Ghosts of the Pacific Read Online Free
Author: Philip Roy
some
breakfast?â
I fed the crew, put the kettle on for tea, poured oats into
the pot for porridge and slid the bar across the inside of the
portal to do chin-ups. By the time the water was boiling I
had done three sets. It would have been nice to jump over
the side for a swim but the water was about half of one
degree. At that temperature I would be unconscious in a
minute, dead in four. Thereâs no such thing as swimming in
Arctic water. Hollie would probably last a little longer than
that. Seaweed could sit on the water all day.
I did have a wetsuit though. It was under the mattress on
my cot. Wrapped up in the wetsuit I might last fifteen minutes or so. It was hard to say. Thatâs what was so threatening
about Arctic water: it would kill you if you fell in and didnât
get out fast enough. Thatâs why I had an unbreakable rule
never to come out of the portal without the harness strapped
on properly when the sub was moving. It was a matter of life
and death.
After breakfast we weighed anchor and turned into the
current, heading northwest. Everything was misty and rainy
now, a very cold rain. Tough as he was, Seaweed must have
had a nasty night. He settled down on his spot opposite
Hollie and went into a deep sleep. Hollie sniffed around
until he found his rope under the treadmill, carried it triumphantly to his blanket and mauled it. I climbed the portal with the binoculars, strapped on the harness and stood
up for a look.
It was bleak. Visibility was poor. Should we slow down
more? Thatâs what I couldnât decide. We hadnât seen any ice
yet and the water still looked clear, so I decided to stick to
twelve knots. Even at that speed it would take three days just
to pass through the Hudson Strait.
The next day was exactly the sameâquiet and uneventful. The slow pace was really getting on my nerves. I tried to
stay busy by studying charts, watching sonar, reading books
and pedalling the bike. But by the morning of the third day
I just had to get out of the sub, I was feeling so restless. I
decided to take the kayak for a paddle.
The only safe way to do that was to wear the wetsuit. But
climbing into the wetsuit was like stretching a balloon over
a pop bottle. I was sweating like crazy when I finally got it all
zipped up. Now, only my face was exposed, and my cheeks
were squashed together like a pumpkin. A wetsuit wasnât
comfortable until you dived underwater and the material
became wet and lost its tightness.
I pulled the kayak from under my seat. Hollie jumped up
and wagged his tail excitedly. âNo, Hollie. Iâm sorry. You
canât come today; itâs too dangerous.â
He frowned. His shoulders dropped and his eyebrows fell
over his eyes. Seaweed opened one eye then shut it. I felt like
a mummy climbing out of a tomb trying to get up the portal with the kayak and paddles.
The wind had picked up a little bit and it blew freezingrain into my face. I considered turning back but the wind
wasnât that strong yet and I wasnât planning on going far.
Besides, it had been so much work getting the suit on. So, I
inflated the kayak, screwed the paddle together, shut the
hatch and climbed onto the hull. I didnât bother with a life-jacket because the wetsuit was pure buoyancy. Donât be nervous, I told myself. It was just the same as getting into a
kayak anywhere else. Since I had never fallen out of a boat
of any kind ever, why should I worry about it now, even
though I was as stiff as a board? I sat down, tied a rope
around my waist and through a handle on the kayak, gave a
push against the hull and was off.
The kayak was so quick. It didnât matter which way the
current was flowing. It didnât matter how strong it was, or
the wind; the kayak easily skimmed across the surface. This
was how the Inuit used to hunt seals, in kayaks made out of
sealskin. I read once that a hunter had travelled all the way
from Greenland to Baffin Island in a
breakfast?â
I fed the crew, put the kettle on for tea, poured oats into
the pot for porridge and slid the bar across the inside of the
portal to do chin-ups. By the time the water was boiling I
had done three sets. It would have been nice to jump over
the side for a swim but the water was about half of one
degree. At that temperature I would be unconscious in a
minute, dead in four. Thereâs no such thing as swimming in
Arctic water. Hollie would probably last a little longer than
that. Seaweed could sit on the water all day.
I did have a wetsuit though. It was under the mattress on
my cot. Wrapped up in the wetsuit I might last fifteen minutes or so. It was hard to say. Thatâs what was so threatening
about Arctic water: it would kill you if you fell in and didnât
get out fast enough. Thatâs why I had an unbreakable rule
never to come out of the portal without the harness strapped
on properly when the sub was moving. It was a matter of life
and death.
After breakfast we weighed anchor and turned into the
current, heading northwest. Everything was misty and rainy
now, a very cold rain. Tough as he was, Seaweed must have
had a nasty night. He settled down on his spot opposite
Hollie and went into a deep sleep. Hollie sniffed around
until he found his rope under the treadmill, carried it triumphantly to his blanket and mauled it. I climbed the portal with the binoculars, strapped on the harness and stood
up for a look.
It was bleak. Visibility was poor. Should we slow down
more? Thatâs what I couldnât decide. We hadnât seen any ice
yet and the water still looked clear, so I decided to stick to
twelve knots. Even at that speed it would take three days just
to pass through the Hudson Strait.
The next day was exactly the sameâquiet and uneventful. The slow pace was really getting on my nerves. I tried to
stay busy by studying charts, watching sonar, reading books
and pedalling the bike. But by the morning of the third day
I just had to get out of the sub, I was feeling so restless. I
decided to take the kayak for a paddle.
The only safe way to do that was to wear the wetsuit. But
climbing into the wetsuit was like stretching a balloon over
a pop bottle. I was sweating like crazy when I finally got it all
zipped up. Now, only my face was exposed, and my cheeks
were squashed together like a pumpkin. A wetsuit wasnât
comfortable until you dived underwater and the material
became wet and lost its tightness.
I pulled the kayak from under my seat. Hollie jumped up
and wagged his tail excitedly. âNo, Hollie. Iâm sorry. You
canât come today; itâs too dangerous.â
He frowned. His shoulders dropped and his eyebrows fell
over his eyes. Seaweed opened one eye then shut it. I felt like
a mummy climbing out of a tomb trying to get up the portal with the kayak and paddles.
The wind had picked up a little bit and it blew freezingrain into my face. I considered turning back but the wind
wasnât that strong yet and I wasnât planning on going far.
Besides, it had been so much work getting the suit on. So, I
inflated the kayak, screwed the paddle together, shut the
hatch and climbed onto the hull. I didnât bother with a life-jacket because the wetsuit was pure buoyancy. Donât be nervous, I told myself. It was just the same as getting into a
kayak anywhere else. Since I had never fallen out of a boat
of any kind ever, why should I worry about it now, even
though I was as stiff as a board? I sat down, tied a rope
around my waist and through a handle on the kayak, gave a
push against the hull and was off.
The kayak was so quick. It didnât matter which way the
current was flowing. It didnât matter how strong it was, or
the wind; the kayak easily skimmed across the surface. This
was how the Inuit used to hunt seals, in kayaks made out of
sealskin. I read once that a hunter had travelled all the way
from Greenland to Baffin Island in a