When asked if I'd be the Esperanza's onboard press officer for the high
seas bottom trawling campaign , I thought wow, well I never? I then
remembered I get queasy on boats. The destination for the trip was to be
the Azores, the Portuguese territory in the middle of the Atlantic. I
had perhaps unrealistic visions of palm trees, sandy beaches and
importantly; calm seas. Although never having been 'to sea' before I
knew my brief spells of sickness on Sydney ferries, Greek island-hopping
ships and dive boats was evidence enough of my poor seaworthiness.
Nevertheless, I reasoned that the opportunity to be part of this
important campaign, on the frontline, was well worth a few days of
queasiness and vomiting.
It's now day seven at sea and we are nowhere near the Azores. Good news,
the Azores are to be protected from deep sea bottom trawling, so are now
out in the North Atlantic, hundreds of miles from civilisation,
focussing on bottom trawlers on the high seas.
Before we set sail I had two days in Dublin to acclimatise to the ship
and get to know the crew. I discussed seasickness with the hardiest of
sea dogs, the incoming and outgoing medics and Paddy in the pub. Advice
was varied and conflicting. "Hang a potato round your neck" was the most
ridiculous, "eat ginger" sounded sensible, but opinion was divided 50/50
on the seasickness tablets. As we set sail, with no clear consensus on
how to deal with seasickness, I just crossed my fingers.
First day out of Dublin was magic; calm waters and clear skies. The
following evening brought stormy weather and a Force 5. It was the
beginning of the end for me. Apart from a calm day off the Scottish
island of Lewis, so far I have spent an inordinate amount of time in
bed. The only way I could stop vomiting was to lie flat. Sitting up
meant chucking up. I tried everything but the potato, and the only
solution was staying horizontal.
Trying to get on with things while this massive ship is rocking and
rolling has been the number one challenge. I am slowing meeting this
challenge but it could change within the hour. The bumps and grinds,
moans and groans of the ship, and the slipping and sliding of its
contents is like nothing I've ever experienced. The crash of the waves
against the hull makes huge thudding noises. There are always broom
handles, bottles, or doors clanging and banging, even though everything
is fixed down.
These noises and sensations are weirdest in the middle of the night. To
a novice like me it felt like water was going to gush in at any moment.
More than a couple of times during the night, when my rationale has been
sleeping but I haven't, I've thought about the abandon ship procedure:
would I make it out to the heli-hangar muster station, would I be able
to put on my survival suit, would I remember my beanie and coat, how
long would it take for someone to find us.
Of course these dreary thoughts disappear when daylight breaks. The
0730 wake up call means another day, another chance to find my sea legs,
the ones that have been coming and going like the bad weather.
- Maya
Comments
I send you all my best wishes for a quiet weather and calm ocean. Seasickness is so uncomfortable, and I sympathize with all who suffer on board.
