA set, filled up with glass radio valves, large and small (large mostly), glowing mysteriously in the dark with bluish radiation and always a distinct smell of ozone around it. It didn’t had ARPA you know, or VRM distance measuring, or a build-in compass, let alone GPS tracks, speed, ETA or whatever! Just a very long but still narrow CRT in a box, weighing about one Ton, with a thick, fat sweep wobbling around and some blurred rings on it, resembling only remotely ones average mileage and distances. Of course, DECCA is still around and much more sophisticated these days.

The good old Decca

Obeying little boys as we were, I followed his advice immediately, and first, of course, the weaker echoes disappeared from the CRT. Next, the contours from the coast vanished, followed by the jigsaw puzzle from nearby sandbanks and rims of reed fields and the like. Normally, you do just the opposite: adjusting

your gain until you have a nice ‘full’ screen, with preferably all and every solid object on it, surrounding you in the soup! That is the best configuration for not bumping into you fellow skippers - pissed off as they are already - and dumb immobile things as buoys, sandbanks, heavy dikes and so on. But what was finally left over on the Radar screen with the low gain? The “Eiltank”! A nice big rectangle shaped echo from this large chunk of solid steel measuring 100 by 19 meters, in the middle of (very) high grounds, just starboard from the entrance of “Steenbergse Vliet”. On the ‘normal’ radar screen, this big solid echo had completely dissolved into the much larger echoes from the grass-covered high ground where she was sitting on. Strangely enough, this little river entrance, trimmed with nice but rather signal-absorbing reed en tall grass, gives a far better echo on the screen then the massive stone-build pier from the Scheld-Rhine-Canal entrance a few hundred

meters more to the west; the original but sadly missed destination from the “Eiltank” in the first place. Later, RWS deployed a Racon buoy in front of that massive pier for better recognition. (It is a pity really, for some of us!) The German captain of the Eiltank had his destination into the Canal mixed up with the nice little river entrance – the one with the welldefined view on the screen – and banged fair and square on the floor of mother Earth, and yelled very disappointed and scared: “Ach scheiße! Verdammt noch mal! Das hab ich falsch gemacht!” In the afternoon at low tide, a flock of sheep wandered around the gigantic steel intruder on their turf. Ships and sheep all safely on high ground… He really had it made, that German Captain! Later on, we learned a lot more of this little radar tricks and took advantage of it. Now I come to think of it… Ship, a flock of sheep, high ground… This starts to sound a bit

Biblical, doesn’t it? Noah?

The Eiltank at rising tide again.

The “MV Don Jaime-II” saga From: “Salvers-Working on Water”. Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

March 1994, the Panama flagged coaster ‘Don Jaime-II’, loaded with 200 Tons of general cargo, was sailing unnoticed by anyone from Dordrecht downstream on the Haringvliet and bound for the North-Sea. It was shitty weather, blowing around 40 knots with many cold rain showers. Suddenly, from another vessel alarm sounded from our VHF loudspeakers! With clearly trembling voice and deeply shaken the skipper called for immediate assistance for his ship, loaded with sand, and with the holds open to the weather. This ship was traveling downstream underneath the Moerdijk-Bridges and took much water in the holds because of the heavy waves she suddenly encountered. Quick as lightning, Coen and I went out with salvage tug Fury-3. Theo stepped onboard the

moment we made fast in the port chamber of the Volkerak-Locks. We had just progressed to above-stream from the town of Willemstad on the Holland’s-Deep when we could turn the boat around. The ship near the Moerdijk-Bridge had sunk. That’s end of story for us. Then it becomes a job for the heavy sheer-leg cranes from the big colleagues. Luckily, the crew was all saved by a nearby colleague’s ship. Exactly at the moment, that I turned the boat around, Theo got a telephone call from one of our many ‘outlook posts’ onshore. “A small coaster on the harbor dam of Hitzert!” That was not too bad at all, of course. We were very close by! Arrived at the scene, we observed that the coaster was not sitting ON the dam… It had smashed clean THRU the dam, with the bow just on the other side! Meanwhile, it blew stiff from the West and a strong swell rolled upstream in the ‘Vuile-Gat’ fairway, with the water heavily in turmoil. (‘Vuile-Gat’ translated means ‘Dirty Hole’. How appropriate!)

I didn’t fell the need to approach those dams in the dark and with the waves, so we first established contact by VHF, and we received at the same minute the order to pull the ship out of the dam. I told them that I would shoot a line over, and if they would be so nice to fetch it and pull our towrope over. It went on smoothly and our rope got properly made fast on the portside stern. Don Jaime behaved like a good girl and came out of the dam back into the deep, after being strongly advised by Fury-3’ 1200 horses to do so. First, we pulled the ship to the lee shore, the crew meanwhile inspecting the bow part for leaks. Noting was found. Built in the NorthNetherlands, a rather long time ago to be honest, but still quality, Sir! Meanwhile, the patrol boat RWS-17 from Traffic-Control arrived also, to find out what we were poking around there. It was, of course, clear as a whistle that there was a big hole in the harbor dam now, and Don Jaime was not allowed to continue her trip. First damage

inspection; it figures, doesn’t it? After everything onboard was found in good working order: no leaks, engine, propeller, rudder okay, the vessel dropped our towrope and accompanied by us, she steamed to the Northern harbor from the Volkerak-Locks where she moored on the pilings. We moored alongside her with Fury-3, to have a chat, and to do some important writing of course… Then a comedy-play unfolded that I will never forget. What was on hand? The Don Jaime was a kind of a ‘last resort, emergency, getthe-hell-out-of-here vessel’. Something like the famous ‘Arc of Noah’ from the Old Testament! Somebody was expecting heavy weather. His (salvage!) company was slowly going down the drain, (trouble with the IRS, things like that) and he had loaded all his valuables and possessions into the Don Jaime; all set to start over in another part of the great wide world. A new round for a new chance, that kind of stuff. This was the second attempt already. A few

days before, they had tried to sail out from Hook of Holland. They were sent back in after their peculiar way of handling a seagoing vessel had be been observed and found suspicious by the Outlook. Now their plan to go over the Haringvliet-River and thru the Lock at Stellendam had failed also. Shit! Shit, etcetera, and so on! There was a Pilot on board, who didn’t know shit also. He came from our Capital, The Hague. That’s why… Just yoking! Another friendly colleague had dropped a new chart onboard, a few hours earlier, but to no avail. The harbor dam from the little Hitzert port was too much for the Don. It was sticking a little too far out of the shore, so to speak... The Owner was not onboard during this unpleasant little trip. He had traveled ahead with the misses and found lodgings in Switzerland at the time. His son was onboard, and with the innocence of youth, not knowing anything of any relation between his father and

me, presenting himself politely to me… I heard the family- and homeport names, which started suddenly but silently all of my alarm bells and whistles... Meanwhile, the Chilean captain had become my great friend. “I just had saved him from great danger, and he was forever mi amigo!” And he was the Boss onboard. And he undersigned ever so grateful my little L.O.F. Just to be sure… Completely unknowingly and by pure coincidence, I had just saved the ship from a particular and outspoken Non-Friend of me! He stood in debt with me for many years. No, not money! Nothing like that, to me that is... Between us, it was a case of very serious noncolleague like behavior on his part; I shall call it very moderately. That long time ago, I was quarreling with the wrongdoing Authorities again - it happens - and he had chosen to take their side in the battle, in public, in a newspaper. To wriggle and slime himself in a

position in which he expected to get more work from the same Authorities. It happens also... And it didn’t bring him any luck, did it? Was this a lucky coincidence or what? I laughed myself silly for a whole week long, getting painful jaws and all! But then… Together it was a stinky little matter, of course. I didn’t trust it one bit and the next day, the Bailiff came on my request, and I officially impounded the ship and everything on it. Just to be on the safe side. With the blessing from mi amigo the captain, I shifted the ship to my homeport. From there, you can’t go anywhere without being noticed, locked-in between three Locks, so to speak. A few careful phone calls from contact-persons came in the next couple of days. To hear how things were, from which direction the wind was blowing and so on. Well, I told them so. I had just finished my salvage rapport and already mailed it to my counselor, Attorney in Maritime Law, ‘Mister Peter’.

Spontaneously, I had developed a plan to ask for generous salvage remuneration for a job well done. Noting strange to it, I would say. Therefore, that’s what I told the contactpersons. That from now a salvage claim was resting on the Don Jaime. Okay, the Owner took it manly. He understood fully and completely that he had lost my special sympathy a long time ago; and a lot of traveling and money collecting followed, carried out by the Owner, of course, which took him a few days. No sweat. The Owner asked, and was granted by me another seven days, after which his ship and cargo would go immediately into a public auction. This great Utopia was solemnly promised to me by Mister Peter. During those hectic days, the ship was still in port and the captain came sometimes over to my place for a little chat, and we started to get to know each other. In one of our gatherings, he complained about the fact that he had not received his salary for two years on a row now;

just receiving some money now and then to buy food. He was a member of the Sailors-Union, with, of course, also an office in the port of Rotterdam. I suggested him in a casual manner that they maybe could do something for him in this little matter, now his ship was tied-up in port here… Right on time after seven days, the Owner showed up en paid in cash my salvage invoice. We had a little drink together and at the same time made telephone contact with Mister Peter. Peter himself told the Owner in person that the custody on his ship was lifted as of now, and that she was free to go. If only he had just done that…but he did not need to hurry, he thought, safe here in port… (Refr: ☺ “Hohoho…!”) Until the next evening… when the Bailiff showed-up again, now with a new charge on the ship, for the damage inflicted to the harbor dam. Stay put! Don’t move! Pay first! The next Sunday, the Owner, completely

steamed up about his imprisonment, decided to take rather drastic measures in order to end this shameful blockade. Now, he sailed out from our port with “MV Lydia”, rather clumsily and hastily painted over the former ships name, paint occasionally still dripping into the water… He turned the bow firmly and decidedly towards the West, to the Krammer-Locks. Well, now, one must be someone of very special caliber and/or of significant importance to pass these Locks without the full cooperation and consent from the people who push the buttons over there. There was already a Police-boat waiting, and after a few hours, the Lydia came back to our port. Now also with a stiff fine for “…the willfully attempt to illegal withdraw goods from a lawful impoundment.” That is why the Owner, grinding his teeth in futile anger, paid also for the damage caused with his ship to the harbor dam. If only he had left port now… But no, he still

had time to spend… (Refr.) ☺Hohoho...! The next day, the Bailiff came again. Now with a steep claim about the long overdue salary payment to his captain, who, by the way, was sacked a few days before. The Owner, very close to a whole series of life threatening fits, foam flakes swirling from his mouth, taken cheerfully away with the gently southwesterly breeze, paid the salary claim also; and believe it or not…He himself went finally to sea with the good ship Lydia! Mister Peter, Lawyer at Maritime Law, wrote to me: Dear Sir, I read in the newspaper the article about “Lydia, ex Don Jaime II, ex Rebel”. Although a swift and prompt solution of the salvage claims in which I was involved is, of course, a good reason for some satisfaction; it still troubles me somewhat that we not had reached the glorious situation in which we could have auctioned the ship, cargo, inventory and bunkers. It would have been the first time

in history, based on a new article of the Law of Transport, Book #8 Civilian Law. I had the skilful people from Sotheby’s ready and waiting and I had planned an interesting part-time job for you as an assistant Auction Master. I for myself was ready and willingly, together with your beloved misses and son Theunisse Jr, the three of us dressed in colorful sailor’s outfits, and with the full deployment of both your wife’s’ Organs, to give the whole happening an appropriate and musically surrounding. I think that in that case, not just a half page but all pages of the newspaper would have been being dedicated to us! With friendly greetings, yours truly, Peter

Gasoline tankers and things… From: “Salvers-Working on Water”. Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

July 1978 was it on a quiet, hot summer night and in a dead calm and oppressive overcast atmosphere when the Belgian motor tanker ‘Mare’, ex ‘Gulf-Belgium’, loaded with 900 Tons of gasoline sailed in Dutch waters on the smooth but swiftly moving surface of the Krammer-River and with destination Antwerp. Around 11.00 pm, due to a navigational error, the ship went aground and instantly, this until now silent and peaceful voyage went into a very dangerous and nightmarish situation… Because except for the hot and balmy weather, the tide was just after high water and falling… still to go down for yet another 8 Ft in the next coming 4 hours…

The Skipper, very scared and nervous, tried at once - at first reasonably calm but soon in desperate fear - by using his engine full power on forward and reverse alternatively, to free his vessel from the sandbank. He also kept trying for quite some time but when he finally gave up, he still had not succeeded… Therefore, when he finally alarmed the trafficauthorities and we received the red-alert message it was already far too late for us to have a decent chance whatsoever for refloating the ship at the same – falling - tide. Nevertheless, the ships-crew was still very glad to see us arriving at the scene. Because the

three of them felt lonesome on their grounded vessel, and were very worried also about what could happen in this situation and with this particular cargo, from which they all knew the great risks so well… We made fast with Fury-2 on starboard alongside Mare, on the far end aft, and with only two very thin ropes. Because the insignificant little puffs of wind that one sometimes could feel came from the East, so on that spot we were at least in theory abovewind from the cargo vapors. If disaster would happen and we had to haul ass very rapidly - if there would be any chance left for us to do so in the first place - the only thing I had to do in that case was cranking my engine in reverse, and the flimsily moorings would for sure both snap instantly… All other ship movements were been halted by Traffic-Control and banned for miles around; leaving our surrounding completely deserted, pitch-black dark, and in deafening silence.

Meanwhile, the only thing we could do was waiting how the ship would hold-on until the tide had reached her lowest level and turned rising again. In such a risky falling-tide situation, and on such short notice finding another tanker for transshipping the cargo is virtually impossible and even not worth considering. Their respective captains, politely invited for such an enterprise, would all say very realistically, “Thank you, but no thanks…,” meanwhile probably thinking, “What kind of a nutcase he is!?” The crew from Mare came over to us after they had switched off and shut down all electrical and other systems onboard of their ship, and we gathered the five of us in our tiny wheelhouse, waiting on things to happen… On regular intervals, we checked the situation on deck of the ship…walking with care, with no shoes on and with empty pockets. No metal objects, matches or such other now dangerous stuff were wise to carry around or moved, or even thought about touching them for that

matter… The Mare was a very old ship and she was completely riveted together, and I still believe, being strongly convinced even, that this fact was our savior then, considering afterwards what was about to happen... Because the Mare sat on a particular bad spot of this sandbank...! All of her 12 tanks from the cargo-sector were in a straight angle spread over and across the long stretched and steep upward curved sandbank, with the fore and aft part on deep water… A very unfortunate and unhealthy position indeed… By the time the water started to fell rapidly; which goes as you probably know along a sinus-shaped, thus non-linear time-frame, starting slowly and increasing to maximum around half tide – which on this particular spot could go up to a rate of 3 to 4 Ft an hour - and then slowly decreasing again until the low-tide level is reached; the poor Mare started to bend…

Slowly but irresistibly, she bended further and more, like an angry alley cat, slowly taking over the shape of the sandy bottom on which she got captured. In such a situation, it seems that every single minute stretches itself out into a full hour…! Every few minutes, one could see the ship changing a little, taking on a more pronounced arched shape, making tiny, muffled, very mysterious, and alarming little ticking sounds here and there... Then other, things started to happen, very sorrowful and scaring things, the water going down and down forever, it seemed… With our (gas-safe) searchlight, we continuously kept the ship surveyed and at one moment, there was something going on in the ships starboard side, directly in our sight, moored on that side as we were. But the same thing happened at the same instant on portside also, of course, on her dark side, invisible for us…

Tiny spots of a darker, a kind of wet looking, black color appeared in the old, weathered to grey colors, tar covering the hull plating on starboard and portside; the dark spots growing bigger by the minute, and in numerous and ever-increasing numbers. The ship started literally to sweat in her agony about this outrageous abuse... The ship started to sweat gasoline…! Like a beached whale threatens to suffocate under her own weight as soon as the massive and heavy body is no longer being supported by water, exactly the same great threat endangers a loaded ship that runs aground at falling tide. The natural lifting power of water - normally surrounding the submersed part of the vessel and spreading out her wonderful supporting force equally on every square Feet of the hull starts decreasing along with the falling tide. Leaving the total weight of the ship plus cargo no other way, according the Laws of Gravity,

then gradually finding vertical support for this full weight on whatever there exists beneath the ships bottom…encountering no matter what shape, sort or form... Clouds of highly inflammable gasoline vapors were growing larger and thicker by the second, and because of the lack of any amount of sufficient wind, surrounding and covering the ship with a deadly dangerous blanket… A dead robe of an invisible but very explosive mixture of gasoline vapors and oxygen descended over the ship! Nevertheless, she struggled back! That is what she did! By giving in little by little... was her only possible way and known method to survive the terrible forces caused by the 900 Tons of her dangerous cargo and the approximately 300 Tons of her own weight; which joined together now in evil conspiracy, trying to break the back of her old body. She did fight back by the single possible way she could… Every part of her body; from the

large sheets of steel hull plating, to the bulkheads, to the heavy angle-steel struts and beams, held together by - and communicating with - the numerous tiny rivets, worked together! They all gave in a little, trying as much as they could, everyone for his own part, a little bending here, a little shifting there, pulling and pressing and stretching, to divide and spread the tremendous, destroying forces that held her body under siege. Because of this enormous stress building up in the ships hull, the thousands of rivets started to reposition themselves, each one a very tiny little bit in their respective holes in the steel plating, the struts, and the beams. The rivets stretched to the very maximum of the strength, given to them by the physics of the steel from which they were been forged from, a long, long time ago. They simply had to hold on, keeping the other parts of the ships body together! But by doing so, they were bleeding pure gasoline!

While this terrible and almost dead-silent struggle continued, again some minutes later a kind of little cracking sounds nearby and further away could been heard, spread out along the length of the cargo sector towards the forward. We went very cautiously out on deck on the outermost windward side, for whatever wind there was. In the central longitudinal deck-part, where all the pump-lines, tank-vents and valves are grouped together there’s also a 3” steel mantletube containing and protecting all the electric wiring from the ships electrical systems, running from the engine room and wheelhouse at the stern to the forward part of the vessel. On regular intervals in this line, connectingboxes were situated for feeding the various deck-lights, cargo-level-gauges, alarmswitches and so on, everything properly sealed and gas-proof of course, normally… But this was a far from anything but normal situation now… Now…on both ends of each and every connection-box, the 3” steel tube

was moving out of the box-inlets - by an inch or so already - because of the ever increasing upward bending of the deck, lengthening the distances between the boxes. Now…we could clearly see the various wires and cables, already stretched out to the max inside the still widening gaps… Boy, oh boy, major shit was about to hit the fan for sure, we thought! Suddenly, we had just returned into Fury-2’s wheelhouse, a loud metallic BANG sounded, scaring us almost to dead…, and then immediately followed by another, even louder one…! We… were waiting another couple of long, long minutes for final disaster to take place any split-second now. We were all staring much tensed out of the wheelhouse windows. Staring to that gigantic time bomb about to go off now any instant, peering into the dark, only dimly and because of the harsh shadowing, spooky lit; me, with my hand hovering very close above the engine-controls already, the air-starter lever sharply adjusted,

just one quarter of an inch away from the start position… literally the point of no return, that is… However, nothing of the worst seemed to happen, so after waiting another couple of minutes, we went on deck again to investigate. Now we found out that two heavy 8” cast-iron valves, connecting both parts fore and aft of the main cargo-pump line at amidships, were both broken in two pieces. Gasoline was still dripping out, and gathering in the large and spreading puddles on the deck. The stench of gasoline fumes on deck and everywhere was almost suffocating. The ship was arched upwards now for more then 2 Ft, but luckily spread out equally over the whole length of the cargo sector. Both bow and stern part were clearly deeper down in the water now. In fact, the water had reached and flooded the outermost last part of the stern-deck, pulled down as it was by the heavy engine and other machinery, plus the only just the day before topped-up fuel and

fresh-water tanks, plus the whole weight of the living-quarters… Anyway, after this ‘longest night’ - the kind of night in which one is actually aging a little faster and more then the duration of nighttime itself - around 04.00 hours the tide was at the lowest level at last. Moreover, good old Mare was still in one piece! She was not losing more cargo then the rather little amounts that escaped from her still sweating rivets, evaporating instantaneously, and continuously into the open air. As the tide slowly started rising again, the chilling suspense among the crew from Mare and us (!) - eased slowly away in the same pace as the tension and stress on the badly beaten ships hull was decreasing slowly. Of course, it wasn’t really safe already, not yet for a few more exhilarating hours and events to happen… At a certain moment, short before the break of

dawn, the captain’s wife sneaked silently and quietly out of the wheelhouse of Fury-2, stepped over on Mare, and disappeared into the trustful and familiar surroundings of her own living-quarters. A few minutes later, I spotted her in the dark wheelhouse on the Mare, with the doors and windows wide open because of the warm weather. She just lighted a candlestick in front of a statue from the Virgin Mary, the keeper of all sailors…; being ever so grateful, and thanking Her for Her protection and safekeeping in those past hours of great danger and despair…! I stumbled out of my wheelhouse in her direction, my bare feet ever so slightly touching the deck or whatever in the greatest of possible haste, moving so swiftly as if in an almost supernatural elevated fashion… ”Pfff…Pfff… Please, Madam. Please, just wait a little while longer with that, if you please! Thank you so much!” Despite of my so clearly showed - but so well

meant - terrible lack of honor and very little respect for the Virgin Mary, everything worked out well for the Mare after all… One hour before high water, we made our towrope of Fury-2 fast on Mare to keep her steady in de swift stream, only to prevent her from shifting her position with the current into a deep but inaccessible part of water behind the sandbank; and on the very top of high water she was floating again! Back on the deep again, the ships load-marks, three on each side, were neatly back in one perfectly straight line with the water surface. This beautiful element of Nature! H-2o! Water! With among her many other qualities her great lifting power, so vitally needed by ships…and humanity! With great lifesaving elasticity and gently carried by the water again, the ships hull had reformed herself again in her good old, trusted and familiar shape. The shape and form in

which she was been built, a rather long time ago... A younger, modern, all welded together - and therefore much more rigid - tanker would almost certainly have been broken in this situation. On top of that, such a disaster takes only place after a gradually build-up of tremendous stress on the hull construction, rising slowly to a fatal height…; then very suddenly releasing all this build-up stress in one big, violent, steel tearing, breaking and bending outburst of power. Large parts of heavy steel banging and rubbing into and against each other, with great forces of pressure and velocity… Creating easily as many hotspots and sparks … Changing the vessel instantly into one great, bright ball of hellfire in such a case …and very probably us too in the process… We towed the Mare into a small harbor basin nearby were after another tanker took over her cargo, and after she was empty and de-

gassed, she could set course to a shipyard for making repairs. Nothing of her electric systems on the forward was still working, because of the many stretched out and broken connections in the various power, control, and data lines. And anyway, two cast-iron 8-inch valves broken in half on a gasoline tanker aren’t a welcome sight either… You better replace them too, being busy with repairs as you are already… And for us…? Next job, please… However, this time one on large, joyful waves and with lots of fine refreshing winds, and some beautiful heavy rain maybe, if possible, yes? Because, we sometimes just love these wonderful forces of Nature! The End

PITFALL From: “Salvers-Working on Water”. Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

November 1977, the big bunker-barge ESSO6 sailed downstream on the Krammer-River, exactly at the spot where nowadays the Krammer-locks are situated after the completion of the well-known Dutch ‘Deltaworks’. Her cargo was nearly 3000 tons of heavy bunker-fuel from Rotterdam with destination the Sloe-area at the Western Scheld estuary. It was in the dead of night, high water, and a howling storm was blowing with near-hurricane force winds from the West, sometimes tipping 12 Bf. A storm surge of close to three meters above the top of high water was been reached and ebb tide had just set in. Our modern, electrical, solar-powered green navigation buoys from nowadays where still gas-operated, white-lighted, black painted buoys that time.

There was really a lot of water everywhere, heavy rain and snow, large waves, and the ESSO-6 pounding straight into it with her enormous, blunt bow, continually sending large explosions of spray water into the sky, sweeping over the deck to the aft. Navigation by eyesight was therefore virtually nonexistent. Nevertheless, the Mate had still one white light from a ‘gas buoy’ in sight and steered towards it, of course keeping the light neatly over the port bow. But alas! It just wasn’t a white-lighted gas buoy. It was the shore beacon called ‘Stoofpolder’, several miles downstream, and opposite of the fishing village Bruinisse. He had not noticed the difference of ‘character’ between any buoy light and that particular beacon light. With all the powerful might of her big ABC engine, the ESSO-6 smacked aground on the sandbank between the deepwater-route ‘Krammer’ and the also deep, but leading nowhere gully ‘Slaak’.

Red alert was given immediately. I was in some sort of a time-charter with the salvage firm Muller-Terneuzen that time, and in great haste, Dries B. (†) the rather famous salvage-inspector from that firm came rushing over by car to my station and jumped onboard Fury-2; we where all-set already, of course, and out we went. The second I steered Fury-2 out of the protecting harbor pier heads, we went underwater, and I mean really down-under. Green water climbing violently all the way up against the wheelhouse windows, and the roaring sound of it was terrifying. Dries, not exactly a rookie anymore for a long time, growled: “Hey! What’s up? Are we going to drown here, or what?” Well, we did not, and we rolled and twisted to the ESSO-6, meanwhile downstream the full running ebb tide, with the still howling storm against the current, making the ride on the large and steep waves very bumpy.

Arrived at the position, the tanker was of course high and solid aground, leaving us idle until the sandbank was drying and Dries could walk over; the storm pounding on relentlessly meanwhile, leaving any other option useless anyway. Around noon, the ESSO-6 stood high and dry on the sandbank and the surface of it became passable by foot. From a distance, it looked as if the ship stood reasonably flat and sturdy on her sandy surrounding… My Mate rowed Dries over to the rim of the bank and he started walking to the ship, five

hundred meters away. Meanwhile, the telephones from Muller and the Belgium ESSO-office where very nervously, very occupied: at Muller’s to try to get the salvage-job, and at ESSO’s still trying to keep them away from it! The ESSO office kept in between also close contact with the Captain of the ship about the situation, of course. By the looks of it, the captain told them, it wasn’t that bad at all, the ship was holding on, or should I say…was hanging in, and everything looked okay, still. Thus, for the time being, the ESSO office preferred to believe their own Captain, keeping the Muller office at a safe distance in the process, “No salvage!” Meanwhile, Dries had walked over to the amidships starboard side. A long ladder lowered down and Dries climbed onboard. He stepped on the deck, shaking hands with the Captain, and all that. At exactly the same second, the ESSO-6 broke her back!

The whole stern-part plus tanks 6-port and 6starboard, slowly and stately bended down, as in a slow movie replay. Following this drama thru my binoculars, at once I saw black streaks of bunker-fuel appearing on the ships starboard flank. Dries called me over his hand-held and ordered me immediately to contact the Muller office on the VHF office-channel to report what happened, where after Muller got lightning fast in touch again with the ESSO office: “The ESSO-6 is just broken!” The ESSO office: “That ain’t true at all! We’ve just spoken again with the Captain a minute ago, and everything is just fine, he told us! You’re pulling my leg, you rascal!” That is how fast things can change. The stress on the ships hull had been build-up tremendously, of course. Just as if the weight from Dries stepping onboard gave her the final blow! Overall, it went to a fine but messy job:

transshipping the cargo, a lot of spills to cleanup, etc. After most of her cargo had been pumped out, we towed her into a small harbor basin nearby at the Grevelingendam. There, she emptied completely and things were wrapped-up. Later on, the case came before a Lloyds London Committee for the salvage remuneration, and a particular detail turned out a bit embarrassing for the Captain. That the ship stood flat on the bank as nicely as the Captain had told everyone, I mean. He told the Court over and over again also that he had not used his engine ‘full-astern’, the moment after he ran aground. This was a bit difficult, for him, but for the committee also; because pictures (from Muller) showed that straight under and just in front of the propeller, there was a big, wide, deep abyss in the sand; a pit big enough to drop a house in. The pit stayed full of water, of course, not that good visible from above on the deck.

Let us be a bit honest here. Everyone goes ‘full-astern’ the moment after he hits the floor under those circumstances. A perfectly natural reaction, I guess.

The End

Giving ‘assistance’ From: “Salvers-Working on Water”. Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

It was on a hot Sunday in July and pleasantly busy with pleasure craft on the large rivers Hollandsdiep, Haringvliet, and surrounding waters. Later in the afternoon dark banks of clouds towered high up on the horizon into the blue sky and several hammerhead clouds rapidly formed, reaching many kilometers high. Something was brewing there… For us, those conditions lead automatically to the stage of Yellow-Alert, and that’s how it should be, of course. A big thunderstorm burst out with heavy rainfall and a lot of wind for a few minutes. Yes! Quickly to the Hollandsdiep with salvage Fury-2! A small sailing yacht in trouble, close to the town of Numansdorp. The Police patrol boat RP-9 was already in the vicinity and rescued the crew from the completely flooded yacht and they were safely

taken onboard of the Police-boat. A young man, and a girl, about twenty and very nice to look at. The girl, I mean… The RP-9 called me on the VHF: “Geert, take a look at that boat, will you. The Owner here asks to see if you can bring it up again?” The small sailing boat was barely floating and drifted almost submersed slowly to the windward shore. Okay, at work then, and an hour later it looked more or less like a boat again. I was busy with picking up some floating stuff that had washed out when a big yell sounded from the RP-9: “Geert come quick and take those two people over from us, because we have to go like hell to the Moerdijk-Bridge!” “Okay, I’m underway!” With Fury-2 alongside RP-9, the two occupants stepped over on my boat. Well, stepping over? They were almost carried like airmail, on the numerous hands from those guys from the RP9, so much help was available. For the girl, that is… This really, very nice girl acted a bit clumsily, managing everything with just one

hand?

RP-9

Of course, they were soaking wet picked up out of the river by the RP-9, and those guys were helpful as hell, of course, to give them some dry clothing. They gave them both clean overalls. After all, a Police boat is not exactly a Beauty & Fashion parlor. But from the overall for that really beautiful girl, they had unbelievable quickly ripped off all

buttons before they presented her that sorry piece of emergency clothing. So, along walked that gorgeous child, well uh…child, smiling ever so shy and beautifully, holding her overall somewhat together with one hand, being ever so grateful to her rescuers... One sometimes should beat the shit out off them! Shouldn’t one? Ah well, okay, a little laughter now and again won’t hurt either, right? But beware! The Higher Powers punishes evildoers immediately! The RP-9 roared towards the Moerdijk-bridge, and I transported the two people and their boat to Willemstad were the Harbormaster took further care of them. I left the port again in the direction of the Volkerak-locks, bound for home. Just before I entered the lock, another Mayday cried out from the VHF loudspeaker! Yet another sailing yacht grounded, now at the Haringvliet, close to the town of Hellevoetsluis. I swung the boat around, almost between the

lock-doors; pushed my Deutz immediately to full power again, yelling to the suspiciously frowning Lockmaster: “Be back later!” Arrived at the scene, quickly at work to re-float the yacht, that had beached in the same big thunderstorm that came over a couple of hours ago. It was still blowing with a fresh breeze anyway. Being busy with the job, suddenly I saw the RP-9 again, approaching full-speed from the East. I thought, “Well, are they busy-buddies today, or what?” But they passed by without even taking back the throttle a little, one of the guys yelling something from the wheelhousedoor with “…Stellendam…!” I couldn’t understand the rest of it, carried on with the job and after another hour or so, the yacht was floating alongside Fury-2, and after we had the paperwork finished, she could sail back to her homeport Hellevoetsluis again. The weather had improved a little and Sunday was almost over, which is why I sailed satisfied back home.

The next day, Revelation was on hand…! Sunday had turned out to be Judgments Day for the RP-9! Very close to the Moerdijk-bridge that day, a small motor yacht had gone into trouble with a stalled engine. It drifted slowly and helplessly straight to those big, solid bridge foundation pilings… The RP-9 was just on time at the scene and managed to come alongside. But because they were already terribly close to one of these big, solid, blue-stone pilings, they hit unnoticed with the starboard chine of RP-9 the underwater rim from the base of the piling. This rim is made of very heavy, steel slotted-planks, driven many meters in the river bottom. Ouch! The water tide was rather low at the time also. Therefore, it did not take too long before their bilge-alarm started whining, with a sad and rather panicking kind of sound… Engine hatch open, look…water! “Shit! Bilgepump on!” They made it to just pump a little faster then

the inflow of water. It was just a small rip in the chine plate. They moved with appropriate speed the lame motor-yacht into the port of Moerdijk, making an urgent telephone call to the shipyard in the same move and ordered an emergency haul-out. And that is why they passed by me at the Haringvliet Slijkplaat area with such an improper speed, without making a courtesy visit. See! Be always polite to your customers! The end

Assistance too From: “Salvers-Working on Water”. Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

Speaking about assistance. With our smallest boat, I made the shortest and also most thrilling rescue in my life. That boat was a plastic Pioneer rowboat from nearly 8 ft! On a morning, I was sound asleep at home after an all nights work with the small tug Fury. I was dreaming and I heard screaming for help… and it kept on going and going. Finally, I woke up…and the screaming was still there! I looked dizzy as a hibernating bear outside the bedroom window, and right in front of my nose floated a small motor-cruiser completely engulfed in blazing flames, with two – thus screaming - men onboard, standing together as one miserable heap of despair on the outermost front part of the tiny foredeck! Damn…!

I stumbled sleep-drunk out of the bedroom into the living room, bumping into every piece of furniture from our insignificant possessions, stuff flying hopelessly scattered thru the room, stormed meanwhile limping out of the backdoor, jumped into the little rowboat of my son, and started rowing towards the blazing and black smoking motor-cruiser. They were just floating out between the pier heads from our harbor when I reached them. Those two men terribly shaking - one of them with a completely burned face, all his hair, molted into a flat and shiny pancake on his head – also stumbled into my little Pioneer, very rapidly, I might say. They both could not swim, which could of course be a reason why they had stayed onboard of that barbecue! They had planned a nice day of fishing and had just topped-up with gasoline at the bunker station... (Be always very, very careful with gasoline - and gasoline vapors - onboard!)

Three people are in fact too many for such a small boat. We had just 2 inches freeboard left! Exactly that moment the Manders-sluice opened up to release water out of the River Dintel. A lot of water! This caused at once a rather swift current between the pier heads. So, there I sat down… stark naked with just my knickers on. Rowing like a drunken beetle with those pathetic little, speedy crawling oars up against the current, trying desperately to creep back into port again, and with indeed very little free board left! Well, we just advanced to the inside from the West-pier and the blazing motor-cruiser had just nearly floated to the outside of the same pier…when it exploded! Kabooom! Boy! We first went to the wife, the three of us together, for a strong cup of morning coffee…

The end

Just in time… From: “Salvers-Working on Water”. Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

Ship on top…!

July 1977, the motor-barge “Hensie,” with a full load of 350 Tons of coal, was with six knots approaching in the Northern Lock-basin from the Volkerak-locks to enter one of the three

locks. The 1000 Tons empty motor vessel “Hudea” was coming out of a lock, doing 10 knots with the sun beaming thru her wheelhouse windows, and because she’s empty with the bow high-up and therefore with a large dead-vision-angle, failing completely to spot the Hensie in due time. A heavy collision followed. The sharp and strong, ice-reinforced bow from the Canadian-built Hudea staggered upon the portside from Hensie, a short distance after the forward side-bollards. The whole forward from Hudea arose out of the water and shot from port to starboard side over the Hensie, also sliding swiftly towards aft from Hensie. Crushing the wooden cargo-hatches and everything else in the process, with colossal and frightening sounds; and like a gigantic bulldozer leveling and scattering the top load of the coal. Smashing and battering with terrible noises from screaming steel and splintering wood, she droned over and along the other vessel like a monstrous black horror, a hundred Ft in the direction of the wheelhouse

from Hensie. The young skipper and his seven months pregnant wife (!), scared in terror, did not wait for the inevitable and deadly encounter to happen, and they both jumped overboard, each one on another side of their ship. At a distance of no more than two inches from the wheelhouse-front, the Hudea stopped her fatal and crushing journey on top of the other ship, almost on a right angle, and with her bow above the portside. The now swimming for life crew from Hensie was quickly been taken ashore with the help from other skippers and brought in good care. The Lockmaster gave me the red-alert by phone, and I sailed out with Fury-2; alone in the hurry of the event. A half lock-chamber was been made ready for me to make it as quick as possible thru the lock. Meanwhile, the Hudea, with the whole of her forward sitting literally sky-high on top of Hensie, started pushing very slowly and

carefully the weird combination towards a few empty moorings, where other skippers gave a helping hand with fastening the mooring ropes. Very luckily, they did this good and strong, with several double ropes. As soon as the lock opens, I moved out in the midst of floating debris already immediately outside the lock-doors from the scattered and splintered wooden cargo-hatches and beams from Hensie, which had floated in that direction on the gentle summer breeze. Then, a rather surreal scene unfolded. I saw the Hudea sitting on the Hensie, with her bow towering high into the air, her stern pointing straight into the wide harbor basin, and the Hensie moored with a fatally dangerous list to starboard, the top from the heavily damaged cargo-hatch just down-under in the water, which flowed directly over the edge into the cargo. How would this one end…? In retrospect, her cargo saved her. Her bulky load of fine coal, filling the hold completely,

prevented just long enough water gulping in unrestricted over the edge, giving us time to do at least something for her. When her cargo would have been sheets of steel, like on her previous voyage (!), or something of the same heavy stuff, she would have been gone under in only seconds… At these rather thrilling kinds of moments in life, there really is no time for staff-gatherings or multi-discipline safety-deliberations. There’s even no time to think, really… Do something…! Anything! And do it instinctively good! Literally strong material action is the only thing that matters now! This ship must come off, NOW! The skipper from the Hudea was standing at the bow of his vessel, staring down idle on that other ship, deep down under his own. His wife was standing on the stern-deck, very shocked and crying her heart out. I swung the boat under the stern and handed her over the splice from a short heavy towrope, telling her especially persuasive to immediately

go away from there, repeating the message until she started nodding in understanding. The other end of the short rope was in my hook already. The skippers-wife laid the splice over the stern-bollard and quickly left the stern-deck. I ran back to my wheelhouse and gave the Deutz a blast of air in forward. As soon as the rope was only somewhat straight, I slammed the revs-control all the way to full-load, stiff up to the pin. Well huh, pin…? I heard the safety valves on all six cylinders squeaking and hissing furiously, spitting blue/orange flames and smoke from overpressure in a loud protest against this outrageous hastily and very impolite behavior.

Deutz VM-536 top view

I had just one chance, just one only. If I sold short the Hudea had stay stuck on the starboard side from Hensie and the latter would have sank for sure. I pulled full power and under a slight angle on Hudea’ stern. I gained some nice swing-speed, and under the nicely simulated sounds of a very sloppy driven freight-train changing tracks much too fast, the Hudea started sliding off from Hensie. I heard the steel from her bottom screaming and squeaking over poor Hensie, more then 400 Ft away, with a sound-level way over the large

grumbling explosions from my heavy laboring Deutz, just underneath my feet. Stop now! I pulled the hook open, my rope flew out, and I turned quickly towards the Hensie. She was still at surface! The Hudea floated in the middle of the harbor now, and could take care of her own.

The Hudea just pulled free from Hensie. Whom that precise short moment heeled really a lot!

Two minutes later, I was tied-up alongside Hensie with Fury-2 and switched on the pumps. Meanwhile, sufficient people from the lock were on scene and I had plenty of help. Lock-property attendant, Joske Muller, was standing up to his knees in the water on the side-deck from Hensie, busy as hell with filling-

up the last hole from two ripped out 8” sidebollards with greased rags. He already had finished the first one, ripped out also. THAT HELPED!

A lot of damage caused on Hensie. Observe the totally outside bended cargo-hatch.

There was a lot of water in the forward livingquarter, so I put in a 6” hose there, and a minute later, a 3” hose in the double bottom compartment under the coal. Both pumps were

doing great, and the immediate danger was slowly diminishing. To shorten the story: In the seven o clock evening news on National TV- and RadioBroadcasting, one could hear the following newsflash: “This afternoon, nearby the Volkerak-Locks, the motor vessel Hensie sank after a collision with another ship. There were no casualties.” Hey, hey, just wait a sec here! No way! How wrong can you be? Just wait a minute in the future, guys! At seven pm, we already had dry decks again, and a floating crane being busy already with transshipping the coal. The next morning, Hensie could proceed to a shipyard for repairs, all by her own and under her own power. That is how it was folks, no stinking sinking business here!

Pumping full power on Hensie to keep her surfaced.

That’s it for now Folks Happy sailing!