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Aquatic evasion techniques, theory and practice
By Meghan, web editor. 23 March. These things never go
as expected. You can plan for various scenarios to your
heart's content, but when the ship comes in, you're really
just flying by the seat of your pants.
So that's my introduction to yesterday's events on the
Rainbow Warrior.
We received word that a ship carrying timber from ancient
forests in Cameroon was making its way toward Salerno, Italy.
Need I continue? If you've been following our tour, then
I don't have to bother mentioning that we intended to stop
it.
Cap'n Pete planted the Warrior along a lovely string of
islands somewhere in southern Italy as we waited for information
about the ship. It was a spectacular day; the sun was so
warm that we took a long break to go swimming. When our
body temperatures were sufficiently hypothermic we readied
our action gear: the inflatables, canoes, and a brand new
inflatable of sorts - a large black pontoon, or rubber raft.
More about that later.
The splendid afternoon rolled on. No word on the ship from
Cameroon. Fortunately I was saved from skin cancer by a
late afternoon storm that rolled in. Many of us retreated
to our bunks for some quiet time.
At 16:30 the general alarm sounded. The ship Kwanza, carrying
timber from Cameroon, was an hour away. An hour? What luxury!
Time to visit the toilet, grab a sip of water and even brew
a cup of tea. No need to beat myself into consciousness
by banging my head against the cabin wall, thank goodness.
For this action I was assigned the role of canoeist; I
would be steering one of three inflatable canoes with my
teammate Kristina. I was particularly excited about canoeing
for this action; I intended to canoe during the last one
but was seized by black-clad jumping Spanish police before
I made it into the canoe (see 'Nap
thwarted'). How exciting to be released from my web
editing duties and spend a pleasant evening paddling!
I went up on deck. Something was wrong. It took me a minute
to place it and then I got it: wind. Strong winds. The kind
of winds that paddlers in small inflatable canoes really
detest.
Curses. There was no way - despite our mighty muscles -
that we could paddle from the Warrior into the harbour in
time to block the Kwanza. Even worse, the Warrior already
had a police escort and dodging it seemed highly unlikely.
We launched the inflatables - six boats in all. One boat
sped off to the Kwanza with the climb team. The climb team
would attempt to board the ship's stern. Another boat carrying
two independent journalists followed close behind.
Then Pete made the call - three of the remaining inflatables
would give the canoes a lift to the harbour.
'Excellent,' I thought. Foolish girl.
Kristina and I got our canoe on a boat and set off to the
harbour with boat-pro Phil at the helm. We entered the breakwater
and saw several white boats with blue lights. Hmm. White
boats, blue lights, a word remotely resembling 'police'
on the side. Could it be?
Yep. Phil maneuvered to an innocuous location in the harbour.
Kristina and I launched the canoe. We stuck our paddles
in the water and - oof - the police grabbed hold of the
canoe and attached a line. Okay, 2.5 seconds of paddling.
This was worse than being jumped by Spanish police, for
sure. But Phil was yelling something as the police were
smugly looking over their captives. 'Flee'? 'Phil'? 'Flipper'?
Oh, got it - flip! 'Kristina', I yelled. 'We have to flip'.
She got it. Another second and we were under the canoe,
our heads just above water under the seats, holding on for
dear life.
Things were pretty comfortable - for a minute. Then I felt
my legs being pulled out from under me - what the *&^*...
But it wasn't a human - it was a current. It took me a second
before I realised that we were being towed to shore. Kristina
and I shared a moment of anguish. This was not how it was
supposed to happen!!! But we had the upper hand - we were
in the water and they couldn't see us. As far as we could
tell, our inflatables were still in the harbour. One of
us - Kristina, I'm sure - got the bright idea.
Swim!
Our only chance of avoiding arrest so early in the game
was to swim out from underneath and try to get picked up
by an inflatable.
But that's when things really fell apart. Oh Kristina,
will you ever forgive me???
We agreed to swim. But there was a delay - Kristina wasn't
ready. A couple of minutes passed. I felt the police trying
to lift up the canoe, and I decided to make a break for
it. 'I'm going', I yelled, and found myself swimming in
the harbour with my arm in the air. Bernard signaled back
- he was coming for me ('my hero', I sighed). But once in
the inflatable, I looked around. I didn't see Kristina in
the water. Then I spotted her - in the police boat. They
had pulled her up as I swam out from underneath.
Wahhhh! I'd lost my canoe, I'd lost my partner, and I was
crushed with guilt. I was in a boat with my hero while Kristina
was hauled away by Italian police. Not good.
Bernard returned to the Warrior where he dropped me off.
Now what?
I didn't have to wonder for long. Bernard and Phil were
back at the ship working to unlash the pontoon from the
side of the Warrior. The pontoon was a new tool - a large
floating raft we would attempt to anchor in the harbour,
thereby preventing the ship from entering the port. Or something
like that. ('Fly by the seat of your pants', remember?)
Pete shouted down from the bridge deck, 'hey Meghan, get
on the pontoon'. Uh, okay.
I found myself seated extremely comfortably on a large
raft, which was maneuvered by Bernard in one inflatable
and Phil in another. Then I saw the other two canoe teams
piled into an inflatable that was heading out to the raft
- Rodrigo, Nikki, Dima and Eva. Yay, company! Apparently
they, too, were forced to abandon their canoes to escape
being arrested.
Now there were five of us on the pontoon. The inflatables
moved the pontoon into position and dropped its anchors.
We were blocking - well, sort of - the entrance to the harbour.
We were joined by a few Italian activists at one point -
dropped off by an inflatable from shore - and together we
tried to erect a banner.
Then it occurred to me - I hadn't seen the journalists
since they'd left the ship. I assumed they had stayed with
the Kwanza when the climbers boarded, but they should have
been back to the Warrior by now. I asked around. 'Piglet
is missing', someone replied. Piglet was their boat. That
did not bode well.
Things fell apart for the second time during that harried
afternoon. As we sat on the pontoon, we saw that the Kwanza
had been able to maneuver around the pontoon and around
the Rainbow Warrior and was steaming - at a rather rapid
pace - into the entrance of the harbour. Right past us.
And a police boat was coming for us. We were sitting ducks
on a big rubber raft. Quack.
Okay, time to leave the pontoon. We hopped into various
inflatables and left the pontoon sitting there, anchored.
(Clearly it was not going to obstruct any ship traffic.)
At this point it was becoming dark, and this is where the
narrative becomes a bit murky. What I recall seeing out
on the harbour were numerous Greenpeace inflatables - some
from the Warrior and others from the Italian land-based
team. The inflatables were mixed in with police boats which
frequently came over to the inflatables with policemen extending
long metal hooks (oh, come on...). And in the middle of
this completely chaotic scene was the Kwanza, which was
slowly making its way to the dock. Flashing blue lights,
the navigation lights on the inflatables zipping around
from one part of the harbour to another, the lights on the
docks and the Warrior off in the distance... It was all
a blur.
But we had one last tactic: The Kwanza was being pulled
to the dock with lines. There was enough space for our inflatables
to get in between the ship and the dock. So we did. And
with our bows up against the ship, we pushed. Full throttle.
It was a beautiful sight (a pity our photographer had been
nicked) - all of those little inflatable boats pushing an
enormous container ship away from the dock. For one fleeting
moment that evening I felt fantastic.
The tactic slowed the Kwanza, without a doubt. But the
ship continued to move in, and it became dangerous for us
to stay. None of us was really in the mood to act as human
fenders - we have to draw the line somewhere. So we sped
out of there and returned to the Warrior.
Back on the Warrior, we were all pretty grim. Our tactics
hadn't worked, and the Kwanza was docked.
But - wait a second - while we were zipping around in our
boats and bouncing on the pontoon and flipping our canoes
and swimming in the harbour, our climbers had managed to
board the Kwanza. I asked around - and, sure enough, they
were still there on the ship. In fact, they had anchored
themselves to the stern ramp and the ship was unable to
unload any of its cargo. That was the point, wasn't it?
Dang, I think we did it!!!
So here it is, more than 24 hours after my swim in the
Salerno harbour, and our two valiant climbers are still
on the Kwanza. And I think they'll be there for quite some
time. This wasn't so bad after all.
Meghan
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