Tom Cunliffe
Tom Cunliffe
H
ave you ever had ‘that sinking feeling’? Barring one or two lamentable incidents involving small craft I’ve never followed it to its awful conclusion and, God willing, I never shall, but I’ve had some near misses. One of the more spectacular events was many years ago when I was a gash hand on a 90-ton trading ketch. The vessel was far from new
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and my shipmates and I had recently ballasted her with iron pigs set under a skim of concrete on the ceiling - or floor - of the hold. The surprisingly shallow bilge ran beneath this ceiling. It was mid-winter and we were slugging down the Bay of Biscay in storm-force conditions. The running lamps had blown out and my watchmate and I had just avoided a freighter by far too close a margin. We were thanking the stars for our deliverance when the skipper
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came on deck selling more one-way tickets to Davey Jones’ Locker by courtesy of water rising in the hold. We hove the ship to and tumbled down the ladder. The mean water level was unsure because she was rolling her rails under while trying to stand on her bow and her transom, but many tons of the saltiest were slopping around with force enough to knock you off your feet. The scene was illuminated by two crazily swinging hurricane lamps and, as
ILLUSTRATION: CLAIRE WOOD, PHOTOS TOM CUNLIFFE
The sight of the floorboards of your yacht floating merrily around the saloon is a sure sign that all is not well, as Tom can confirm
