Page 212 - The Tigris Expedition

Wc Gain Control of Tigris
landscape just beside our ship. Turning to the other side we were
almost blinded by the revolving beams from a nearby lighthouse
that lit up the rocks of the island on which it stood while sweeping
sky and sea. No white-caps there. The sea was silent; wc could hear
ships right and left. No roaring wind or shrieking wood. Peaceful
and idyllic. The lights from the ships reflected romantically in the
water, as in a sheltered Norwegian fjord. Tigris itself relaxed, from
sail to steering-bridge, after its record run.
Our speed dropped down to two knots, then to only one.
Norman had measured almost five knots in the Hormuz Strait, and
to this should be added the speed of the current. We were indeed
outside the gulf. We were already sheltered by the cliffs of Oman,
but soon discovered that a powerful current still held us in its grip
and dragged us away from the Arabian peninsula. Wc turned still
further to starboard, and the speed dropped to half a knot as we
sailed southwards into almost complete shelter of the same Arabian
dagger that had seemed poised to cut us to bits a few hours earlier,
when we struggled northwards, in the very opposite direction,
along its windward edge.
‘Boys, we’ve navigated!’ was the jubilant exclamation from
Norman as we unfolded our chart under a flashlight on the cabin
roof to take a decision on what to do next. We now had endless
possibilities. And one single problem, but it was a major one. The
way into the Indian Ocean lay open ahead of us, but behind us, deep
inside the gulf, we had lost Rashad. We had absolutely no idea
where the wretched dhow might have gone. Our best guess now
would be that Said had steered for one of the tiny Arab emirates.
The wind was feeble but perfect for us to get clear of land and steer
out of this gaping Gulf of Oman into the Arabian Sea and Indian
Ocean. But we could not abandon Rashad, the youngest and
therefore probably least experienced of us all. His parents would
despair if we had to send a message that we had ‘lost’ him and had
no idea as to where he could be found.
The dhow belonged to Oman and had to come through the
Hormuz Strait to reach its home port in the capital of Muscat. If it
kept away from the shipping lanes it would have to steer in between
or very close to the Oman rocks. Our best hope was to wait in
sheltered water where we were, far enough from the coast to be safe
from the rocks in case of changing winds, and yet no further out
than to be able to see every vessel coasting close to land.
We lowered the port-side steering oar back into position,
adjusted loose ropes, and had very easy steering, with much of the
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