BootsnAll Travel Network



The Ship

I’ll be away for a few days, so this is the last ‘Whales of Trincomalee’ instalment for a week or so. I’ll see what’s going on in London instead. Can’t wait — aaahh — I can almost smell the smoke from here!

Shortly after, I was introduced to the harbour master, a somewhat abrupt but kind man whose graying beard gave the impression of the archetypical old seadog. Fittingly, he seemed slightly drunk.

The reason for that became clear when it turned out that I had gatecrashed the Port Authority’s annual Christmas party. Minutes later, I was seated in the front row in a large room, a piece of chocolate cake in my hand staring at a baker’s dozen of beautiful women in blue silk saris singing Christmas carols in Tamil. I blinked at the surrealism of it all and surrepticiously slipped a valium which I should have done sooner. I was glad that I had when the harbour master, seated next to me, proffered a song sheet and prodded me to sing along to ‘Silent Night’.

After a seemingly unending session of karaoke Christmas carols (which I thankfully escaped after the harbour master had heard my singing), he rose and beckoned me to follow. A pilot ship was waiting to take us across the inner harbour to the jetties at China Bay. On the way, I asked him about his wife only to receive a blank look when I mentioned her name. Later I discovered that the harbour master was an acting deputy. So much for my contacts.

Once on board, the harbour master asked me whether I would be able to climb a 9 metre long ladder. Puzzled but thinking that, perhaps, he might take me to a Navy ship there and then, I confidently assured him that would be no problem. It was, however, not a Navy vessel that we boarded but a formidable Greek cargo ship. We ascended via a standard, if somewhat shaky, gangway so I thought the term ‘ladder’ was a bit of an exageration. It was only much later, once we had piloted the ship across the bay to the harbour entrance, and I clung for dear life to the rope of a dangling ladder with tiny wooden steps dropping vertically 9m along the rusty hull down to the pilot boat, that I realized what he had meant. I had not expected to stay on board during the operation, assuming I would be sent back to go with the pilot.

On the bridge of the ship, I finally got the chance to sneak a look at the nautical maps for Trincomalee and Sri Lanka. I noted that the continental shelf came close to the shore at Nilaveli, which would make it a good starting point for sea-based observations. I also noted that Dondra Head and Uda Point along the southern coast would be good terrestrial vantage sites as the continental shelf came to within a mile of the shore there. Before I could make any more notes, the harbour master called me on deck. I was not supposed to rifle through documents on the bridge, but the officers had been too shy to say anything and the Captain was deep in discussion with the harbour master.

The Captain had not been altogether pleased to see us, complaining that it was late. For a moment, I wondered whether the departure of the mighty vessel had been delayed because the harbour master was waiting for me to finish my chocolate cake after my belated arrival at the Port Authority. It was entirely possible. In either case, he and the Captain seemed to know each other well, there was affection in their gruffy manner.

From the ship, I had a magnificent view over the harbour bay. Back in the early eighties, the internationally renowned cetologist Roger Payne had made a similar journey on one of the pilot boats. It was to be the very first whalewatching trip in Sri Lanka. Before the boat had even left the harbour, they encountered blue whales. As they slowly drifted closer a large female remained motionless in the water, every detail outlined below the surface. In spite of his many years of experience, Dr. Payne later said it was as if he had seen a whale for the first time. Dreamily, I looked out over these same waters, so full of past promise.

The first mate offered me a drink and I asked for a coke, longing instead for a stiff arrack. Neither the harbour master nor the captain were having a drink, both engrossed in their respective duties. I hoped that would change so when Ouzu was mentioned a little while later I chipped in:
“Yes, please!”
However, no alcohol was forthcoming on that occassion, either.

I could not talk much to the Captain as he was busy barking commands, keeping a nervous eye on both the pilot ship and the harbour master, but when we failed to run aground he relaxed a little. I learned that he was on a six day round-trip to India to load cement bound for the large Tokyo Mitsui cement factory in China Bay. This would have been the perfect opportunity for a quick transit survey. I was sorely temped to stay on board. To my delight, the Captain mentioned that he had two more of these journeys to do. Before I even knew that I had opened my mouth I had asked whether I could come on the next one, explaining that I intended to conduct research on whales. He didn’t seem to mind, telling me to come back to Trinco on Dec. 27th. I thought I hadn’t heard right. Carefully, I wrote down my name (formal title and all) and the phone number of Trinco Rest. I hoped to God he wasn’t joking, I took him by his Captain’s Word.

When we prepared to disembark, one of the officers came up onto the bridge with a stick of duty-free cigarettes which he handed to the harbour master and a bottle of Ouzu – which he handed to me.

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