At 0344 Sunday, November 20th, I was sitting on the Aloha deck, just finishing a middle-of-the-night snack and talking with Catharine as we watched sparks fly out the top of the ship’s smokestack when suddenly we heard a loud POP and the stack lit up like a torch. “Fire in the stackhouse.” The cry was shouted throughout the ship instantly, all hands called up on deck.
All the fire drills and other emergency drills that we have done on this voyage paid off. Most of the crew had been sleeping. Immediately we all knew where to go and what to do, bringing fire extinguishers to the cargo hatch, getting the emergency fire pump set to go, setting up a bucket brigade to carry water to the quarterdeck and any place that was in danger of catching fire, suiting up a couple of firefighters in their breathing apparatus and air tanks, and getting the medical gear ready.
Fire on a ship in the middle of the ocean is a frightful experience. Although the Picton Castle has a steel hull, there are many things that could burn: the wood decks, canvas sails, wood boats hanging from davits off port and starboard sides of the quarterdeck. And, of course, there’s the possibility of explosion in the engine or the fuel tanks. Fortunately, none of that occurred. I couldn’t help but think what the implications would be if the fire had gotten out of control and spread to other parts of the ship. We have done some abandon ship drills and that is one drill that I hope never goes beyond just a drill.
The Captain had the presence of mind to keep the engine on, albeit throttled down to reduce heat. Later, when everything was under control, he explained to us that the reason for keeping the engine on was to keep the fire moving up and out of the smokestack. He said that the most dangerous thing is to shut off the engine right away because that would increase the risk of an explosion in the engine room.
One of the most frightening moments for me was when I went to shut the watertight hatch between the engine room and the cargo hold. I had gone below momentarily to put on my rig (belt with knife and marlinspike) when the order came to close the hatch and I was the closest person, standing by the entrance from the Salon to the cargo hold. Without a flashlight in hand, I made my way through the hold relying on the light from the engine room.
When I got there the engine room was already full of smoke and it smelled bad. At first glance it appeared that I would have to step into the engine room to unlash the door. I was relieved to see that the door had been tied with a slippery hitch and all I had to do was reach in, pull the bitter end of the line and then pull the hatch closed. Just as I was about to close the hatch I heard Danie, the ship’s Engineer, say, “Barbara, wait.” I was relieved he was there and quickly stepped back to let him take a look before he closed the hatch. Someone else had come in with a flashlight and we all got out quickly and safely. I sure was glad to get up on deck again.
Another precaution we took was downrigging the canvas awning that we’ve had up midships for several days to provide shade from the midday heat and rain protection for those of us who like to sleep on the cargo hatch. We continually hauled buckets of water up over the side to pass to the quarterdeck. We set upper and lower topsails, then the foresail and mainsail; later those were all taken in. The medical team was standing by ready to take care of possible injuries. One of the engineering assistants who had been in the engine room when the fire started suffered slight smoke inhalation; otherwise there were no injuries.
Danie did have to go down into the engine room, fully garbed in firefighting gear and breathing apparatus, to check on a gasket and assess the situation closer to the source of the fire. He was accompanied by Dave Matthews, also fully decked out in fireman’s gear, who was standing by to assist Danie and be sure that he was safe.
Approximately one hour after the first call of “Fire in the stackhouse” went out, everything was under control and we started putting away the emergency equipment. By 0500 we were all stood down except for the on duty watch (4 to 8). The fire happened to coincide with the night that we set back the clocks one hour on account of having traversed yet another time zone. So 0500 became 0400. I’m sure everyone was glad for the extra hour of sleep.
For the next hour or two we motored slowly away from some shoals. When we were safely in deep water, the engine was shut down and we drifted in the East Timor Sea for about 10 or 11 hours while the engineering team cleaned the exhaust system and repaired a hole in the manifold. It was a swelteringly hot day with nearly no breeze.
Since it was Sunday, the rest of us had the day off from ship’s work; the watches did not even have anyone standing lookout or on helm since we were not underway. I truly felt sorry for Danie, Logan, Jeff Hicks, Kolin, Andrea D. and Brett who were up to their elbows and then some cleaning the sooty, greasy residue out of the exhaust system. The section where the fire had burned was already fairly clean because the residue had all been burned away, but the other section was quite messy.
For a brief respite from the heat, we had a swim call at 1300. We jumped off the rail of the ship and swam about in crystal clear blue water. We could see the rays of the sun going very deep down into the water. Unlike ocean water off the coast of NY and New England, this water was very warm. In fact, some of us had hoped it would be cooler. It was enjoyable, nonetheless.
The engineers worked until about 1600. They came out covered from head to toe with greasy black soot. It took them several scrubbings and dunks in the ocean before they were clean enough to be allowed into the showers on board. The main engine was started up about 1630 and we got underway slowly, to be sure that the repairs made were adequate before going full speed. We celebrated the end of a very long day with the traditional Sunday-at-sea marlinspike party.
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