Page 205 - The Tigris Expedition

The Tigris Expedition
mountain chain with rock walls dropping almost perpendicularly
into the sea on the gulf side that we were now approaching.
Dctlef had just measured a record speed of almost five knots. But
when we saw what kind of land we had before us we instantly
threw the rudder-oars over to try to turn away from the coast while
there still was time. We had clearly come much further south than
we ought to have done while trying to keep up with the dhow.
They had an engine, and had possibly turned still further south to
find a suitable port. Calculations made by our two navigators on the
basis of wind and leeway convinced them that we were already so
far down from the tip of the peninsula that we had to go in to the
coast somewhere; we would never be able now to make our way
straight for the Hormuz Strait. But where could we sail in? It
became an ever greater puzzle to guess where the dhow could have
sought shelter. With an engine it could get into any tricky inlet. But
our charts showed no harbour on this coast, no settlement, not even
a single lighthouse. There was no kind of beach or landing place,
and nowhere even to anchor, for the tall cliffs fell straight into a
deep, turbulent sea.
The map showed only a single slight indentation where Said
might have taken Rashad and the other men in among the vertical
cliffs to get the shelter needed for making their repairs; Ras al
Shaikh. It would seem to be a most inhospitable cove between rock
walls, to judge from the skyline we now saw. We were soon to find
out. We had to clear Ras al Shaikh on our way up to the final cape
marking the entrance to the Hormuz Strait.
The mountains were still far away, although near enough already
to take the form of real rocks, first rising out of the sea and then
piercing right through the cloud belt. We no longer approached this
coast voluntarily. We ignored the few remaining pieces of drift
wood and had no time to look for pollution; we had to try to save
our own skins. A raft-ship like Tigris could better than any other
vessel surf-ride on to beaches or banks, even be tossed safely up on a
reef or a rocky shore, but no craft could tackle vertical walls.
It was time for Norman’s scheduled radio contact with coastal
stations. We now had to report the disappearance of Rashad and the
dhow, and give our own estimated position alongside the empty
rock walls of north-western Oman. Bahrain Radio was calling us,
but too many strong voices were on the frequency for anyone
anywhere to pick up Norman’s call. Our whereabouts remained as
unknown to the rest of the world as that of the dhow to us and,
presumably, as that of Tigris to the dhow.
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