A young man lies sleeping in his cabin aboard a 20,000 tonne, 30-year-old Russian Icebreaker. It is 4am and twilight has become bright enough, but the sun has not risen yet. The décor of his cabin is all wood effect with a 1960’s feel. Certain points of interest are labeled with tags in Russian - the plug sockets, the intercom, the alarm bell. The ship is mid pacific and the retro-fitted aircon struggles to keep the room cool. The noisy air rushing in, and the ships engine do not disturb him, for he has lived like this for 2 months now, and has another 2 months to go.
4 hours ago he was on watch, and looked into the deep dark of a lightless ocean, then to their position on the charts. A week away from anywhere, there are few places on earth as remote, he reflected. The weather was calm, and the forecast and barometer suggested this would be the case for the foreseeable future.
A force like he had never felt before gripped him. Mid-ocean something was shaking himself, his colleagues, and 20,000 tonnes of vessel violently. A feeling unnatural to him, as he woke suddenly, he got up, put some clothes on, and headed to the bridge as the violent shaking made every hand rail judder from his grip.
The captain was already on the bridge, as captains often are in moments of nautical interest or emergency, and had stopped the engine.
A small slender, british man, he lifted the sound-powered telephone that had been built to survive nuclear fallout. He wound the handle and spoke to the chief engineer, who was understandably vexed. Everything in the engine room was mechanically as expected, except for the fact that the propeller, a 15tonne chunk of brass, would not move. The most powerful part of the ship, engineering was a likely culprit for such forceful discomfort.
The chief and 2nd Engineer were both keen recreational divers. As such, they had brought their diving gear with them. Scuba equipment is a handy thing mid-pacific, though not part of a ships compulsory outfit.
5am, a week from civilization, the chief engineer donned their scuba equipment as the sun rose over a placid Pacific sea. A boat was lowered and without a second thought they entered the deep, unfathomable abyss.
Rising from the surface minutes later, they told everybody that they could see a humble log lodged in the propeller. Waterlogged, the log must have attained neutral buoyancy in that particularly saline water, and had lurked in that unimaginably vast volume of water, waiting for natural decay. It could never in a million of years have expected to be wrested from its slumber by a 20tonne piece of brass rotating around 120 times per minute. It would have expected even less to have won the fight, which it did.
They chief and second engineer attached a rope to the submerged log, lodged in the propeller, and the crew wound the rope around a capstan. Powering up the winch, the reluctant log let go of the propeller, and was hoisted onto deck.
Engine checks were made, no seals had been broken and the propeller was slowly rotated.
Happy that passage could continue, the engine was again powered up and power shifted to the giant electric motor which drove the propeller.
Happy with events the young man went back to his cabin and went to sleep. Ready for another day, and a glass of beer in Tahiti, a week away.
The end.
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