Page 211 - The Tigris Expedition

The Tigris Expedition
channel, because there was no dhow to show us the unofficial
passage somewhere behind and between the closely packed islands
of the cape.
Never on any sea had we seen so many brilliantly lit ships in
motion at the same time as appeared around us at the moment when
Dctlcf ordered a sharp, 90° turn to starboard and the men on the
bridge sent us into the main traffic lane of the Hormuz Strait. We
immediately received a violent air stream straight at our back and
were pressed into a wind funnel between two opposed capes of the
same continent, a sort of Asiatic Straits of Gibraltar. The current
must also at this time have run like a river out of the gulf. Our speed
past the tip of the Arabian dagger was the fastest we had ever
experienced with a reed-ship, and the black mountain silhouettes at
our side were changing from one minute to the next. With this
speed Tigris responded to the slightest touch on the tillers and we
raced in between the superships which thundered around us as if we
were all of a kind.
Things went almost ridiculously well, and with double steering
watch and both navigators alert on the roof Carlo and I could steal a
few minutes snooze before we were back at the steering oars for our
next turn at 2 a.m. It was usually enough to crawl inside the square
door-opening to imagine oneself in a low jungle-hut far from the
sea. The atmosphere of cane and bamboo was highly unmaritime,
but most relaxing. Winds and waves were immediately left behind
as the concern of those still on deck; inside was a neutral zone of
peace and rest, even if the crests of the billows peeped at us through
the door opening almost within reach of a hand. That night was
rather special. As I crawled in to stretch out on my mattress beside
the door I was as happy as a boy experiencing for the first time the
berth by the window of a night train, lying on my side to watch
illuminated ships and black mountains passing by like railway-
stations in the Alps. Gone was the threat of shipwreck and collision;
we were travelling as if on a double-tracked railway line.
I was awakened by Detlef crawling over my legs heading for his
own berth. ‘We’ve made it,’he said. ‘We’re outside.’It was half-past
midnight and the night was at its darkest, still young. We were
outside? I crawled to the starboard door opening and lifted the
canvas cover that someone had rolled down to shut out the many
passing lights. It was an unforgettable change of scene. Beautiful.
Impressive. The rolling had ceased and the sky was full of stars over
vaguely moonlit rocks and hillocks. These were at the foot of tall,
wild peaks and mountain ridges, which together formed a fabulous
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