Roosendaal, the Netherlands,

March 08, 2009

Dear reader,
First time I am trying ‘Sea-speak’ here, English
in a simple form that I learned along the way.
Following, you will find some info about my
person.
Author: G. A. C. Theunisse.
Short: Geert Theunisse.
Born: 06 -15 -1941. Nationality: Dutch.
Family status: Since 1970 happily married to
Rina. (One son).
Occupation: Former owner of a Maritime-
Salvage-Company (retired).

Bio: A bit too long I’m afraid…

Started in 1973 with a small – but later-on
rather well known – Salvage Company,
situated along the River ‘Volkerak’, a part of the
former estuary waters of the North Sea in the
Zuid-Holland en Zeeland Provinces of The
Netherlands. In time, I acquired a solid status
as a Government paid Rescue and Firefighting
station, and also official status as a ‘SAR Unit’.
A ‘Search and Rescue Unit’ resorting under the
Coastguard part of the Dutch Navy.
I managed to keep up with this tough and
heavy line of work until the end of 1995. Then,
‘the old sack of bones’ was finally letting me
down. I sold the place and we, my wife and I,
wandered off into the great wide world. We did
so by private boat of course. We made a five-
year long trip, visiting many countries and
places. Among them, we spend two years – by
far the best in fact - on the Eastern Seaboard
from the great, great USA.
And I’m not kissing ass here!
During my work in the salvage business, I did
725 salvage and rescue jobs on all kinds of
ships, in the greatest possible variety of
difficulties. Some of them right down
dangerous, some of them easy. All those jobs
are also as many stories. Some of them,
actually most of them, happy ending, some
ending funny and some sad.
During the last years from our long boat-trip, I
started reminiscing about some of those stories
again, and since I kept the whole lot pretty well
documented, I sat down to write about them.

Why in the world should you read my books?

Well…huh, because I sort of was asked for.
When we traveled along the Eastern Seaboard,
from Key-West, FL in the south, up to Camden,
NJ in the north, vice-versa, twice, we met many
other boaters, as well as shore-people of
course. Among them were, besides a large
number of US-civilians’, also many people from
your Coastguard, Firefighters, Police, folks
from Sea-tow and Boat-US, etc, all visiting us
onboard and vice-versa. We had long and
pleasant talks with everybody about everything,
having a wonderful good time, those two years
over there with you folks.
They liked also my maritime stories, a lot in
fact. Better still, all of them feverously
applauded the idea about writing them down
once, and they finally pushed me into it.
So…well, this is the main reason that you are
reading this.
My writing is not fiction; it is straight out of real
life. The good life we lived and survived so far.
Challenges and hardship, but also joyful, even
glorious moments, are plentiful in my stories, I
didn’t need to beef them up. They happened as
I wrote them down. To be honest, I did not care
much for any more artificial thrills anyway,
working as I was in a very real and sometimes
wild trade.
Of course, I started to write the manuscripts in
my native tongue, being Dutch. When the first
one was finished, I tried to get it published,
tried that is. Anyway, The Netherlands is just a
very tiny country with a rather small reader’s
audience, and would-be writers growing in
abundance.
Therefore, now I just started trying to write in
‘English’, mutilating this beautiful language in
the process, and very probably causing all by
myself the reason that I shall flunk it also this
time. At least I try to flunk in front of a much
bigger readers-audience now!
My poor and insufficient excuse is that I never
studied any foreign language. Now that I come
to think of it, I didn’t study much about
anything! I somewhat, somehow just picked
things up by occasion along the line that is
called life.
From my little notion of the English language, I
learned most during our extended visits of the
United States. So if it’s really crap, don’t blame
me, blame my teachers and hit delete to finish
me off!
As soon as I finish one manuscript in proper
English, I will let you know.
Anyhow, this English writing of me, I guess, is
the same gamble like back in the old days,
arriving at the scene of a vessel in trouble,
almost sank already, sky-high grounded,
helplessly drifting without engine or rudder in
stormy weather, or engulfed in roaring flames:
“If we don’t try it now, we sure loose it!”
Therefore, we went on, working our tail off
again …
Yours truly, Geert Theunisse
 Salvage tug Furie-3, still going strong today

From the book: “Hurricanes & side effects”

Copyright Geert Theunisse © 2004

Preface
Those are little but true stories and all names,
ships and institutions are very real. I did not
feel like changing anything of them because
some folks just don’t deserve that. Some
mentioned people just deserve being named
because of their genuine and positive attitude
every odd time when you call on them. Some
of the named institutions just deserve to being
exposed by all means and methods, and that’s
all there is to it. Particularly one of them
happens to be the Dutch Government…
The following little tale is about the difficulties
of a small- scale ships salvage company, about
the wonderful things that can happen in the
tough daily existence and adventures of this
trade. I don’t emphasize especially now the
hard labor on waves in turmoil and all that crap,
but more about the stuff that should follow after
the job is been done well. This time I mean
collecting the cold hard cash!
Especially this part of the job can sometimes
lead to nice and even slightly hilarious
situations of great mystification and suspense,
during which enterprises one can end up at
thrilling locations and meeting unusual people.
With great pleasure, I sometimes linger back
into those adventures.
Have Fun! Geert Theunisse
 HURRICANE AT THE HARINGVLIET
By Geert Theunisse

FOREPLAY

January 31, 1983 was it blowing like hell in a

terrible blizzard when the empty British coaster
‘Greta-C’ - with indeed very little ballast taken
in - entered the port of Dintelsas. The tide was
just dead-high, with another 4 Ft on top of it,
because of the very strong wind blowing for
two days now and driving vast amounts of
surge water from the North Sea into the
Eastern-Scheld estuary.
Greta was heading for the Lock, but this had
temporary closed, with the double red lights on
because of the high water. Therefore, she first
had to tie-up at the jetty on her starboard side
to wait before the lock could reopen again. The
wind was wild and straight off. The Bosun and
two deckhands managed to fasten a bow-
spring, in the three seconds that the captain
could close-in the bow to the jetty enough, and
the ship started slowly to try moving her stern
towards the jetty. This is common and even
standard procedure to handle a vessel of this
small size…under normal circumstances. Ships
of this size very seldom ask for tug assistance
for mooring and/or any other harbor
movements, for economic reasons, of course.
However, because of a very nasty outburst of
wind at the precise moment the slowly
swinging ship started to expose her starboard
broadside more and more to the wind forces -
building up multiple Tons of pressure on this
large and still growing surface - the Captain,
already in need of significant horsepower to
keep sweet Greta moving in the first place,
gave another push against the telegraph for
more power on the propeller…
Heavy and large, sticky flakes of horizontal
wind-driven snow had first completely covered
the wheelhouse front windows, and was now
very rapidly blinding the starboard side
windows, isolating the captain behind the
wheel from the outside world, totally blurring
his sight on the jetty…and causing him to think
that his ship was not moving any more. So
again, he pushed the throttle just a little more -
close to full power now - with the rudder
already hard to port; doing so, quadrupling the
forces on the rope because of the angles
between the rudder, the ships hull, the wind
force, and the bow-spring, finally resulting in a
terrible - fatal - strain on the poor bow spring…
That is why this rope finally snapped, and in no
time, the coaster taken by the wind smashed
onto the rocky boulders from which the dike on
the windward canal side had been built.
From a nearby farmhouse, the crash was
clearly seen and the terrifying droning - BANG -
loudly heard. Thus, the farmer called me:
“Geert, I don’t believe that everything goes well
at the Lock-entrance. Maybe you should take a
look over there.”
I pulled the whistle from my salvage tug Fury-2
twice shortly to call for my runner Tony and a
few minutes later the two of us went over there;
and sure the Captain liked it very much being
hauled off that rocky spot he landed on. Like
because of the water very soon going down a
good twelve Ft. or so, and all that crap…
“P... Please, help me out of here very quickly! If
that’s possible at all?”
We placed the towrope at her stern and with
one mighty swing; we pulled dear Greta from
the rocks and back into the deep! Fury-2 nearly
capsized in the process, but it sure helped. The
British Captain in great relieve, hung bungling
on his whistle cord for quite some time! Tony
came to the wheelhouse, still a little pale
around his nose and told me: “Well, I could‘ve
nicely tarred our portside-chime a minute ago
but couldn’t find the tar bucket quick
enough…!”
With Fury-2, we maneuvered Greta’s stern
against the end of the jetty and she moored
securely now, with their heaviest rope. Then
they dropped our towrope and we pushed the
vessel’s bow towards the jetty, were after she
tied-up fore and aft firm and strong. Everybody
was happy again, especially the Insurance-
people from Greta. Well, okay, okay, me too,
after a wile… when the Mailman came again…
 Salvage tug Fury-2, BHP 600.
Main engine Deutz VM-536, 400 Hp.

CLIMAX
February 1, ’83: the weather had slowly
deteriorated into a grim prospect when two
minesweepers: ‘HMS NAARDEN and HMS
OMMEN’ from the Royal Dutch Navy were
approaching the Sea-lock at Stellendam to
quickly flee inside before all hell would break
loose.
At home we, of course, heard them talking with
the Lockmaster on VHF channel 13. We just
had lunch at midday when those people started
their little chat on VHF-13, (What’s in a
number…?) Just yoking between two bites, I
said to Rina, “Boy, if one of those ships would
run aground one day! Sky-high with them ball’s
on a nice, big flat sandbank! That would be
something else, wouldn’t it?”
I was just yoking, fooling around a bit! I swear I
was! Ask Rina…!
However, I was still busy writing my report
about Greta-C, so I admit, this little outspoken
wishful thinking was a bit naughty and greedy
of me. Meanwhile, it blew strongly, at least 40
knots all the time and it peaked to 50 knots and
higher in the heavy blizzards. The weather-
forecast warned for a very severe storm with
60 knots or more from the northwest in the next
24 hours. This forecast really came thru. In
evening hours, it deteriorated from already very
bad to even worse.
At midnight, the phone rang. I stumbled out of
my bunk, all sleepy, and picked up the
receiver. Leonard Koese, the Skipper from the
lifeboat ‘Zeemanspot’ from Stellendam was
online: “Yo, Geert! Did you got it?”
“What, Leonard? I sleep at most nights,
Leonard. You know, eyes closed, snoring and
all that.”
“You’re Nuts! Who sleeps with this kind of
weather? Listen, man! Two minesweepers from
the Navy in big trouble close to Middelharnis!
They’re working on channel 13! Huh? Do I pull
your leg? No, you fruitcake! Are you still
sleeping? I ain’t yoking! Get on with it, do you
hear! Go! Go with this tug of yours and make it
real snappy!” …?...!...?...!
I was wide-awake now.
“Okay, okay, Leonard! Thanks, man! I’m on my
way now!”
I slam the phone down and step in one leg of
my trousers. The telephone ringing again…
Jan, the Lockmaster from the Volkerak-Locks
online:
“Geert! Drag your lazy ass onboard and go,
man! Two minesweepers aground on the
Haringvliet near Middelharnis, yelling, and
begging like crazy for tug-assistance! It’s about
the OMMEN and NAARDEN, you know them!
We have contact with them on VHF! Get going,
man! We have a lock ready and waiting for
you! Go, go, and go!”
“Damn! Yeah, Jan, yeah, I’m coming! I’m there
in few minutes or so!”
Jesus… Gimme a break here!
First, my other leg in my pants!
Meanwhile, the Lockmaster notified the ships
that he had contacted me and confirmed that I
was proceeding. Before leaving, I make just
one quick phone call to my faithful and well-
trained runners, Theo and Ruud, sound asleep
in their bunks at the little Den Bommel village.
“Hey, guys! A.S.A.P. to the Volkerak-Locks
please!”
“Right-on, we’re underway as of now!”
Five minutes later, I was on my way with Fury-
2, out of the harbor and onto the completely
berserk waters of the Volkerak. I had a straight
downwind ride to the lock and tried to do full-
speed, of course, being in a bloody hurry as I
was. Bad idea! Because of too much speed, I
almost managed to broach heavily two times.
When one is sailing downwind with a real good
blow, the large waves tend to stick under your
ass for too long, with the result that the rudder
is dangling in relatively still water, having about
the same speed as the boat has. Then the
pressure on the rudder’s flanks gets too low
and varying too much, which makes that one is
steering ones boat in a way that it looks if one
has gulped down a whole bottle of gin in a
record short time. This was not the case of
course, not in the middle of the night and with
50 knots of wind! Luckily, it was also pitch-
black dark and no other ships sailing on this
mad water anymore, so nobody saw it… A little
less throttle did the trick.
In the lock, Theo and Ruud just climbing down
the ladder in the lock wall, the intercom-
speaker clicks. Jan’s voice sounded, “Hey you,
nutty bunch off wild sea-horses! Take care will
you? The Anemometer here is ticking 60 knots
now, you know! It never blows below 55
anymore! As long as you, guys know that, hey!
Be careful out there!”
“Yes, Jan! Sure, Jan! We’ll be good boys, Jan.
Thank you, man!”
And out we went. Out from the lock harbor and
entering the three-mile wide Holland’s-Deep we
quickly got Jan’s drift. The wind was already
slowly veering to the west and went from very
bad to very nasty. The sea state was
deteriorating quickly. Spray was flying over the
whole boat all the time, with large white
explosions of water and foam against the pitch-
black darkened sky; a mighty and splendid
sight to whom who can appreciate it.
Just as we passed underneath the Haringvliet-
Bridge the patrol-vessel ‘RWS-17’ from Dutch
Traffic-Control came after us, out of the
Dordrecht direction. Normally, these patrol
boats go easily twice as much our speed,
overtaking us as if we just dropped an anchor
or two. Not tonight, no Sir! They followed us on
a little distance behind and with no intention
what so ever to overtake us. It just was not any
sort of hurry-up weather anymore!
Meanwhile, we made VHF contact, of course,
with the two minesweepers. About the exact
position, the situation, and how they were
doing and so on. You know: the reassuring
soothing kind of small talk in this kind of
situations.
Well, they were aground just opposite of the
so-called NATO-jetty in the Navy Practice
Area, a mile or so east from Middelharnis. And
they were not doing great either they told us,
having the distinct feeling that both ships were
still dragging higher on the sandbank, ever
further away from the fairway buoys.
That was very much possible, of course. Those
old US-Navy designed minesweepers are 45
Meters long, but they have a height-above-
water and wind-catch that is more appropriate
for a ship twice that length. On top of that,
those are very light-built ships, of wood…! Both
Commanders reported us that sometimes they
could hear loud cracking and squeaking
noises, deep down in both their ships...
The weather was completely off the rocker
now. It screamed and howled all the time,
sounding terrible even inside the safety of our
wheelhouse. This big, fat low-revs Deutz
engine of Fury-2 blasting at full power, stiff up
to the safety pin, of course, banging and
smashing into the steep waves in the Vuile-Gat
fairway between the island of Tiengemeeten
and the Zuid-Holland shore. A mighty feeling
that is! Just mighty!
Almost out of the Vuile-Gat, we got a radar-
echo of the vessels, way of on the bank and
400 to 500 yards apart. A little later, between
the large clouds of spray water and occasional
snowfall, we could see sometimes the many
bright emergency lights, blinking high up in the
masts from both ships.
I thought it a mightily touching and deeply
moving sight. One simply cannot believe ones
eyes at the first sight on such scenery! You
know what I mean, do you! Two clients in one!
Later, Theo and Ruud told me over and over
again for the sworn-truth that they started to
get a little worried about my mental health in
the Vuile-Gat. They still tell everybody willing to
listen that I was all the time jumping up and
down like a kangaroo behind the wheel, yelling
like crazy: “Now we have something! Now we
have something…!”
And so on and so forth. Tsss! A dirty pair of
plain liars, that is what they are, I tell you!
The RWS-17 made it safely to the port of
Middelharnis en vanished rapidly inside, not to
be been seen again until morning light. Mr.
Schouwenaar, the River-Master onboard,
called his office with a rather stout message:
“This surely is the stupidest boat I ever was
sorry about to sail on until now!”
The RWS-17 was one of those modern,
featherweight designs, brand-new and also
quite a bit ‘jumpy’ with this kind of weather.
Just like me, sort of!
We confirmed with the Naarden that we first
would try to re-float her. She went aground
west from her sister ship and seemed a little
more in need of action. I warned her that I
would shoot a line over, downwind over the
foredeck. I was not that keen to come close to
those ships in the circumstances. Afraid as I
was to hit the sand also and then, not
maneuverable, got thrown into her wooden
flank with this heavy boat of us, which would be
not good at all, no Sir! “Crack…! Crack...!”
Normally, we are not that afraid to hit mother
Earth now and again. But now, with this kind of
wind blowing, maneuvering with a direct-
reversible engine like from Fury-2, can take just
a little too much time. You know: switching the
engine from forward to reverse and back; and
every time a necessary new blast of
compressed air to start her again. It all together
takes just a little longer than with your average
reverse gearbox.
The Speedline went over and down nicely and
all-hands over there pulled the towrope over. I
never made that rapidly a tow-connection
before! With 36 sick-worried Navy-occupants
onboard over there, small wonder though!
We started working on this first minesweeper.
We could bring her bow straight into the wind
and were able to swing her over a nice wide
angle from port to starboard and back again;
every time, with the help of the depth sounder,
of course, approaching just the rim of the bank
with the boat.
But re-floating her was still something else. We
stood on a long rope, about 500 Ft. It had to be
that long because of the shallow rim of the
bank. Therefore, flushing sand away with our
prop-wash from underneath her bottom was
not possible on this trip. We only could try to
work her slowly thru the sandbank by heavy
pulling while swinging port, starboard, and so
on.
The weather went still crazier all the time and
seas were building op accordingly. The haul to
port was easy. Then we moved along with the
wind and waves to the east. The haul to
starboard was another piece of cake. Then we
moved, the boat listed dangerously, in a
westerly direction up against wind and waves,
with two Ft. of water on the starboard part of
the deck.
The door to the engine room is also on
starboard, with a doorstep of only one Ft high...
Therefore, I appointed Theo to act as ‘Engine-
Room-Doorman.’ Closing the door timely
before the starboard-haul, open it up again
quickly at beginning the portside-haul.
This was necessary for a very good reason.
With the door closed, engine-revs went down
with eight, caused by just not enough airflow to
feed the engine air-intake. That, we could not
allow! We needed all horsepower we could lay
our hands on this night! The hatches on the
engine-room top all closed down of course
because of all this water flying around in the
air.
So, on deck stood good Theo. Up to his knees
in water every four minutes, attending the door
right on time!
Carry on, boys…!
 Shit! Wet feet again…as usual!

We made very slow progress, about 35 yards

in three hours. Meanwhile, HMS OMMEN was
not happy at all. She did not have any help yet,
and with each extra large wave slowly drifting a
little further on the bank. She started
complaining and whining after a wile: “…If I
could not ask someone else to join in for a bit
more horsepower?”
I thought it was the best thing to do. If they start
yelling around for help again on the VHF, it’s
running out of my hands completely, and that
wouldn’t be no good idea at all!
We had to succeed that night. We had to!
Because of the wind, there was a rather high
storm surge of water present. When the wind
would ease down, the gigantic gates in the
Haringvliet storm barrier would open up rapidly
and the water would go down again. Re-
floating the ships then could prove virtually
impossible.
That’s why I made this historic telephone call
with the Tugboat-Central at Rotterdam and got
connected with Smit-Vos Tug-Services, part of
the large and famous Smit-International
Salvage Company. They rather quickly liked
the idea and we agreed that they would send
two tugs over, the ‘Noordpool’ and the
‘Spitsbergen’. They still had to sail Oude-Maas,
Spui, Korendijkse-Geul, and Beningen before
arriving at our position.
Meanwhile, we proceeded along, of course,
pulling and yanking on this Naarden tub. I’m
still convinced that we could have managed to
pull her off, but it took a whole lot of time and
patience.
At early morning hours, the wind was up to
hurricane force, over 72 knots. Water was
literally flying way over the masts now! The
highest wind speed, measured at Hook of
Holland, - very close to our workplace - tipped
79 knots. Massive lumps of water stepped
onboard at the somewhat lower stern deck
from the Naarden… About our own - rather low
- stern part, I will tell you in a sec…
Finally, the Noordpool and Spitsbergen arrived
and from the Naarden they shot a line over to
them were after in a short time their towropes
were connected. Then, now the three together,
we started to do some serious business. With a
grand-total of 1,700 Hp from the tugs,
minesweeper Naarden gave up soon and
floated again after another half hour. She
stayed on the deep now like a good girl,
standing-by and waiting until we were finished
with her companion Ommen.
In the meantime, the RWS-17 was on scene
again, and breaking daylight was just enough
to make some pictures. Pictures are always
okay, for later…
One moment, Ruud entered the wheelhouse.
We had just started to work on OMMEN with
our tree tugs and I was busy as hell. Working
with three tugboats close together on the same
ship and in hurricane weather conditions, you
need also at least three pairs of eyes in fact.
Ruud said “Listen Geert. I don’t want to be a
spoilsport or nagging on your head or
something. I really won’t! But did you have a
look at our stern lately? It looks to me that we
are slowly sinking there, you know!”
While Ruud takes over steering for a moment, I
stumble down on deck to have a better look at
the stern. Shit! The stern is down, with the deck
in the water, the waves rolling straight over
now. Oh boy! I take a quick look in the stern
room. More Shit! The water is way above the
floorboards already! This damned stern tube
gland again! I race to the engine room to switch
on the bilge pump. Boy! Oh boy! One could
founder quietly, working and working like an
idiot on a very tight towrope!
 Early morning exercise…
On the far right, one of the clients.

Yeah, it was just one of those facts of life. Fury-

2 came finally at the end of her long and heavy
road. Her lovely 13 Tons Deutz engine running
as smooth as ever. All pumps and other
equipment still being in good working order.
But the hull was gone, along with the rudder-
gear and also along with the stern-tube and the
prop-shaft. The outer-bearing from the stern-
tube was so completely worn-out that the shaft,
jumping up en down like a mad frog while
running full revs, destroyed the gland-seals
every time. Well yes, and then working
feverously on a very nice job, one can forget
something sometimes you know. Like a little
pumping now and again…
However, do not despair! On the drawing
boards, the brand-new Fury-3 was growing
already. The Mother of all Salvage-Tugboat’s
was about to be borne! Until she is finished,
just try to stay surfaced with the old faithful, you
moron! Pumping a bit now and again, if it is not
too much to ask of you, you sorry kind of a
meathead!

Those minesweepers meanwhile could barely

use their own engines any more. The whole of
them cooling systems filled with sand from the
bank, and temp-gauges went rapidly into the
red sector as soon as a demand for some
power came up.
The Ommen behaved like a good girl also and
after some struggle, she did float again. We
moored her as the first on the NATO-jetty and
brought the Naarden alongside her. Well, this
was it then! Finished with a very nice job and
succeeded!
We tied-up alongside the minesweepers and
went onboard to have a little chat, and to do
some business, of course. Meanwhile, a squad
of Navy divers showed up, quickly commencing
inspections on both ships bottoms for damage.
It didn’t take long also before the Shore-captain
of Smit-Vos arrived. He had jumped his car at
Rotterdam as soon he heard that the ships
were floating again and started racing like a
maniac from Rotterdam. So, the two of us went
to the Commanders of the sweepers.
But this sneaky little devil of a Shore-captain
was already been there without me, waiving
with two ridiculous ‘Harbor-Towing-Contracts’
to be signed by the Royal Dutch Navy. Those
stupid little contracts were an offence by
themselves to the Dutch Navy, I tell you!
However, the two Commanders had decided
that they preferred to wait for me also being
present… Now, that was one hell of a smart
move to make from those clever boys! Full
marks for you!
I had no real objection against those specific
contracts of course, but I had ordered the two
tugboats on an hourly basis. Simple: so many
hours, two boats, so many horsepower, type
the invoice and be done with it! Now, this
Shore-captain tried to wriggle himself out of
that, thinking he was already longer awake
then me. No way!
Well, after a good and hearty discussion with
him, a few calls with the Smit office, we went
back to the two Commanders. To set the new
course, so to speak.
Those Navy guys couldn’t agree more then
they did with me. They had ordered ME for
assistance, I had asked Smit later, and that
was it! It therefore took me not too much time
to feel the mood and spirit those guys were in,
deciding that I had a fair chance here.
Therefore, a wile later, I said to the
Commanders, “By all means, Sir’s, please do
sign those contracts from Smit.”
Which both of them did! The Shore-captain, at
once with this big, dumb, satisfied grin on his
face? The moment the papers were
undersigned, he grabbed them from the table
and they vanished into his pocket; if it were the
only and very secret maps of the biggest
diamond field of the whole world. The silly
beggar!
Where after…I pulled two brand-new ‘Lloyds
Open Form, No Cure – No Pay’ contracts out
of my pocket and invited the Dutch Navy
Commanders politely to undersign these also...
Immediately, the Shore-captain started
complaining and yelling, waiving with his
pathetic little contracts in the air, whining:
“What’s the use of that now? We already have
these contracts!”
Continuing waiving with those sickening
worthless little papers. I told him, “We will find
that out later. Don’t worry. It will do no harm.”
Again, the Navy boys agreed with me and
signed my papers also. Bingo!
On top of it, they poured us a generous drink
afterward. A stiff drink, I might say…
The minesweeper boys safely moored and we
could sail homeward bound; completely
satisfied, cold to the bone, but warm inside and
very content because of a job well done.
Yes…Is it not?
The wind was still veering slowly. If one looked
long enough, one could think that it very slowly
diminished. It was a mighty and beautiful sight
on the four mile wide Haringvliet. The sun
rising for a short while now and slanted streaks
of bright light beaming thru between the big
black storm clouds, sweeping over the furious
gray-green waters. It was still blowing around
50 knots and the foamy crowns of the breaking
wave-crests, lit by this harsh light were of the
brightest white I have ever seen; and Fury-2
swaying slowly up and down on a downwind
course in the middle of it! Beautiful, it was! Just
beautiful!
Back into the Volkerak-lock, Theo and Ruud
went home, dead tired and soaked - but so
completely satisfied - back to their bunks.
After another rather bumpy ride over the
Volkerak, I moored back home, first told the
complete story of course, and then catching up
with some sleep and rest.
Later in the afternoon, I applied first for an
extended and written report from the KNMI
Weather Institute, and the same about the tide
and surge details from the Department of
Water. A few days later, I received also some
pictures from the rescue action, made by the
RWS-17. This was very nice! Pictures are
always good…for later…

Not too slowly, my business instinct started to

awake on this one, and for starters I made a
phone call with Wout, the director of ‘Van den
Akker’ at Flushing, another work-company from
Smit-International, and by occasion sometimes
my counselor. And a fine one he was! I told him
the whole story and Wout liked it a lot. He
nearly couldn’t stop laughing! Especially the
part about the Sore-captain’s ‘Tow-Contracts’,
he appreciate a lot. Boy, oh boy, we sure had a
good time!
Wout: “Listen up, son! Be advised that I go with
you to the first meeting about this yoke at the
Head-office in Rotterdam. I won’t miss it for the
world, I’m telling you! Better still! You first make
an appointment with the people over there,
then I’ll pick you up at your place and we travel
together. At the same time, I can keep an eye
on you!”
A few days later, I contacted with the Smit
head-office to set a date for a meeting.
This day came, Wout picked me up, and on we
went; meeting with Bram, Joop, and Bill and so
on, gathered in their very luxurious head-office,
and me telling the whole story in detail.
When everybody finally calmed down after
many roaring outbursts of laughter and sheer
joy, the two ‘Tow-contracts’ from the Shore-
captain were ripped to a thousand pieces and
vanished were they belonged in the first place,
into the wastebasket that is!
L. O. F, No cure – No pay contracts,
undersigned by two Royal Dutch Navy
Commanders are somewhat better, you see,
slightly more valuable. They are a special kind
of Royal treasure bonds, one could call them.
Well, we yoked around for a while in this
fashion. Repeatedly, those guys came up with
questions about this or that detail and started
over and over, scribbling away little notes
about it, and so on, etc.
Suddenly, Wout grumbles with his very low
voice to Bram: “Hey you! What kind of a lousy,
greedy host are you anyway? Do you know at
what godforsaken early hour I started to drive
from Flushing this morning to this worn-out
dump here? Do you? No, of course you don’t!
That’s what I mean, see! I would appreciate
some decent grub by now, you know!”
By very noisy acclamation, we decided to move
the meeting over to ‘Mary Dear’, a little
restaurant, a block or so away from the Smit-
office. They served A Captain’s Dinner, with a
few nice steaks each, to beef it up a little, and
of course some very strong spiritual liquids in
between now and again, just for the ambiance.
Overall, it went to a fruitful and lighthearted
day.
Very late that evening we agreed fully on the
headlines of the strategy, sometimes even in
tears, drenched in heavy percentages of
intoxicating fluids.
Oh no, not Wout! Wout was the chauffeur see!
We agreed in brotherly unison that I was and
would remain to be the principal Contractor in
the case. But hey, man! Can’t we agree on a
fifty-fifty basis? Of course, they had brought in
three times more horsepower with their two
tugboats then I did with Fury-2.
I thought it okay already and we agreed to join
forces again. Now ready to go into battle
against the Dutch Navy! Now to collect our
rightfully owned salvage reward...

Stormy, occasional, early morning merger

 AFTER JOY
It took us almost a year before we could collect
our hard-earned money. But well, you know…
the Dutch government…
One day, I was completely fed up again,
waiting and waiting for nothing to happen and I
got this idea: I drive to The Hague tomorrow
morning, and I make a little chat with the
lawyer over there who is handling the case at
the Department of Defense. (I should say of
course, ‘non-handling’ the case!)
Better still, I do not call him in advance to make
an appointment. I just drive off here and drop
myself right on his deck, out off the blue sky!
Yeah sure…!
The next early morning, I jump in my little Fiat
and set course for The Hague. It went smoothly
until I pass Voorburg, a suburb city from The
Hague. I already had traveled many times to
The Hague, of course. To the Department of
Justice that was… I had to go there endlessly
and repeatedly for another salvage job I did for
Her Majesties Government… Boy! Oh Boy! If I
have to start telling you about that one, I will
never finish…
Therefore, I know my way around a little in The
Hague. But now, after a rather long time, my
destination laid somewhere in the narrow and
complicated ants nest of the old city.
Searching, sounding, and navigating along I
was… After Voorburg, I ended up in a
roadblock and had to make a detour. Of
course, I didn’t had updated charts of this part
of the coast on board, and I had not read
anything about it in the Notices for Mariners
either. So I got lost…

At a bus stop, an older lady was waiting for a

city bus. It was a lively and literally sharp kind
of a woman. She was dressed in a gray-blue
raincoat and with a little Navy-blue hat on her
head. Out from that hat were two of those
sharp hatpins sticking up from between some
insignificant camouflage of plastic fruits. It
looked like the antennas of an old and grumpy
Russian espionage trawler. It seemed rather
dangerous to me…
I stopped the car and asked her politely for my
way to the Department of Defense at the
Queen Maria lane. “Oh gosh!” she tweeted.
“What a coincidence that you ask me, Sir! I live
just one street away from there, you see, and I
am on my way home! You know what! I jump in
with you and I’ll show you the way! Then I’m
home again and you’re at the right place the
same time! Isn’t this funny!”
The old lady jumped in, pointing forward with a
sure and steady finger, saying: “just drive on,
Sir. I’ll lead the way!”
Then it started… She cranked up to babble
away about everything: about her neighbors,
about her worthless family in law, about
politics, about the bad weather lately, about
everything. And all of it on the highest possible
revs from her little steam engine, even that…
“…Well, I told her from two stairs up, I
said…you have to turn right here… Oops, that
was close isn’t it…? Well, I said, isn’t that
something, woman…Yes to the left here…Well
done, Sir…You did that very nicely, just nearly
missing that other car…were was I...? Oh yes,
so I said to her, isn’t it outrageous woman? I
said… Oh my…! You had to turn left again
here!”
I turned the wheel as fast as possible to the
portside. Just a little too late… With a loud
BANG, we bumped over the curbstone of a
nice flowerbed between the two lanes of the
broad street we were navigating. I just
managed to miss the tick and heavy tree by a
few inches. Red flowers and green leafs were
flying in the air outside the windows of the
wheelhouse. It looked a bit like green and red
spray, colored by the ships position lanterns,
sailing thru the night in very heavy weather…
With a heavy SMACK, the little Fiat smashed
down from the opposite curbstone into the left
lane.
The electric streetcar, who was just full ahead
approaching the green traffic light – green for
him that is – was instantly switching his motors
back in full reverse with a terrible whining
sound, ringing with his anchor bell like an idiot,
and at the same time blasted a very prolonged
and totally unnecessary attention signal on his
foghorn.
But I couldn’t spend much time on him right
then. I just barely managed to enter the street
from that next and latest course alteration.
Moreover, I just felt this strange tic in my left
eye again…
The little woman on my right was suspiciously
quiet for a while – for the about three seconds
while we were airborne that is – and I had a
quick peek to her, my navigator in harms…
She just started to giggle. “My, my, Sir! What a
wild and naughty driver you are! She was
bareheaded then. Her little hat was hanging
above her, the dangerous pins shot clean thru
the ceiling of the rooftop from my poor little
Fiat. “Oh dear, look at that! What a naughty
rascal of a boy you are! My, my!”
With a firm yank, she plucked her hat out from
the sealing, like ripe fruits plucked from a tree,
and putted it firmly back on her head again, still
very sharp and ready for the next attack… And
she continued rattling, her good old self again:
“At the end of this street you have to turn right
again you know! Yes, I say it just upfront now
hey! Hihihi! We are almost there, you know!
Oh, gosh look, we still made a better time then
the bus could ever have done. You did well you
know! Yes! Stop here! This is your address.
Are you in politics or something? I mean,
coming all the way from the Brabant-County as
you are. Ah, you are a sailor! Ah well, then this
is the right address for you, you know! This is
the Navy, you see! Well, many thanks for the
ride, Sir! Goodbye, Sir! Bye, bye!”
I now also felt these alarming twitches in both
hands again, waiting for the traffic light to turn
green to enter the gigantic parking lot. Having
found a spot, I stepped out and spontaneously
I looked at the rooftop of the car. Mmm, no
holes…
First, I checked in with the Reception, still a
little shaky: “I very much like to speak with Mr.
von Heijden…”
First, I received a visitor’s pass. One of those
modern little labels that you have to clip on the
coat, confirming ‘To-Whom-It-May-Concern’
that one is temporary allowed to be present in
this building of utmost importance. The
Reception lady was meanwhile checking all
those names in a large kind of logbook on her
desk. The Department of Defense is the
working area for, say around 2,500 employees.
Huh well, working area… Let us say, a place to
be during office hours. After all, we live more or
less in peace now. After a wile, she exclaimed
“Oh! I’m so sorry for you! Mr. von Heijden
called in sick this morning. Just a few minutes
before you arrived, you know. His back hurts,
you know.”
“Shit! Shit! Shit! Etcetera…!”
To calm down a bit I found myself back in the
canteen to buy a cup of coffee. Thinking over
the desperate position, I’m in, aground in this
bloody hellhole here. But then I decided that I
still want to know why in the world it takes so
much time again just to pay me a simple
salvage-fee for a job well done. Moreover,
especially after have lived thru such a perilous
journey as I did just a few minutes ago!
So, back to the friendly Reception-lady and I
asked for the Chief from Mr. von Heijden. And
make it snappy, please! After a wile, an Officer
of the Guards appeared. He was at first sight
recognizable by this big bright, shining silver
shield bungling on his fat belly with a silver
chain around his neck. He was the so-called
picket-officer. This is some Guard figure they
still think to need at this kind of places…
He asked me - flashing with arrogant brilliance
like a paradise bird - for the reason of my visit
and I told him so. For a wile, he was gazing
very suspiciously at me. As if, I came rowing
down by lifeboat all the way from my place to
The Hague. Like the famous Captain Bligh
from the Bounty did. Then suddenly, he started
to march in front of me with droning, hollering
steps thru all these long corridors and
stairways until we halted in front of the hundred
and something office door.
I had to wait outside he was telling me. He first
would notify the Chief about my question. So, I
waited another ten minutes on that long and
empty corridor.
The Guard-joker came out again, and flashing
and sparkling he told me: “The Chief thinks that
you do better if you leave the case to your
lawyer since you have already (!?) given the
case to him. Now the case is handed over to a
lawyer, the Chief only wants to, and in fact is
only allowed to, speak with him.”
All devils in hell! Now what? I’m the principle
Contract-Party here and the Chief is a high-
ranked member from my Counterparty! We
shall speak whenever I feel like it! I told the
radiant guard-bird that I had to make a very
urgent phone call! Now! He was convoying me
rapidly to an empty office, but with a still
working telephone.
I grabbed one of the many letters from my
lawyer –Eric - out of my briefcase and stuck it
under his big liquor nose: “You dial this number
in the letterhead here and ask for Maitre Eric.
Now!”
He was studying the letter, as if grave
suspicion had been raised about me being
seriously suspected of counterfeiting
confidential States documents. At last, he
dialed the number, got connected and said
“Good day, Sir. This is the Department of
Defense at The Hague speaking. Here is a
mister Theunisse for you who likes to speak
with you. One moment please”.
He handed over the receiver and retreated to
the open door, waiting with his ears peeled on
what would happen. Eric was online and
laughing his head off. “Hey, Geert, you son of a
gun! You hopeless fruitcake! What’s up?”
“Eric, listen good! This morning, I drove in all
peace and quiet to this damned place to ask
very politely why they refuse to pay me my
well-earned money. Now I’m here, this Chief
from Mr. von Heijden refuses to talk to anyone
else but you! This von Heijden person stayed
home this morning because of some sort of
stupid illness. So, now I’m stuck here!
Therefore, this is what I going to do here and
now for today. I sack you! Understood? You tell
this joker here that you no longer represent me
any more! Got it? Or I start to throw some
randomly people out of windows here!”
The guard-bird retreated at once from the open
door, vanishing tactically into the corridor. Eric
was most inappropriate laughing like crazy on
the phone, but after a wile, he was more or less
able to speak again, “Okay, okay, understood.
Gimme that joker again and I will tell him so.”
I slammed the phone on the table and stormed
to the open door. Damn, almost too late! The
guard-bird had sneaked away almost to the
end of the corridor already. I made a few steps
in his direction and signalled him friendly but
urgent to get his ass back to the phone.
“Please, Sir, come back to the phone. There’s
a message for you!”
It resounded nicely up and down the long
corridor, echoing three times back and forth
and received well. The guard-bird came
shuffling back – trembling and shy like a young
virgin in the very last seconds from her already
shaking and collapsing existence – and he
listened what Eric had to say to him:
“Oh no, Sir! Ah, yes, Sir! I am so sorry for you,
Sir! Yes, Sir, I shall immediately convey this
message to the Chief, Sir. Thank you so much
Sir! Goodbye, Sir.”
He putted the receiver down; very carefully, as
if it was a very valuable and fragile piece of
jewelry and addressed me: “Very good, Sir. I
think that the Chief is willing to speak with you
now. Will you please follow me, Sir?”
We returned to the Chief’s office. The guard-
bird knocked on the door, opening up the same
moment and we were in a secretary-office with
a large desk. Behind the desk sat an obviously
elderly woman, very sophisticated, with
meticulously well-done, beautiful silver-gray
hair. She started slowly and stately to stand up,
but was just only halfway when my guide
steamed full-ahead across the room with full
revs and military paces towards a tinted glass
wall with a door in it, with me on his tail on a
very short towrope indeed. She started to
speak... “But, Sir! I first have to introduce you
again, befo…”
Alas, she was too late. We already entered into
the heart of the Counterparty. Ah! Straight into
the “CENTER OF POWER” at last!
There, behind a desk sat a very small and
unbelievably old man. But his desk was much
bigger and beautiful made by an artist-
carpenter. The desk was made from softly
shining, very dark, almost black wood. A
marvelous piece of furniture it was! The desk
was also completely and spotlessly empty,
except for just one dossier cover, opened in
front of him.
This man was so terribly old that I just couldn’t
believe my eyes! They had left him behind! The
same instant, it flashes thru my brain… They
just had abandoned him from the time that
Napoleon got defeated here and very rapidly
thrown out! And they just forgot to send him
after!
On the wall behind him hung a beautiful
painting from an antique battleship; it is proudly
cruising on a stormy sea with square-rigged,
bulging sails. Enormous tricolor flags standing
proudly in the strong wind, accompanied by
many yards-long Royal-orange banners. The
grim barrels from the two rows of many
cannons are pointing out of the opened gun
ports. The ship was completely ready and very
able for just another glorious and smashing
battle at the seas. This was His last ship…! I
know it for sure! I swear it is!

His ship…!
My front-trooper, standing before the desk, was
respectfully whispering all kinds of information
to the ancient sailor. The last part containing
words about him standing guard and for
protection for himself and about asking for
more troops, and so on. But the little wrinkled
old salt, with an ice-cold glance in his watery
eyes, was waiving him out of the room. My
former front trooper started humbly back sailing
behind enemy lines now, closing the door in
the glass wall without a sound. So: doing
business at last? Hell no! Well, almost
nothing...
The living sea-mummy started a very, very long
monologue. Really, for many minutes he
babbled on with the same monotonous,
teaching, and college-like droning sound. He
was unstoppable going on about the ‘System’
and the strict rules of Navy bureaucracy, which
are the only true and sound foundations of a
strong and healthy Navy-organization.
With a grave and solemn voice, he declared
that they – the Servants from Her Majesties
Navy, appointed from and sworn in by Her
Majesty the Queen herself – were simply
obliged to fulfill absolute correctly all
regulations first in matters of the greatest and
utmost importance as those very serious cases
on hand now, and so on, etc...
He took so much time for his cold-war-
declaration that I calmed down completely.
Worse, even! I nearly fell asleep!
But…but…that was just the standard diversion
tactic from back then and now! Blabbering on
endlessly until the enemy drops totally
exhausted on the floor! That’s it! First, mislead
the enemy as much as possible! Put him
asleep and hypnotize him! Cheat on him until
he starts crying aloud from genuine and great
misery! Then… Attack and destroy the
miserable, pitiful, and begging for mercy,
pathetically complaining bastard, brutally and
unwanted emerged from the scum of nation’s
ignorant inhabitants!
This negotiating tactic is worldwide known as
the famous ‘Dutch Poldermodel’ and so skillful
deployed here in all of its glory by this little sea-
midget! This salty mini-troll from ancient, cold,
and mystic Ultima Thule!

However, when the little sea-cherubim paused

for a while to have a sip of water to top-up his
rusty old boiler, poured in ever so carefully out
from a crystal carafe with a trembling wrinkled
little hand into a very old wineglass on golden
footing placed on a dark-blue velvet placemat,
– just offered to him by the secretary, glancing
at me with great hostility – I suddenly startled
to consciousness again.
Quickly awakening, I grabbed my one and only
chance to interfere in his fatal tactics and
escape from this devious attack. I asked him
politely to see to it that some progress would
be been made now. That he surely must
understand that it is impossible for us to keep
on investing good money in salvage jobs, and
afterwards being forced to wait for our payment
for such long times.
That in that frightening dark and stormy night
when this desperate cry for help came - from
TWO of her Majesties battleships for crying
aloud! - We immediately sailed out to do our
duty, even in those unfriendly, yes, even rather
dangerous circumstances.
End that it would be wise, generous, and
prudent of him to grant me at least some
advance-payment if the ‘system’ should
continue to need so much time to solve those
insignificant little matters at hand.
Ah…! The little old salty beggar started to smile
ever so little, with feeble and faint hiccup-like
sounds, bubbling-up from his crummy and
dented inner standpipe. There was even a
weak twinkling of a tiniest pleasure visible in
his already, for centuries long dimmed and
faded eyes.
“Well, yes…huh…Mister Theunisse, I almost
think that our Minister, Prof. Mr. J. de Ruiter,
could be persuaded by me to make a little
gesture to you under these rather pressing
circumstances. You know, I am afraid that our
denial of any obligation to pay you anything at
all would possibly fall on bad ground in this
case. I understood that our distinguished
commanders did undersign some, huh… well,
some sort of documents after this misfortunes
event took place.
Particularly wrong intending legal schooled
figures could possibly even extract a certain
legal force from these papers, laid upon us to
pay you some amount of money anyway.
Therefore, a modest and sufficient moderated
advance-payment, well…yes, why not, I dare to
say. Well yes, I almost even dare to think that I
could defend something of this nature before
his Excellency the Minister.
What do you think? Would a sum of, let us say
25,000 Florin’s will do the trick to keep you
going? Of course, I first would like to receive a
written consent about this arrangement from
your, huh, well, colleagues, Smit-International, I
mean. If you would be so kind to first explore
this little matter with those people in the
Rotterdam area? Were after, I am of course will
await a written approval from them? And after
that… well naturally, we will transfer this
amount of our national currency to one of the
accounts of your choice. I guess I can promise
you this here and now.”
Right, so far so good! It is something at last. I
thanked the little old salty sea-swindler, but
with great hesitation, I very carefully shook his
outreached tiny hand. It looked so brittle and
vulnerable. As if…if it could come off any
second!
In addition, I did do better to forget quickly the
words he spoke about the undersigned
documents, which made it impossible now
NOT to pay me! Grrmpf! The cheating little
beggar!
Anyhow, with some relief and reasonably cool I
left the premises after having my visitors pass
returned to the friendly and helpful reception-
lady, who saved my day after all.
Since I was already busy that day with climbing
the steep and narrow ladder up to the higher
regions of society anyway, being advanced into
the real “Center Of The Defense Of The
Kingdom” as I was just minutes ago, I decided
to march-on and visit yet another Galaxy of the
real important institutions of the earth: Smit-
International Worldwide Salvage Company at
Rotterdam.
Without further nerve-racking complications, I
managed to sail out free from this tricky The
Hague labyrinth and a little later safely dropped
anchor in the parking lot at the Zalmstraat. The
door attendant took care of my announcement
upstairs and few seconds later, I could report to
Bram and Joop.
I started with just a simple, global, and brief
report about my soundings at The Hague, only
mentioning the headlines about the advance-
payment. Bram promised at once to send a
letter to the Department, confirming that they
had no objections what so ever against this
deal. Good! Some money started to flow in the
right direction at last!
But then, those evil characters started picking
on me again! They began in a most devious
and treasonous way to ask for details. They
went relentlessly on and on and at last, I broke
and I had to give away all details to them. They
both forced me to elaborate about getting lost
in our National Capitol, about my babbling
female Pilot and her dangerous hat, about my
hastily and sloppy gardener job between the
two curbstones, about the guard-bird, about the
ancient sailor, about the old painting, etc.
So, sitting there in that most decadent,
expensive office, telling them most reluctantly
and unwillingly all those insignificant little
things; first Joop started to make those funny
little squeaking, suffocation noises,
immediately followed by Bram with blue-faced
outbursts of mightily roaring sounds. I could
hardly hear myself speaking because of the
racket they made!
The smashing looking, young female secretary
from Bram had already fled from the room by
that time, with both lovely little hands covering
her gorgeous lips. However, few minutes later,
she bravely returned, her very attractive self
completely regained – she thought – now
accompanied by Mister Scheffer, the Big Boss
of this well-known, worldwide Salvage-outfit
that time. Boy! What a mess they started to
make now of this detailed report that they
wrung merciless out of me!

Okay, down to the real business now! The final

meeting about the case was been planned at
the famous ‘White House’ at Rotterdam. There
was seated the also worldwide known and
most distinguished Ships-Experts and loss
adjusters firm: H. S. & N.
Mister van Dorp, a most experienced, really
integer and righteous Member-Expert from this
firm had being appointed by the Dutch Navy to
try to solve our little business in a final and
decisive battle.
Joop and I arrived nice on time also.
A large convoy of Navy-brass was just entering
the meeting room. Really heavy! It looked like a
decisive meeting from the top admirals of the
combined fleets from the Low-Countries to
finally establish once and for all the absolute
hegemony on the world’s seas. In addition, the
States-Lawyer walks in…

… ‘#@ %SHIT&!>!*♫☻?,...
‘THE FUCKING STATES-LAWYER?!’

The States-Lawyer, Mr. Brant Wubs on this

occasion, beat me with just one second when I
stormed in, about 2 Ft behind him. With my
steam-pressure-gauge dangerously far into the
red sector, and large surpluses of adrenaline
escaping from all of my safety valves, swirling
useless around in my scattered wake.
“Mister Theunisse! Hum… Please Sir…! Before
you start to explode again, I am only present
here incase we perhaps, maybe, possibly,
eventually shall NOT reach an agreement
today. In that case, we have to shape up a
course for our next possible movements, and
that is the one and only reason I am here
today. I have no intention to interfere in
anything else. I really won’t do that today!”
And I have to be honest, he didn’t. That he
pulled both my legs in a most scandalous way
a little later in a different case is another matter
of course. It is another book even… It turned
out into a maritime/judicial/political
documentary drama in fact! Going on,
and…going on, and…
We DID succeed in that final gathering! We,
Joop and I, retreated a few times into the
corridor. Well, I didn’t’ exactly demanded for
blood… Although… But for sure, I did demand
for some real nice money anyhow and anyway.
At a certain moment, biddings stuck on a
difference of 15,000 guilders. The Navy-brass,
with serious faces, already busy gathering their
large stacks of papers, filling, and closing their
many briefcases. Mister van Dorp was looking
genuine worried.
The States-Lawyer was looking somber too…
But not for real, no way… He thought “Oho!
There comes a fine bunch of work again!
Money, money, money…!”
In our last corridor conclave, Joop started
yelling. At me…? “Damn you, man! We must
agree now! Now, you hear!”
Me: “No way, not this time! We need the fifteen
big-ones they are still sitting on with their fat
asses, for lost of interests after almost yet
another year of waiting for these jerks!”
I won! We strolled back inside as lenient as a
concrete seawall, sticking stiffly to our
standpoints. Finally, they gave in! All interests
included. State’s lawyer Brant did not need to
come in action. That time anyway…
So, another won race, would you think? Yeah,
well, back at you in a minute… Our many USA
friends have a nice proverb for that: “It ain’t
over until the fat lady sings…!”
We had a cozy and rather wet after meeting,
back at the Smit-office and Bram told me: “Well
Mister Main-Contractor, you know the drill,
don’t you. You make the Invoice, and you see
to it that we receive our money as soon as
possible.”
So what? This is no big deal, is it! I sailed back
home without any trouble and sat down to
properly write an invoice for the total salvage-
fee. The biggest invoice since I started my little
enterprise. A very good feeling, I might say!
The invoice was a brief summary of the
agreement about the principal sum… plus VAT
of course, minus the already received advance-
payment. With at the end this nice sentence:
“Payment of this Invoice shall fully and
completely discharge the Royal Dutch Navy in
this case.”
As soon as finished, the invoice went to the
mail carrier.
A month later, I received a rather sour letter
from the Department of Defense. The Minister
of Defense, by his spokesperson Mr. von
Heijden, was boldly conveying to me that
during the meeting from Sept. 21st, not a word
had been mentioned about any VAT
payment… Moreover, that the agreed amount
for salvage-fee was the maximum amount that
the Navy was been prepared to agree upon.
That therefore the Navy is awaiting an invoice
from me for that amount only. It is the truth, I
swear! Look for yourself!
But…? But…! VAT is a disaster coming from
the outside. It is an act from a non-God. It is
invented by and laid upon us by terrible greedy
and money-hungry third persons, a.k.a. as the
Government, binding for all and with very few
and very rare exceptions. It comes
automatically after and upon any and all
commercial business transactions about
delivering of services and/or goods, completed
by inhabitant business firms and persons in the
country. It therefore does not need to be been
mentioned or calculated during none of the pre-
transaction gatherings or meetings or
negotiations.
One is just obliged to add it afterwards as a
fixed percentage of the principal agreed sum,
after the price of the goods or services has
been established between parties concerned,
then forming the total amount that must be
been paid. The deliverer of the goods and/or
services, appointed by the same terrible greedy
third-party persons, a.k.a. as the Government,
without any right for some remuneration for this
labor, is been obliged by Law to collect these
sums of VAT money, and to immediately hand
over this cash to the Department of the
Treasurer; so I’m told thoroughly and many
times, at the cost of many stiff fines.
But hey! One is of course still a little impressed,
receiving a strict VAT rejecting letter from a
Minister, if I may say so!
I decided to ask around and I called Joop. He
was choosing my side, of course: “Foreign
vessels are free from paying VAT in Holland.
However, we can hardly call the Dutch Navy
foreign, can we? On top of that, the job was
done in Dutch waters and carried out by Dutch
companies. So, ergo?”
To be one hundred percent sure about the
matter, I decided to make a very daring and
perilous move… I contacted the States VAT-
Collector for utterly decisive advice!
The VAT Collector was ready in no time with
my very provocative question: “Of course is the
Dutch Navy obliged to pay VAT! All Dutch
ships on all Dutch waters pay Dutch VAT for all
delivering of goods and/or rendering of any
services from Dutch companies. No matter if
they are aground or not!”
Personally, I liked this last short sentence of
him. It was somewhat prophetic about the
years to come…!
“And Geert, just a little bit of free advice; be
sure to produce an invoice with VAT calculated
and included, because if you don’t, we come to
your place to collect those 18 %, you know!
The Navy should take care of their own shop;
like we must do also!”
Now what? Damn! VAT on this invoice!
Regardless what stupid letters I receive from
the Minister of Defense, or any other nutcase
for that matter! Me paying VAT that I never
received to begin with. No way, not in this life I
will not!
Alas, before this already happily smoldering
conflict is escalating into yet another
thunderous confrontation between the
Bureaucratic morons and me, the already
joyfully growing flames of battle fire smothered
in a next event. In fact, it smothered in two
events!

The first was that the Dutch Navy, after long,

intensive, and bloody meetings on the highest
Departmental levels about this grave and
threatening affair for the existence of the
Kingdom, became finally allowed by the
Treasury to pay NO VAT in this case! Well,
what about that one?
I was allowed to write a Net-Invoice and send
that to the Navy. And of course, I for sure didn’t
have to pay VAT also. Umm, well, okay then…
Since I already did send an invoice with VAT to
the Navy, and received over there, I made the
same invoice but now with the header ‘Credit-
Invoice’. I distracted the VAT amount and typed
at the bottom-line the amount that still had to
be been paid for. I was all set and the invoice
went with the mail carrier again…
The second event was that the notorious ‘Mail-
strike’ broke out that year. For three long
weeks, all mail was carelessly thrown down
into the dungeons of the various departments.
The mailbags piled up in stacks of 10 Ft high.
Like the coffee bales, once stacked onboard
the ships of those famous Dutch multinationals
of the old days: ‘The West- and the East-
Indies-Companies’. Those enormous firms,
who in heroic sea and land battles – but mainly
with large-scale slave and drugs trade –
gathered the necessary start capital to build the
sound foundations of our glorious Royal Dutch
Navy from today.

The gathering of wealth…

And somewhere between those millions of
letters, my mail was waiting idle… From which I
didn’t hear anything, know nothing… I’m
desperately counted the heavy, life-threatening
fits I suffered every long, long waiting day;
reading the newspapers and looking at the TV,
seeing and hearing the blabbering nonsense,
uttered by this dumb strike leader, Jaap van
der Scheur… Damn!
At last, with no end of the strike in sight, I
called the Department of Defense. Luckily the
phone still worked. I got connected with a
paymaster of some sort and I explained the
problem to him. Which was very short: I now
need my damned money! More or less, I could
convince him about the urgency of the
situation, and he finally spoke the words of
great relief! “You better come to The Hague
again, with a copy from the invoice, and we’ll
see what we can do about it.”
Happy as a whistle, I drove my limping Fiat to
The Hague. She was dragging a little to
starboard on the rudder since ‘then’? But
thanks to my pilot ‘then’, I arrived safely at the
ancient green, double doors at number 17,
meeting the helpful paymaster. He studied my
invoice for a very long time. As if, it was a very
early hieroglyph scripture that I had found in
the ruins of ancient Egypt, and secretly
smuggled out from that faraway country… And
he got lost in it…!
“I’m afraid that I cannot decide on this. I
suggest that you go to the Navy-Main-Office at
Scheveningen. I expect that they can deal with
it.”
Oh boy, I thought. Major shit is coming up
again! Nevertheless, once more, I approached
the little pencil pusher as persuasive as
possible: “You know what? Why don’t we go
together? I bring you back here for sure.
Promised on my solemn word of honor!”
At first, he was looking very doubtful and
suspicious about this honor of me, but then he
decided like a man.
“Okay, I will. Otherwise, I’m just sitting behind
my desk in this dusty office all day anyway!”
“That’s the spirit! Good for you, Sir! Let’s go!”
Without any problem, thanks to my new Pilot,
we navigated in a jiffy thru The Hague and to
Scheveningen. He leaded me to a brand-new
very large, all-glass building; an ultramodern
Sea-Nerve-Center, and for sure a blinding
sublimation from our rich and famous Maritime
History.
We were allowed entering, approved by a
retired admiral attending the door, and started
wandering around in mirroring glass corridors,
from one wing into the other, and all of them
exactly alike. So confusing was the
surrounding that my Pilot got completely lost!
His problem was obviously so complex that he
started to be all nervous and sweaty about it.
I cannot comprehend why he was so upset. I
had told him long ago already that I would
never again leave this gigantic glass-inferno
without my money! Grrr!
In yet another corridor, we met human life at
last. A lady-housekeeper was busy wiping the
countless windows. A lifetime job here with the
reassuring prospect of an infinite steady
income!
My companion, desperate by now, asked her,
while she never stopped wiping, about a
certain room with a mysteriously sign on it,
assembled from many symbols and numbers.
“Ah!” She said “No sweat! This corridor, in that
direction, second turn right, first left, second
door to the right. You can’t miss!”
A real insider, that’s what she was…
We entered into the room, now arrived at the
real Paymaster’s office at last. He was still
young and talked like a skilled paymaster.
Moreover, he was friendly and understanding!
Sitting behind his sorry overloaded desk, he
looked just one second into my Invoice - which
I had carried with me all the time, as if being a
top-secret States-document of the greatest
importance - and he said, “That invoice looks
fine by me! Nothing’s wrong with it!”
He fetched a large rubberstamp out of a great
number of rubberstamps, scattered over his
totally cluttered desk, with stacks and piles of
papers and dossier-covers. He plunged the
rubberstamp deep into an ink cushion and
rammed a stamp on my invoice with great
force, as if he was testing the foundations of
the building, now thoroughly for the first time.
He looked friendly up to me and said, “Shall we
say fourteen days? Then you’ll have your
money!”
Deeply moved by such a display of self-
confidence and awareness of ones own
responsibility, I grabbed both his hands and
uttered a thank you.
We left this blindingly, sunlit-catching and
thanks to the cleaning lady sparks-reflecting
building, swaying from emotion and from crying
welders-eyes, and I transported the little pencil
pusher back to his office with many thanks. A
promise is a promise.
I sailed back to my homeport with renewed
hope for the little and insignificant members of
humankind. Ten days later, 11-28-’83 the
payment was found in the mail.

Pause…
Well, I guess it’s about time to proof this
story…!

DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE
Civil-Law office
Queen Maria-lane 17,
Telegram address: Navy The Hague.
Telex nr. 31335.
To Mr. G. Theunisse,
Sasdijk AB, 4671 RP DINTELOORD

Our number Proposal-/order number 1009208/

1004679
The Hague, July 22, 1983
Subject: Salvage Hr. Ms. Naarden / Hr. Ms.
Ommen (2 /443)

With respect to the letter from Mr. E. Fleskens

dd. July 7, 1983, in which is mentioned that
Smit-International, as well as yourself, agree
with a advance-payment of f. 25,000— on you
account number ………, I convey to you that
this before mentioned amount will soon being
transferred to your account.
We consider this amount as a down payment
on the later on to establish salvage
remuneration.
THE MINISTER OF DEFENSE
For him, THE HEAD OF THE
CIVIL LAW OFFICE
Mr. F. A. von Heijden

DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE
Director Personnel, Royal Navy.
Civil-Law office
Post office box 20702, 2500 ES The Hague
Telephone 070-169111
Telegrams address Navy The Hague.
Telex nr. 31335
Our number -1010623/1004679
Subject: Salvage Hr. Ms. Naarden /
Hr. Ms. Ommen (Jzc 2/443).

To Mr. G. Theunisse
Sasdijk AB, 4671 RP DINTELOORD
Proposal-/ order nr. 200/3/400/01220
Datum October 10, 1983
With respect to the meeting of September 21,
1983 at Rotterdam, I convey to you that I am
prepared to pay - under the condition of full and
complete discharge - for the salvage of the
ships Hr. Ms. Naarden en Hr. Ms. Ommen, on
February 1, 1983 at the Haringvliet, carried out
by the tugboats Fury-2, Noordpool and
Spitsbergen; the amount of f. 150,000— (One
hundred and fifty thousand guilders).
Since an amount of f. 25,000- is already paid to
you, a further amount of f. 125,000— will be
been transferred to your account.
I request you to send me proof in writing from
Smit-International that they have given their
approval to you to handle this case in their
name.
THE MINISTER OF DEFENSE, for him,
THE HEAD OF THE CIVIL-LAW OFFICE,
Mr. F. A. von Heijden
DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE
Legal affairs office
Telegram address: Navy - The Hague
To Mr. G. Theunisse
Sasdijk AB, 4671 RP Dinteloord

Our number Proposal-/order

number 1011113/1004679
The Hague, November 11, 1983
Subject: Salvage Hr. Ms. Naarden /
Hr. Ms. Ommen (Jzc 2/443)
With respect to your letter October 11, 1983, I
bring to your attention, if still necessary, that on
September 21, 1983 at Rotterdam parties
agreed fully about the amount to pay by us.
After long deliberations and talks, both parties
agreed with the amount of f. 150,000-
VAT was never been mentioned at this
meeting, neither by you, nor by the Mrs.
Noordzij or Bom from Smit-International.
During this meeting, it was clear on both sides
that the offer of f. 150,000— was the highest
offer to which the Royal Navy was prepared to
go. For this reason, I request you to send me a
letter conform my request in my letter dated
October 10, 1983.
THE MINISTER VAN DEFENSE, for him,
THE HEAD OF THE CIVIL-LAW OFFICE
Mr. F. A. von Heijden

Well, what did I tell you?

THE END…
 Radar-navigation
From: “Salvers-Working on Water”.
Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

To navigate correctly by Radar on the very

busy Dutch waters requires learning and
gaining experience. In addition, the large Dutch
estuary rivers in fall are blessed with a well-
known phenomenon called ‘fog’. And now I
mean the sticky, dense wet soup in which one
cannot find ones own ass with both hands and
a search-light to wipe it clean.
Picture this for example: at six thirty in the
morning, the sky is crystal-clear and ships, big
and small, loaded and unloaded, all in a rush to
make a days pay, start to move about, lifting
anchors, hauling in moorings, ships engines
already happily humming. At seven fifteen,
when everyone is finally on his way, the thick
white curtain goes down in only ten seconds.
Then it starts, the sudden rattling and clanging
of anchor chains again, at places were with
clear view you never would find a skipper crazy
enough to anchor. Not for a million bucks, he
wouldn’t!
On the VHF, those emergency anchoring
maneuvers are immediately followed by those
peculiar kinds of prayers to the strangest
breeds of Gods, with a wide variety of hellfire,
damnation, cursing, and some very
complicated comparisons made by skippers
among each other, about more specific names
of parts of the human body from every gender,
which I shall gracefully omit here.
In about five minutes, the river is now speckled
with radar-echoes big and small, and
everywhere. VHF ship-to-ship traffic-channels
are completely cocked-up with strange noises,
faintly tickling ones oldest DNA particles of
ones memory about those long forgotten secret
and bloody barbaric ceremonies from our
ancestors in the long gone far away dense
woods of the evening land.
And…rests assure: when there is a fog coming
up quickly as this, the tide is falling, always!
Therefore, in short, you must be one hell of
quick learner, navigating by radar on these
waters in fall, when you are suddenly called for
by a desperate mayday, being just a rookie
salvage captain!
A real good lesson I learned from River Master
G. de B., at the time assigned to ‘RWS-Post
Wemeldinge’.
We were searching like howling madmen in the
densest of a fog for a large “Eiltank” motor
tanker with an evenly large tanker barge
attached alongside, which unit had short before
reported herself grounded – at falling tide, of
course – and from then had vanished from the
radio channels. Afterwards, it turned out that
after she hit the ground, the captain had started
telephone frenzy with his owner, reason why
we could not reach him no more.
We, searching and searching along in great
haste, staring ourselves silly in the radar
screen, and didn’t found shit! Until Ger called
on the VHF from twenty miles away, “Hey you,
dude, turn you ‘gain’ knob slowly back until
your screen starts to look real empty!”
Mind you about this Radar, onboard Fury-2 that
time; this was an ancient DECCA set, filled up
with glass radio valves, large and small (large
mostly), glowing mysteriously in the dark with
bluish radiation and always a distinct smell of
ozone around it. It didn’t had ARPA you know,
or VRM distance measuring, or a build-in
compass, let alone GPS tracks, speed, ETA or
whatever! Just a very long but still narrow CRT
in a box, weighing about one Ton, with a thick,
fat sweep wobbling around and some blurred
rings on it, resembling only remotely ones
average mileage and distances. Of course,
DECCA is still around and much more
sophisticated these days.
 The good old Decca

Obeying little boys as we were, I followed his

advice immediately, and first, of course, the
weaker echoes disappeared from the CRT.
Next, the contours from the coast vanished,
followed by the jigsaw puzzle from nearby
sandbanks and rims of reed fields and the like.
Normally, you do just the opposite: adjusting
your gain until you have a nice ‘full’ screen,
with preferably all and every solid object on it,
surrounding you in the soup! That is the best
configuration for not bumping into you fellow
skippers - pissed off as they are already - and
dumb immobile things as buoys, sandbanks,
heavy dikes and so on.
But what was finally left over on the Radar
screen with the low gain? The “Eiltank”!
A nice big rectangle shaped echo from this
large chunk of solid steel measuring 100 by 19
meters, in the middle of (very) high grounds,
just starboard from the entrance of
“Steenbergse Vliet”.
On the ‘normal’ radar screen, this big solid
echo had completely dissolved into the much
larger echoes from the grass-covered high
ground where she was sitting on. Strangely
enough, this little river entrance, trimmed with
nice but rather signal-absorbing reed en tall
grass, gives a far better echo on the screen
then the massive stone-build pier from the
Scheld-Rhine-Canal entrance a few hundred
meters more to the west; the original but sadly
missed destination from the “Eiltank” in the first
place.
Later, RWS deployed a Racon buoy in front of
that massive pier for better recognition.
(It is a pity really, for some of us!)
The German captain of the Eiltank had his
destination into the Canal mixed up with the
nice little river entrance – the one with the well-
defined view on the screen – and banged fair
and square on the floor of mother Earth, and
yelled very disappointed and scared: “Ach
scheiße! Verdammt noch mal! Das hab ich
falsch gemacht!”
In the afternoon at low tide, a flock of sheep
wandered around the gigantic steel intruder on
their turf. Ships and sheep all safely on high
ground… He really had it made, that German
Captain!
Later on, we learned a lot more of this little
radar tricks and took advantage of it.
Now I come to think of it… Ship, a flock of
sheep, high ground… This starts to sound a bit
Biblical, doesn’t it? Noah?

The Eiltank at rising tide again.

 The “MV Don Jaime-II” saga
From: “Salvers-Working on Water”.
Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

March 1994, the Panama flagged coaster ‘Don

Jaime-II’, loaded with 200 Tons of general
cargo, was sailing unnoticed by anyone from
Dordrecht downstream on the Haringvliet and
bound for the North-Sea. It was shitty weather,
blowing around 40 knots with many cold rain
showers.
Suddenly, from another vessel alarm sounded
from our VHF loudspeakers! With clearly
trembling voice and deeply shaken the skipper
called for immediate assistance for his ship,
loaded with sand, and with the holds open to
the weather. This ship was traveling
downstream underneath the Moerdijk-Bridges
and took much water in the holds because of
the heavy waves she suddenly encountered.
Quick as lightning, Coen and I went out with
salvage tug Fury-3. Theo stepped onboard the
moment we made fast in the port chamber of
the Volkerak-Locks. We had just progressed to
above-stream from the town of Willemstad on
the Holland’s-Deep when we could turn the
boat around. The ship near the Moerdijk-Bridge
had sunk. That’s end of story for us. Then it
becomes a job for the heavy sheer-leg cranes
from the big colleagues. Luckily, the crew was
all saved by a nearby colleague’s ship.
Exactly at the moment, that I turned the boat
around, Theo got a telephone call from one of
our many ‘outlook posts’ onshore. “A small
coaster on the harbor dam of Hitzert!”
That was not too bad at all, of course. We were
very close by! Arrived at the scene, we
observed that the coaster was not sitting ON
the dam… It had smashed clean THRU the
dam, with the bow just on the other side!
Meanwhile, it blew stiff from the West and a
strong swell rolled upstream in the ‘Vuile-Gat’
fairway, with the water heavily in turmoil.
(‘Vuile-Gat’ translated means ‘Dirty Hole’. How
appropriate!)
I didn’t fell the need to approach those dams in
the dark and with the waves, so we first
established contact by VHF, and we received
at the same minute the order to pull the ship
out of the dam. I told them that I would shoot a
line over, and if they would be so nice to fetch it
and pull our towrope over. It went on smoothly
and our rope got properly made fast on the
portside stern.
Don Jaime behaved like a good girl and came
out of the dam back into the deep, after being
strongly advised by Fury-3’ 1200 horses to do
so. First, we pulled the ship to the lee shore,
the crew meanwhile inspecting the bow part for
leaks. Noting was found. Built in the North-
Netherlands, a rather long time ago to be
honest, but still quality, Sir!
Meanwhile, the patrol boat RWS-17 from
Traffic-Control arrived also, to find out what we
were poking around there. It was, of course,
clear as a whistle that there was a big hole in
the harbor dam now, and Don Jaime was not
allowed to continue her trip. First damage
inspection; it figures, doesn’t it?
After everything onboard was found in good
working order: no leaks, engine, propeller,
rudder okay, the vessel dropped our towrope
and accompanied by us, she steamed to the
Northern harbor from the Volkerak-Locks
where she moored on the pilings. We moored
alongside her with Fury-3, to have a chat, and
to do some important writing of course…

Then a comedy-play unfolded that I will never

forget. What was on hand? The Don Jaime
was a kind of a ‘last resort, emergency, get-
the-hell-out-of-here vessel’. Something like the
famous ‘Arc of Noah’ from the Old Testament!
Somebody was expecting heavy weather. His
(salvage!) company was slowly going down the
drain, (trouble with the IRS, things like that)
and he had loaded all his valuables and
possessions into the Don Jaime; all set to start
over in another part of the great wide world. A
new round for a new chance, that kind of stuff.
This was the second attempt already. A few
days before, they had tried to sail out from
Hook of Holland. They were sent back in after
their peculiar way of handling a seagoing
vessel had be been observed and found
suspicious by the Outlook. Now their plan to go
over the Haringvliet-River and thru the Lock at
Stellendam had failed also. Shit! Shit, etcetera,
and so on!
There was a Pilot on board, who didn’t know
shit also. He came from our Capital, The
Hague. That’s why… Just yoking!
Another friendly colleague had dropped a new
chart onboard, a few hours earlier, but to no
avail. The harbor dam from the little Hitzert port
was too much for the Don. It was sticking a
little too far out of the shore, so to speak...

The Owner was not onboard during this

unpleasant little trip. He had traveled ahead
with the misses and found lodgings in
Switzerland at the time. His son was onboard,
and with the innocence of youth, not knowing
anything of any relation between his father and
me, presenting himself politely to me…
I heard the family- and homeport names, which
started suddenly but silently all of my alarm
bells and whistles...
Meanwhile, the Chilean captain had become
my great friend. “I just had saved him from
great danger, and he was forever mi amigo!”
And he was the Boss onboard. And he
undersigned ever so grateful my little L.O.F.
Just to be sure…

Completely unknowingly and by pure

coincidence, I had just saved the ship from a
particular and outspoken Non-Friend of me! He
stood in debt with me for many years. No, not
money! Nothing like that, to me that is...
Between us, it was a case of very serious non-
colleague like behavior on his part; I shall call it
very moderately. That long time ago, I was
quarreling with the wrongdoing Authorities
again - it happens - and he had chosen to take
their side in the battle, in public, in a
newspaper. To wriggle and slime himself in a
position in which he expected to get more work
from the same Authorities. It happens also...
And it didn’t bring him any luck, did it?
Was this a lucky coincidence or what? I
laughed myself silly for a whole week long,
getting painful jaws and all!
But then… Together it was a stinky little matter,
of course. I didn’t trust it one bit and the next
day, the Bailiff came on my request, and I
officially impounded the ship and everything on
it. Just to be on the safe side. With the blessing
from mi amigo the captain, I shifted the ship to
my homeport. From there, you can’t go
anywhere without being noticed, locked-in
between three Locks, so to speak.
A few careful phone calls from contact-persons
came in the next couple of days. To hear how
things were, from which direction the wind was
blowing and so on.
Well, I told them so. I had just finished my
salvage rapport and already mailed it to my
counselor, Attorney in Maritime Law, ‘Mister
Peter’.
Spontaneously, I had developed a plan to ask
for generous salvage remuneration for a job
well done. Noting strange to it, I would say.
Therefore, that’s what I told the contact-
persons. That from now a salvage claim was
resting on the Don Jaime.
Okay, the Owner took it manly. He understood
fully and completely that he had lost my special
sympathy a long time ago; and a lot of traveling
and money collecting followed, carried out by
the Owner, of course, which took him a few
days. No sweat. The Owner asked, and was
granted by me another seven days, after which
his ship and cargo would go immediately into a
public auction. This great Utopia was solemnly
promised to me by Mister Peter.

During those hectic days, the ship was still in

port and the captain came sometimes over to
my place for a little chat, and we started to get
to know each other. In one of our gatherings,
he complained about the fact that he had not
received his salary for two years on a row now;
just receiving some money now and then to
buy food.
He was a member of the Sailors-Union, with, of
course, also an office in the port of Rotterdam.
I suggested him in a casual manner that they
maybe could do something for him in this little
matter, now his ship was tied-up in port here…

Right on time after seven days, the Owner

showed up en paid in cash my salvage invoice.
We had a little drink together and at the same
time made telephone contact with Mister Peter.
Peter himself told the Owner in person that the
custody on his ship was lifted as of now, and
that she was free to go. If only he had just done
that…but he did not need to hurry, he thought,
safe here in port… (Refr: ☺ “Hohoho…!”)
Until the next evening… when the Bailiff
showed-up again, now with a new charge on
the ship, for the damage inflicted to the harbor
dam. Stay put! Don’t move! Pay first!

The next Sunday, the Owner, completely

steamed up about his imprisonment, decided to
take rather drastic measures in order to end
this shameful blockade.
Now, he sailed out from our port with “MV
Lydia”, rather clumsily and hastily painted over
the former ships name, paint occasionally still
dripping into the water… He turned the bow
firmly and decidedly towards the West, to the
Krammer-Locks.
Well, now, one must be someone of very
special caliber and/or of significant importance
to pass these Locks without the full cooperation
and consent from the people who push the
buttons over there.
There was already a Police-boat waiting, and
after a few hours, the Lydia came back to our
port. Now also with a stiff fine for “…the willfully
attempt to illegal withdraw goods from a lawful
impoundment.”
That is why the Owner, grinding his teeth in
futile anger, paid also for the damage caused
with his ship to the harbor dam.
If only he had left port now… But no, he still
had time to spend… (Refr.) ☺Hohoho...!
The next day, the Bailiff came again. Now with
a steep claim about the long overdue salary
payment to his captain, who, by the way, was
sacked a few days before.
The Owner, very close to a whole series of life
threatening fits, foam flakes swirling from his
mouth, taken cheerfully away with the gently
southwesterly breeze, paid the salary claim
also; and believe it or not…He himself went
finally to sea with the good ship Lydia!

Mister Peter, Lawyer at Maritime Law, wrote to

me:
Dear Sir, I read in the newspaper the article
about “Lydia, ex Don Jaime II, ex Rebel”.
Although a swift and prompt solution of the
salvage claims in which I was involved is, of
course, a good reason for some satisfaction; it
still troubles me somewhat that we not had
reached the glorious situation in which we
could have auctioned the ship, cargo, inventory
and bunkers. It would have been the first time
in history, based on a new article of the Law of
Transport, Book #8 Civilian Law. I had the
skilful people from Sotheby’s ready and waiting
and I had planned an interesting part-time job
for you as an assistant Auction Master.
I for myself was ready and willingly, together
with your beloved misses and son Theunisse
Jr, the three of us dressed in colorful sailor’s
outfits, and with the full deployment of both
your wife’s’ Organs, to give the whole
happening an appropriate and musically
surrounding. I think that in that case, not just a
half page but all pages of the newspaper would
have been being dedicated to us!
With friendly greetings, yours truly, Peter
 Gasoline tankers and things…
From: “Salvers-Working on Water”.
Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

July 1978 was it on a quiet, hot summer night

and in a dead calm and oppressive overcast
atmosphere when the Belgian motor tanker
‘Mare’, ex ‘Gulf-Belgium’, loaded with 900 Tons
of gasoline sailed in Dutch waters on the
smooth but swiftly moving surface of the
Krammer-River and with destination Antwerp.
Around 11.00 pm, due to a navigational error,
the ship went aground and instantly, this until
now silent and peaceful voyage went into a
very dangerous and nightmarish situation…
Because except for the hot and balmy weather,
the tide was just after high water and falling…
still to go down for yet another 8 Ft in the next
coming 4 hours…
The Skipper, very scared and nervous, tried at
once - at first reasonably calm but soon in
desperate fear - by using his engine full power
on forward and reverse alternatively, to free his
vessel from the sandbank. He also kept trying
for quite some time but when he finally gave
up, he still had not succeeded…
Therefore, when he finally alarmed the traffic-
authorities and we received the red-alert
message it was already far too late for us to
have a decent chance whatsoever for re-
floating the ship at the same – falling - tide.
Nevertheless, the ships-crew was still very glad
to see us arriving at the scene. Because the
three of them felt lonesome on their grounded
vessel, and were very worried also about what
could happen in this situation and with this
particular cargo, from which they all knew the
great risks so well…
We made fast with Fury-2 on starboard
alongside Mare, on the far end aft, and with
only two very thin ropes. Because the
insignificant little puffs of wind that one
sometimes could feel came from the East, so
on that spot we were at least in theory above-
wind from the cargo vapors. If disaster would
happen and we had to haul ass very rapidly - if
there would be any chance left for us to do so
in the first place - the only thing I had to do in
that case was cranking my engine in reverse,
and the flimsily moorings would for sure both
snap instantly…
All other ship movements were been halted by
Traffic-Control and banned for miles around;
leaving our surrounding completely deserted,
pitch-black dark, and in deafening silence.
Meanwhile, the only thing we could do was
waiting how the ship would hold-on until the
tide had reached her lowest level and turned
rising again. In such a risky falling-tide
situation, and on such short notice finding
another tanker for transshipping the cargo is
virtually impossible and even not worth
considering. Their respective captains, politely
invited for such an enterprise, would all say
very realistically, “Thank you, but no thanks…,”
meanwhile probably thinking, “What kind of a
nutcase he is!?”
The crew from Mare came over to us after they
had switched off and shut down all electrical
and other systems onboard of their ship, and
we gathered the five of us in our tiny
wheelhouse, waiting on things to happen…
On regular intervals, we checked the situation
on deck of the ship…walking with care, with no
shoes on and with empty pockets. No metal
objects, matches or such other now dangerous
stuff were wise to carry around or moved, or
even thought about touching them for that
matter…
The Mare was a very old ship and she was
completely riveted together, and I still believe,
being strongly convinced even, that this fact
was our savior then, considering afterwards
what was about to happen...

Because the Mare sat on a particular bad spot

of this sandbank...! All of her 12 tanks from the
cargo-sector were in a straight angle spread
over and across the long stretched and steep
upward curved sandbank, with the fore and aft
part on deep water… A very unfortunate and
unhealthy position indeed…
By the time the water started to fell rapidly;
which goes as you probably know along a
sinus-shaped, thus non-linear time-frame,
starting slowly and increasing to maximum
around half tide – which on this particular spot
could go up to a rate of 3 to 4 Ft an hour - and
then slowly decreasing again until the low-tide
level is reached; the poor Mare started to
bend…
Slowly but irresistibly, she bended further and
more, like an angry alley cat, slowly taking over
the shape of the sandy bottom on which she
got captured. In such a situation, it seems that
every single minute stretches itself out into a
full hour…!
Every few minutes, one could see the ship
changing a little, taking on a more pronounced
arched shape, making tiny, muffled, very
mysterious, and alarming little ticking sounds
here and there... Then other, things started to
happen, very sorrowful and scaring things, the
water going down and down forever, it
seemed…

With our (gas-safe) searchlight, we

continuously kept the ship surveyed and at one
moment, there was something going on in the
ships starboard side, directly in our sight,
moored on that side as we were. But the same
thing happened at the same instant on portside
also, of course, on her dark side, invisible for
us…
Tiny spots of a darker, a kind of wet looking,
black color appeared in the old, weathered to
grey colors, tar covering the hull plating on
starboard and portside; the dark spots growing
bigger by the minute, and in numerous and
ever-increasing numbers.
The ship started literally to sweat in her agony
about this outrageous abuse... The ship started
to sweat gasoline…!

Like a beached whale threatens to suffocate

under her own weight as soon as the massive
and heavy body is no longer being supported
by water, exactly the same great threat
endangers a loaded ship that runs aground at
falling tide.
The natural lifting power of water - normally
surrounding the submersed part of the vessel
and spreading out her wonderful supporting
force equally on every square Feet of the hull -
starts decreasing along with the falling tide.
Leaving the total weight of the ship plus cargo
no other way, according the Laws of Gravity,
then gradually finding vertical support for this
full weight on whatever there exists beneath
the ships bottom…encountering no matter what
shape, sort or form...
Clouds of highly inflammable gasoline vapors
were growing larger and thicker by the second,
and because of the lack of any amount of
sufficient wind, surrounding and covering the
ship with a deadly dangerous blanket… A dead
robe of an invisible but very explosive mixture
of gasoline vapors and oxygen descended over
the ship!

Nevertheless, she struggled back! That is what

she did! By giving in little by little... was her
only possible way and known method to
survive the terrible forces caused by the 900
Tons of her dangerous cargo and the
approximately 300 Tons of her own weight;
which joined together now in evil conspiracy,
trying to break the back of her old body.
She did fight back by the single possible way
she could… Every part of her body; from the
large sheets of steel hull plating, to the
bulkheads, to the heavy angle-steel struts and
beams, held together by - and communicating
with - the numerous tiny rivets, worked
together!
They all gave in a little, trying as much as they
could, everyone for his own part, a little
bending here, a little shifting there, pulling and
pressing and stretching, to divide and spread
the tremendous, destroying forces that held her
body under siege.
Because of this enormous stress building up in
the ships hull, the thousands of rivets started to
reposition themselves, each one a very tiny
little bit in their respective holes in the steel
plating, the struts, and the beams. The rivets
stretched to the very maximum of the strength,
given to them by the physics of the steel from
which they were been forged from, a long, long
time ago. They simply had to hold on, keeping
the other parts of the ships body together! But
by doing so, they were bleeding pure gasoline!
While this terrible and almost dead-silent
struggle continued, again some minutes later a
kind of little cracking sounds nearby and further
away could been heard, spread out along the
length of the cargo sector towards the forward.
We went very cautiously out on deck on the
outermost windward side, for whatever wind
there was.
In the central longitudinal deck-part, where all
the pump-lines, tank-vents and valves are
grouped together there’s also a 3” steel mantle-
tube containing and protecting all the electric
wiring from the ships electrical systems,
running from the engine room and wheelhouse
at the stern to the forward part of the vessel.
On regular intervals in this line, connecting-
boxes were situated for feeding the various
deck-lights, cargo-level-gauges, alarm-
switches and so on, everything properly sealed
and gas-proof of course, normally…
But this was a far from anything but normal
situation now… Now…on both ends of each
and every connection-box, the 3” steel tube
was moving out of the box-inlets - by an inch or
so already - because of the ever increasing
upward bending of the deck, lengthening the
distances between the boxes. Now…we could
clearly see the various wires and cables,
already stretched out to the max inside the still
widening gaps… Boy, oh boy, major shit was
about to hit the fan for sure, we thought!

Suddenly, we had just returned into Fury-2’s

wheelhouse, a loud metallic BANG sounded,
scaring us almost to dead…, and then
immediately followed by another, even louder
one…! We… were waiting another couple of
long, long minutes for final disaster to take
place any split-second now. We were all
staring much tensed out of the wheelhouse
windows. Staring to that gigantic time bomb
about to go off now any instant, peering into
the dark, only dimly and because of the harsh
shadowing, spooky lit; me, with my hand
hovering very close above the engine-controls
already, the air-starter lever sharply adjusted,
just one quarter of an inch away from the start
position… literally the point of no return, that
is…
However, nothing of the worst seemed to
happen, so after waiting another couple of
minutes, we went on deck again to investigate.
Now we found out that two heavy 8” cast-iron
valves, connecting both parts fore and aft of
the main cargo-pump line at amidships, were
both broken in two pieces. Gasoline was still
dripping out, and gathering in the large and
spreading puddles on the deck. The stench of
gasoline fumes on deck and everywhere was
almost suffocating.
The ship was arched upwards now for more
then 2 Ft, but luckily spread out equally over
the whole length of the cargo sector.
Both bow and stern part were clearly deeper
down in the water now. In fact, the water had
reached and flooded the outermost last part of
the stern-deck, pulled down as it was by the
heavy engine and other machinery, plus the
only just the day before topped-up fuel and
fresh-water tanks, plus the whole weight of the
living-quarters…

Anyway, after this ‘longest night’ - the kind of

night in which one is actually aging a little
faster and more then the duration of nighttime
itself - around 04.00 hours the tide was at the
lowest level at last. Moreover, good old Mare
was still in one piece! She was not losing more
cargo then the rather little amounts that
escaped from her still sweating rivets,
evaporating instantaneously, and continuously
into the open air.

As the tide slowly started rising again, the

chilling suspense among the crew from Mare -
and us (!) - eased slowly away in the same
pace as the tension and stress on the badly
beaten ships hull was decreasing slowly. Of
course, it wasn’t really safe already, not yet for
a few more exhilarating hours and events to
happen…
At a certain moment, short before the break of
dawn, the captain’s wife sneaked silently and
quietly out of the wheelhouse of Fury-2,
stepped over on Mare, and disappeared into
the trustful and familiar surroundings of her
own living-quarters.
A few minutes later, I spotted her in the dark
wheelhouse on the Mare, with the doors and
windows wide open because of the warm
weather. She just lighted a candlestick in front
of a statue from the Virgin Mary, the keeper of
all sailors…; being ever so grateful, and
thanking Her for Her protection and safe-
keeping in those past hours of great danger
and despair…!
I stumbled out of my wheelhouse in her
direction, my bare feet ever so slightly touching
the deck or whatever in the greatest of possible
haste, moving so swiftly as if in an almost
supernatural elevated fashion…
”Pfff…Pfff… Please, Madam. Please, just wait
a little while longer with that, if you please!
Thank you so much!”
Despite of my so clearly showed - but so well
meant - terrible lack of honor and very little
respect for the Virgin Mary, everything worked
out well for the Mare after all…

One hour before high water, we made our

towrope of Fury-2 fast on Mare to keep her
steady in de swift stream, only to prevent her
from shifting her position with the current into a
deep but inaccessible part of water behind the
sandbank; and on the very top of high water
she was floating again!
Back on the deep again, the ships load-marks,
three on each side, were neatly back in one
perfectly straight line with the water surface.

This beautiful element of Nature! H-2o! Water!

With among her many other qualities her great
lifting power, so vitally needed by ships…and
humanity!
With great lifesaving elasticity and gently
carried by the water again, the ships hull had
reformed herself again in her good old, trusted
and familiar shape. The shape and form in
which she was been built, a rather long time
ago...
A younger, modern, all welded together - and
therefore much more rigid - tanker would
almost certainly have been broken in this
situation. On top of that, such a disaster takes
only place after a gradually build-up of
tremendous stress on the hull construction,
rising slowly to a fatal height…; then very
suddenly releasing all this build-up stress in
one big, violent, steel tearing, breaking and
bending outburst of power. Large parts of
heavy steel banging and rubbing into and
against each other, with great forces of
pressure and velocity… Creating easily as
many hotspots and sparks … Changing the
vessel instantly into one great, bright ball of
hellfire in such a case …and very probably us
too in the process…

We towed the Mare into a small harbor basin

nearby were after another tanker took over her
cargo, and after she was empty and de-
gassed, she could set course to a shipyard for
making repairs.
Nothing of her electric systems on the forward
was still working, because of the many
stretched out and broken connections in the
various power, control, and data lines.
And anyway, two cast-iron 8-inch valves
broken in half on a gasoline tanker aren’t a
welcome sight either… You better replace
them too, being busy with repairs as you are
already…
And for us…? Next job, please… However, this
time one on large, joyful waves and with lots of
fine refreshing winds, and some beautiful
heavy rain maybe, if possible, yes? Because,
we sometimes just love these wonderful forces
of Nature!

The End
 PITFALL
From: “Salvers-Working on Water”.
Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

November 1977, the big bunker-barge ESSO-

6 sailed downstream on the Krammer-River,
exactly at the spot where nowadays the
Krammer-locks are situated after the
completion of the well-known Dutch ‘Delta-
works’.
Her cargo was nearly 3000 tons of heavy
bunker-fuel from Rotterdam with destination
the Sloe-area at the Western Scheld estuary.
It was in the dead of night, high water, and a
howling storm was blowing with near-hurricane
force winds from the West, sometimes tipping
12 Bf. A storm surge of close to three meters
above the top of high water was been reached
and ebb tide had just set in.
Our modern, electrical, solar-powered green
navigation buoys from nowadays where still
gas-operated, white-lighted, black painted
buoys that time.
There was really a lot of water everywhere,
heavy rain and snow, large waves, and the
ESSO-6 pounding straight into it with her
enormous, blunt bow, continually sending large
explosions of spray water into the sky,
sweeping over the deck to the aft. Navigation
by eyesight was therefore virtually non-
existent.
Nevertheless, the Mate had still one white light
from a ‘gas buoy’ in sight and steered towards
it, of course keeping the light neatly over the
port bow.
But alas! It just wasn’t a white-lighted gas buoy.
It was the shore beacon called ‘Stoofpolder’,
several miles downstream, and opposite of the
fishing village Bruinisse. He had not noticed the
difference of ‘character’ between any buoy light
and that particular beacon light.
With all the powerful might of her big ABC
engine, the ESSO-6 smacked aground on the
sandbank between the deepwater-route
‘Krammer’ and the also deep, but leading
nowhere gully ‘Slaak’.
Red alert was given immediately.
I was in some sort of a time-charter with the
salvage firm Muller-Terneuzen that time, and in
great haste, Dries B. (†) the rather famous
salvage-inspector from that firm came rushing
over by car to my station and jumped onboard
Fury-2; we where all-set already, of course,
and out we went.
The second I steered Fury-2 out of the
protecting harbor pier heads, we went under-
water, and I mean really down-under. Green
water climbing violently all the way up against
the wheelhouse windows, and the roaring
sound of it was terrifying.
Dries, not exactly a rookie anymore for a long
time, growled: “Hey! What’s up? Are we going
to drown here, or what?”
Well, we did not, and we rolled and twisted to
the ESSO-6, meanwhile downstream the full
running ebb tide, with the still howling storm
against the current, making the ride on the
large and steep waves very bumpy.
Arrived at the position, the tanker was of
course high and solid aground, leaving us idle
until the sandbank was drying and Dries could
walk over; the storm pounding on relentlessly
meanwhile, leaving any other option useless
anyway.
Around noon, the ESSO-6 stood high and dry
on the sandbank and the surface of it became
passable by foot. From a distance, it looked as
if the ship stood reasonably flat and sturdy on
her sandy surrounding…
My Mate rowed Dries over to the rim of the
bank and he started walking to the ship, five
hundred meters away.
Meanwhile, the telephones from Muller and the
Belgium ESSO-office where very nervously,
very occupied: at Muller’s to try to get the
salvage-job, and at ESSO’s still trying to keep
them away from it!
The ESSO office kept in between also close
contact with the Captain of the ship about the
situation, of course. By the looks of it, the
captain told them, it wasn’t that bad at all, the
ship was holding on, or should I say…was
hanging in, and everything looked okay, still.
Thus, for the time being, the ESSO office
preferred to believe their own Captain, keeping
the Muller office at a safe distance in the
process, “No salvage!”
Meanwhile, Dries had walked over to the
amidships starboard side. A long ladder
lowered down and Dries climbed onboard. He
stepped on the deck, shaking hands with the
Captain, and all that.
At exactly the same second, the ESSO-6 broke
her back!
The whole stern-part plus tanks 6-port and 6-
starboard, slowly and stately bended down, as
in a slow movie replay. Following this drama
thru my binoculars, at once I saw black streaks
of bunker-fuel appearing on the ships starboard
flank.
Dries called me over his hand-held and
ordered me immediately to contact the Muller
office on the VHF office-channel to report what
happened, where after Muller got lightning fast
in touch again with the ESSO office:
“The ESSO-6 is just broken!”
The ESSO office:
“That ain’t true at all! We’ve just spoken again
with the Captain a minute ago, and everything
is just fine, he told us! You’re pulling my leg,
you rascal!”
That is how fast things can change. The stress
on the ships hull had been build-up
tremendously, of course. Just as if the weight
from Dries stepping onboard gave her the final
blow!
Overall, it went to a fine but messy job:
transshipping the cargo, a lot of spills to clean-
up, etc. After most of her cargo had been
pumped out, we towed her into a small harbor
basin nearby at the Grevelingendam. There,
she emptied completely and things were
wrapped-up.

Later on, the case came before a Lloyds

London Committee for the salvage
remuneration, and a particular detail turned out
a bit embarrassing for the Captain. That the
ship stood flat on the bank as nicely as the
Captain had told everyone, I mean.
He told the Court over and over again also that
he had not used his engine ‘full-astern’, the
moment after he ran aground. This was a bit
difficult, for him, but for the committee also;
because pictures (from Muller) showed that
straight under and just in front of the propeller,
there was a big, wide, deep abyss in the sand;
a pit big enough to drop a house in. The pit
stayed full of water, of course, not that good
visible from above on the deck.
Let us be a bit honest here. Everyone goes
‘full-astern’ the moment after he hits the floor
under those circumstances. A perfectly natural
reaction, I guess.

The End
 Giving ‘assistance’
From: “Salvers-Working on Water”.
Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

It was on a hot Sunday in July and pleasantly

busy with pleasure craft on the large rivers
Hollandsdiep, Haringvliet, and surrounding
waters. Later in the afternoon dark banks of
clouds towered high up on the horizon into the
blue sky and several hammerhead clouds
rapidly formed, reaching many kilometers high.
Something was brewing there…
For us, those conditions lead automatically to
the stage of Yellow-Alert, and that’s how it
should be, of course. A big thunderstorm burst
out with heavy rainfall and a lot of wind for a
few minutes.
Yes! Quickly to the Hollandsdiep with salvage
Fury-2! A small sailing yacht in trouble, close to
the town of Numansdorp.
The Police patrol boat RP-9 was already in the
vicinity and rescued the crew from the
completely flooded yacht and they were safely
taken onboard of the Police-boat. A young
man, and a girl, about twenty and very nice to
look at. The girl, I mean…
The RP-9 called me on the VHF: “Geert, take a
look at that boat, will you. The Owner here
asks to see if you can bring it up again?”
The small sailing boat was barely floating and
drifted almost submersed slowly to the
windward shore. Okay, at work then, and an
hour later it looked more or less like a boat
again. I was busy with picking up some floating
stuff that had washed out when a big yell
sounded from the RP-9: “Geert come quick and
take those two people over from us, because
we have to go like hell to the Moerdijk-Bridge!”
“Okay, I’m underway!”
With Fury-2 alongside RP-9, the two occupants
stepped over on my boat. Well, stepping over?
They were almost carried like airmail, on the
numerous hands from those guys from the RP-
9, so much help was available. For the girl, that
is… This really, very nice girl acted a bit
clumsily, managing everything with just one
hand?

RP-9

Of course, they were soaking wet picked up out

of the river by the RP-9, and those guys were
helpful as hell, of course, to give them some
dry clothing. They gave them both clean
overalls. After all, a Police boat is not exactly a
Beauty & Fashion parlor.
But from the overall for that really beautiful girl,
they had unbelievable quickly ripped off all
buttons before they presented her that sorry
piece of emergency clothing.
So, along walked that gorgeous child, well
uh…child, smiling ever so shy and beautifully,
holding her overall somewhat together with one
hand, being ever so grateful to her rescuers...
One sometimes should beat the shit out off
them! Shouldn’t one?
Ah well, okay, a little laughter now and again
won’t hurt either, right?
But beware! The Higher Powers punishes
evildoers immediately!

The RP-9 roared towards the Moerdijk-bridge,

and I transported the two people and their boat
to Willemstad were the Harbormaster took
further care of them. I left the port again in the
direction of the Volkerak-locks, bound for
home. Just before I entered the lock, another
Mayday cried out from the VHF loudspeaker!
Yet another sailing yacht grounded, now at the
Haringvliet, close to the town of Hellevoetsluis.
I swung the boat around, almost between the
lock-doors; pushed my Deutz immediately to
full power again, yelling to the suspiciously
frowning Lockmaster: “Be back later!”
Arrived at the scene, quickly at work to re-float
the yacht, that had beached in the same big
thunderstorm that came over a couple of hours
ago. It was still blowing with a fresh breeze
anyway.
Being busy with the job, suddenly I saw the
RP-9 again, approaching full-speed from the
East. I thought, “Well, are they busy-buddies
today, or what?” But they passed by without
even taking back the throttle a little, one of the
guys yelling something from the wheelhouse-
door with “…Stellendam…!” I couldn’t
understand the rest of it, carried on with the job
and after another hour or so, the yacht was
floating alongside Fury-2, and after we had the
paperwork finished, she could sail back to her
homeport Hellevoetsluis again. The weather
had improved a little and Sunday was almost
over, which is why I sailed satisfied back home.
The next day, Revelation was on hand…!
Sunday had turned out to be Judgments Day
for the RP-9!
Very close to the Moerdijk-bridge that day, a
small motor yacht had gone into trouble with a
stalled engine. It drifted slowly and helplessly
straight to those big, solid bridge foundation
pilings…
The RP-9 was just on time at the scene and
managed to come alongside. But because they
were already terribly close to one of these big,
solid, blue-stone pilings, they hit unnoticed with
the starboard chine of RP-9 the underwater rim
from the base of the piling. This rim is made of
very heavy, steel slotted-planks, driven many
meters in the river bottom. Ouch! The water
tide was rather low at the time also.
Therefore, it did not take too long before their
bilge-alarm started whining, with a sad and
rather panicking kind of sound…
Engine hatch open, look…water! “Shit! Bilge-
pump on!”
They made it to just pump a little faster then
the inflow of water. It was just a small rip in the
chine plate. They moved with appropriate
speed the lame motor-yacht into the port of
Moerdijk, making an urgent telephone call to
the shipyard in the same move and ordered an
emergency haul-out. And that is why they
passed by me at the Haringvliet Slijkplaat area
with such an improper speed, without making a
courtesy visit. See! Be always polite to your
customers!

The end
 Assistance too
From: “Salvers-Working on Water”.
Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

Speaking about assistance. With our smallest

boat, I made the shortest and also most thrilling
rescue in my life. That boat was a plastic
Pioneer rowboat from nearly 8 ft!
On a morning, I was sound asleep at home
after an all nights work with the small tug Fury.
I was dreaming and I heard screaming for
help… and it kept on going and going.
Finally, I woke up…and the screaming was still
there! I looked dizzy as a hibernating bear
outside the bedroom window, and right in front
of my nose floated a small motor-cruiser
completely engulfed in blazing flames, with two
– thus screaming - men onboard, standing
together as one miserable heap of despair on
the outermost front part of the tiny foredeck!
Damn…!
I stumbled sleep-drunk out of the bedroom into
the living room, bumping into every piece of
furniture from our insignificant possessions,
stuff flying hopelessly scattered thru the room,
stormed meanwhile limping out of the
backdoor, jumped into the little rowboat of my
son, and started rowing towards the blazing
and black smoking motor-cruiser.
They were just floating out between the pier
heads from our harbor when I reached them.
Those two men terribly shaking - one of them
with a completely burned face, all his hair,
molted into a flat and shiny pancake on his
head – also stumbled into my little Pioneer,
very rapidly, I might say. They both could not
swim, which could of course be a reason why
they had stayed onboard of that barbecue!
They had planned a nice day of fishing and had
just topped-up with gasoline at the bunker
station... (Be always very, very careful with
gasoline - and gasoline vapors - onboard!)
Three people are in fact too many for such a
small boat. We had just 2 inches freeboard left!
Exactly that moment the Manders-sluice
opened up to release water out of the River
Dintel. A lot of water! This caused at once a
rather swift current between the pier heads.
So, there I sat down… stark naked with just my
knickers on. Rowing like a drunken beetle with
those pathetic little, speedy crawling oars up
against the current, trying desperately to creep
back into port again, and with indeed very little
free board left! Well, we just advanced to the
inside from the West-pier and the blazing
motor-cruiser had just nearly floated to the
outside of the same pier…when it exploded!
Kabooom! Boy! We first went to the wife, the
three of us together, for a strong cup of
morning coffee…

The end
 Just in time…
From: “Salvers-Working on Water”.
Copyright © 2004 Geert Theunisse

Ship on top…!

July 1977, the motor-barge “Hensie,” with a full

load of 350 Tons of coal, was with six knots
approaching in the Northern Lock-basin from
the Volkerak-locks to enter one of the three
locks. The 1000 Tons empty motor vessel
“Hudea” was coming out of a lock, doing 10
knots with the sun beaming thru her
wheelhouse windows, and because she’s
empty with the bow high-up and therefore with
a large dead-vision-angle, failing completely to
spot the Hensie in due time. A heavy collision
followed. The sharp and strong, ice-reinforced
bow from the Canadian-built Hudea staggered
upon the portside from Hensie, a short distance
after the forward side-bollards. The whole
forward from Hudea arose out of the water and
shot from port to starboard side over the
Hensie, also sliding swiftly towards aft from
Hensie. Crushing the wooden cargo-hatches
and everything else in the process, with
colossal and frightening sounds; and like a
gigantic bulldozer leveling and scattering the
top load of the coal. Smashing and battering
with terrible noises from screaming steel and
splintering wood, she droned over and along
the other vessel like a monstrous black horror,
a hundred Ft in the direction of the wheelhouse
from Hensie.
The young skipper and his seven months
pregnant wife (!), scared in terror, did not wait
for the inevitable and deadly encounter to
happen, and they both jumped overboard, each
one on another side of their ship. At a distance
of no more than two inches from the
wheelhouse-front, the Hudea stopped her fatal
and crushing journey on top of the other ship,
almost on a right angle, and with her bow
above the portside.
The now swimming for life crew from Hensie
was quickly been taken ashore with the help
from other skippers and brought in good care.
The Lockmaster gave me the red-alert by
phone, and I sailed out with Fury-2; alone in
the hurry of the event. A half lock-chamber was
been made ready for me to make it as quick as
possible thru the lock.

Meanwhile, the Hudea, with the whole of her

forward sitting literally sky-high on top of
Hensie, started pushing very slowly and
carefully the weird combination towards a few
empty moorings, where other skippers gave a
helping hand with fastening the mooring ropes.
Very luckily, they did this good and strong, with
several double ropes.
As soon as the lock opens, I moved out in the
midst of floating debris already immediately
outside the lock-doors from the scattered and
splintered wooden cargo-hatches and beams
from Hensie, which had floated in that direction
on the gentle summer breeze.
Then, a rather surreal scene unfolded. I saw
the Hudea sitting on the Hensie, with her bow
towering high into the air, her stern pointing
straight into the wide harbor basin, and the
Hensie moored with a fatally dangerous list to
starboard, the top from the heavily damaged
cargo-hatch just down-under in the water,
which flowed directly over the edge into the
cargo. How would this one end…?

In retrospect, her cargo saved her. Her bulky

load of fine coal, filling the hold completely,
prevented just long enough water gulping in
unrestricted over the edge, giving us time to do
at least something for her. When her cargo
would have been sheets of steel, like on her
previous voyage (!), or something of the same
heavy stuff, she would have been gone under
in only seconds…
At these rather thrilling kinds of moments in life,
there really is no time for staff-gatherings or
multi-discipline safety-deliberations. There’s
even no time to think, really… Do something…!
Anything! And do it instinctively good! Literally
strong material action is the only thing that
matters now! This ship must come off, NOW!

The skipper from the Hudea was standing at

the bow of his vessel, staring down idle on that
other ship, deep down under his own. His wife
was standing on the stern-deck, very shocked
and crying her heart out.
I swung the boat under the stern and handed
her over the splice from a short heavy towrope,
telling her especially persuasive to immediately
go away from there, repeating the message
until she started nodding in understanding. The
other end of the short rope was in my hook
already. The skippers-wife laid the splice over
the stern-bollard and quickly left the stern-deck.
I ran back to my wheelhouse and gave the
Deutz a blast of air in forward. As soon as the
rope was only somewhat straight, I slammed
the revs-control all the way to full-load, stiff up
to the pin. Well huh, pin…? I heard the safety
valves on all six cylinders squeaking and
hissing furiously, spitting blue/orange flames
and smoke from overpressure in a loud protest
against this outrageous hastily and very
impolite behavior.
 Deutz VM-536 top view

I had just one chance, just one only. If I sold

short the Hudea had stay stuck on the
starboard side from Hensie and the latter would
have sank for sure. I pulled full power and
under a slight angle on Hudea’ stern. I gained
some nice swing-speed, and under the nicely
simulated sounds of a very sloppy driven
freight-train changing tracks much too fast, the
Hudea started sliding off from Hensie. I heard
the steel from her bottom screaming and
squeaking over poor Hensie, more then 400 Ft
away, with a sound-level way over the large
grumbling explosions from my heavy laboring
Deutz, just underneath my feet. Stop now! I
pulled the hook open, my rope flew out, and I
turned quickly towards the Hensie. She was
still at surface! The Hudea floated in the middle
of the harbor now, and could take care of her
own.

The Hudea just pulled free from Hensie. Whom that

precise short moment heeled really a lot!

Two minutes later, I was tied-up alongside

Hensie with Fury-2 and switched on the
pumps. Meanwhile, sufficient people from the
lock were on scene and I had plenty of help.
Lock-property attendant, Joske Muller, was
standing up to his knees in the water on the
side-deck from Hensie, busy as hell with filling-
up the last hole from two ripped out 8” side-
bollards with greased rags. He already had
finished the first one, ripped out also.
THAT HELPED!

A lot of damage caused on Hensie. Observe the

totally outside bended cargo-hatch.

There was a lot of water in the forward living-

quarter, so I put in a 6” hose there, and a
minute later, a 3” hose in the double bottom
compartment under the coal. Both pumps were
doing great, and the immediate danger was
slowly diminishing.
To shorten the story: In the seven o clock
evening news on National TV- and Radio-
Broadcasting, one could hear the following
newsflash: “This afternoon, nearby the
Volkerak-Locks, the motor vessel Hensie sank
after a collision with another ship. There were
no casualties.”

Hey, hey, just wait a sec here! No way! How

wrong can you be? Just wait a minute in the
future, guys! At seven pm, we already had dry
decks again, and a floating crane being busy
already with transshipping the coal. The next
morning, Hensie could proceed to a shipyard
for repairs, all by her own and under her own
power. That is how it was folks, no stinking
sinking business here!
Pumping full power on Hensie to keep her surfaced.

That’s it for now Folks

Happy sailing!