Until yesterday evening, I thought little would top our first night at sea for excitement.
Right up until we went to bed on Sunday night, the ship was riding so smoothly you would have thought we were in port. I for one have little to compare it to, the largest vessel I’d been on to date was the ferry to P.E.I…. not quite in the same league.
Our dinner table companions however all turned out to be veteran cruisers, and were unanimous in their opinion that the Queen was in class by herself when it came to stability. Little did I know we would be testing that substantially in just a few hours.
Speaking of dinner companions, the fellow guests we are seated with in the Britannia room are very good company. This is a relief, as one’s table seating is established in advance and is generally supposed to remain the same for the entire voyage.
Now, you can certainly request a change in time – there are 6:00 pm and 8:30 pm seatings for dinner – or you could alternatively request a table for two instead of 6. But happily we very much enjoy our little gang; a couple from Tampa who spend a great deal of time cruising and are very entertaining, a very nice ex-pat English lady from Victoria B.C., and our last guest is just exactly whom I pictured meeting in such a setting, a very cultured French widow who has lived most of her life in Manhattan and is quite fascinating. This is actually her third crossing on QM2, so she is definitely our group’s expert on the matter.
The food is wonderful, the first night I have a steak that simply melted in my mouth, and when dessert is served, I am delighted to see that each night’s selections include at least one sugar-free option, in this case a tasty plum cobbler. Maybe I won’t come home looking like the Michelin man after all.
Another nice thing is that the dress code is quite formal. Even the “casual” night requires a jacket, and for two of our six dinners a full-blown tux is mandatory! I must admit, initially I was not happy about having to shell out large for the new clothes required just to be semi-presentable here, but I’m now a convert. During the day, where one can wander around in whatever one pleases, I haven’t been able to bring myself to don a pair of jeans… even when in “deck wear”, long shorts and a golf shirt, I can’t bear to leave the shirt un-tucked. Bad form, you know. What would Samuel Cunard say if he were here today?
Sunday evening we drift off with just the slightest hint of rocking to lull us. We leave the balcony door open as we can hear the soothing sound of the bow wake rolling along, sounding very much like a slow motion version of a gentle beach surf. But that wasn’t going to last for long. Somewhere around 3:00 am my sinuses begin to revolt, and I awake to something I’ve never experienced, a ship pitching at sea. Just as in aircraft terminology, “pitch” is when the ship rocks back and forth from bow to stern (or nose to tail, for all you land-lubbers). Unlike roll, the side-to-side motion that can be controlled by the ship’s stabilizer fins, pitch is not easily fixed; you pretty much just have to ride it out. The main advantage with QM2 is that her enormous length, weight and center-positioned engines go a very long way in negating this effect. Knowing this, I am now very curious as to why I can feel it. And I mean really feel it. If I plant my head hard into the dense feather pillow, I suddenly can pick up noises coming up through the deck floor, it’s like my ear is connected to the ship’s structure. I can now hear the cycle… the bow starts to rise, very faint, distant creaking from the hull, a long pause at the top, then she starts to go down, and suddenly waves crash along the bow all the way to the hull below our cabin. Wow. What a show. I lie there and listen, finally curiosity gets the better of me and I lumber out on to balcony to see if I can gauge the swells. Nope, it’s pure black out there, save for the furious, churning cauldron of foam as the bow crashes into the sea, just barely visible in the faint glow from the deck lights.
After I while I get used to it, it’s not anywhere near bad enough that you would have trouble walking around, and eventually drift off to sleep.
The next morning, I make a connection; we have likely run through the remnants of hurricane Bill. Although we know well in advance that Bill was going to pass right by NY the day before our departure, the beautiful sun and high seventies temperatures when we sailed convinced me that Bill had long packed up shop, so I pretty much gave up hope of him provide any excitement or tests of the Queen’s mettle (or metal). But it seems he’s left a bit of a mess a couple of hundred miles out, as the churlish coastal waters attested. Once again, the veteran cruisers claim what we felt on board was nothing. If that’s the case, I can now begin to understand why most flat-bottom cruise ships are decorated in barf bags. I’ve yet to even spot any here. Nevertheless, this morning our Rolls Royce like ride is back, I can balance a dime just about anywhere on the ship, despite the 5 to 10 foot waves outside.
Cool discovery: channel 38 on the TV has a continuous rotation of live data feeds from the bridge with the ship’s position, heading, speed as well as all the weather and sea reports you could want. I can now just sit back, watch the north Atlantic roll by and totally geek out!
Why is there a kink in this track? Read on...
That afternoon brings a sobering moment. Every day around noon our commodore – yes, lesser ships have captains, QM2 has a commodore – comes on the P.A. and gives us an update on how the voyage is progressing, important events, etc, and today’s announcement includes the fact that around 3:00 pm we’ll be passing about 40 miles north of Titanic’s final resting place.
Say what?
My boss Glenn had been joking for weeks prior to departure about my imminent demise on “the Titanic”. I reassured him that despite the fact there was little chance of us seeing any icebergs, after Titanic’s tragic encounter the liner companies had long since moved their routes further south. But apparently that’s changed! We are now following nearly the in the exact same footsteps of the most famous ship of all time. Maybe I should get back up on the lookout deck…
My miserable cold is now in full swing, so I spend most of my day sitting around the cabin watching the sea go by. The weather however is lovely, early morning showers have given way to sun and high seventies once again. But it’s hardly imprisonment, just sitting in a deck chair and looking at the white caps, listening to the roar of the ocean being split by the Queen’s mighty 4 screws, and imagining what’s below us, is wonderfully therapeutic.
Speaking of depth, the commodore announces we are now off the shallow area of the Grand Banks and out into the North Atlantic’s deep. The ocean’s floor now lies some 16,000 ft below us. Imagine getting out here for a swim, and knowing that the water below you goes on for 5 kilometers straight down.
With a small bit of charge in now my batteries, I go out for a little excursion. Down at the bow end of our deck is the library. With over 9,000 books, it’s the largest one afloat. But what is really striking is that it is surrounded by beautiful bay-window sized portholes that look out over the bow, and from this height the view is nearly as good as that of the crew’s on the bridge just above us. I carefully stalk and eventually snag a seat right in front of one of these.
After a brief snooze it’s once again dinnertime. Tonight is a formal night, so the ladies are required to wear evening gowns, and the men tuxedos. This really drives home the experience, just seeing the crowd lined up to enter the dining room, dressed to the nines, string quartet playing as we are ushered to our table... it’s like the clock has suddenly been turned back 90 years. One thing I didn’t expect though was the hugely mixed demographic. Brig wasn’t the least bit worried about letting me loose for this gig, as we both figured it was going to be the blue-rinse crowd all the way. She loved to joke on how I was going to get hit on by all the eighty-something ladies. This turns out not to be the case. Everyone you can imagine was aboard, young, old, kids, adults, singles, couples. There may have even been some unusually attractive women wearing dresses of less than a, shall we say, formal length. But I didn’t notice. At least I think I didn’t notice… I’m really quite sure I didn’t notice.
Day 2 at sea begins with even better weather, a pretty mix of sun and cloud. I finally get down to the business of blogging, but take breaks to visit a few spots on the ship for inspiration, one being the main cafeteria called Kings Court. They have a fairly normal assortment of breakfast foods, but I am most impressed with the quality of their scrambled eggs, omelets and sausages, which I consume to near bursting point. Again, like most public areas on the ship, there are full size windows out onto the sea all around, so it’s easy to stay ringside for the show outside. Another feature we are to discover today is the ship’s planetarium. Yes, you read that right, QM2 has her own genuine planetarium, unique so far in the ocean-going world. The room it’s housed in also performs the duties of meeting/lecture hall and movie theater. We get tickets to the 2:30 pm show, but lose track of time and wind up missing it. No matter, the shows repeat throughout the voyage, so we will have many opportunities to catch the two different ones offered.
Shortly before dinner, the P.A.sounds. This time the speaker in our cabin crackles to life, meaning the announcement is important. The commodore comes on to say that one of the passengers on board is gravely ill and will have to be taken off the ship to hospital. The problem is that we are well out to sea, now beyond the range of any helicopters, so we must immediately change course and steam north towards Newfoundland. Once we are within range – about 200 miles away – a Canadian Coast Guard helicopter will rendezvous with us, which is expected to be around 9:00 pm this evening.
This ought be interesting…
But for now there’s little we can do about it, so we proceed with our dinner plans.
Tonight’s meal will be a special treat, we have reserved a spot at Todd English, yes, of the chain belonging to the famous chef. Here one pays a minor premium for the privilege, but the quieter ambience makes a nice change, and if the food in the dining room was really good, then Todd’s is out of this world. I had a beef tenderloin cut garnished with pieces of lobster in a cream sauce that was just spectacular. For dessert Todd doesn’t do sugar free, so I throw the rules out the window (sorry, porthole) and indulge in a banana crème brule topped with coconut cream pudding. Wonderful.
After dinner the countdown begins. Shortly before 9:00 pm I make my way towards the observation deck to see if I can find a spot to watch the rendezvous. This will be quite a feat, as the upper decks of the ship are not sufficiently reinforced to bear he weight of something the size of a Sea King helicopter (Editor's note: fellow passenger and Montrealer Martin was kind enough to correct me on this, ye olde Sea Kings have been retired in favour of a fleet of new CH-149 Cormerants - shame on me. This is why, he also points out, we were not showered in loose parts as they hovered overhead...), so they will have to hover over the ship and winch the patient up. Unfortunately, within a few minutes an army of security personnel appears and starts herding us off the decks, safety concerns, you know. Damn.
I make like I’m heading back to my cabin, but once inside the ship fake right and head for a different corridor, hoping to work my way up one of the back stairwells into an incognito spot. Just as I am about to make it down the hall, a security woman nabs me and asks where I’m going…
“Er, just for a walk”, I say, not looking at all suspicious in my big black hooded raincoat.
She explains that all access routes to the outside deck are closed for the rescue operation, and that I will have to head somewhere else. By now there are security people roaming everywhere, and I hear then telling some people that even the cabin corridors for decks 11 and 12 are closed.
Expletive.
No chance now.
I skulk back to our cabin, the best I can hope for now s a glimpse of the chopper as it comes in, but I won’t see anything else from our balcony. But as soon as I walk outside, I see yet another sign of just how seriously they prepare for such matters; a full rescue crew is manning one of the life boats and preparing it for drop in case something goes wrong.
At about 9:15 a Coast Guard C-130 Hercules aircraft buzzes over, confirming our location and radioing it back to the helicopter still a few miles out. Suddenly the chopper appears. I can just make out the familiar fuselage shape in the dim glow of its navigational lights as it does a slow circuit of the ship, finally positioning itself out of sight over the top deck.
What’s interesting is that we don’t stop, we are still moving forward at around 10 – 12 knots. I suspect this is to give us some stability, if we were to come to a full stop we would have no effective directional or stabilization control and would wind up bobbing around like a cork. This way at least things are rock steady on our end, making the winching operation that much safer. I must say I have tremendous respect for the Coast Guard pilot though; keeping a steady hover over a moving ship at sea can’t be easy. Not long after, a second helicopter appears, no doubt a backup. The C-130 continues to circle us and drops flares to light up the area.
Quite the show! But it’s taking a long time. By my watch, nearly 30 minutes go by with the two choppers hovering over us. That’s not good, I can’t imagine they’re going to have anything more than fumes left by the time they get home.
Update: We make the news!... http://www.canada.com/Cormorant+airlifts+passenger+luxury+liner/1931569/story.html
Then as suddenly as they appeared, they’re gone.
Moments later the commodore comes back on the P.A. to tell us the operation was a success and thanks us for our cooperation and patience. Although we have steamed some 200 miles off route, he assures us that we will still be precisely on time in Southampton. Some quick mental calculations tell me this is possible, but he’s going to have to push the throttles to their stops. And if we want to hit the Queen’s maximum speed, 29.6 knots as per her sea trials, he’ll have to retract the stabilizers. So now not only do we get to see if she really can hit her advertised top end in seas which will soon rock with swells topping 10 to 20 ft, but also how she does when playing it old school, that is without benefit of her computerized fins holding us level.
By 11:00 pm we are back on course and headed out for what may well be the worst waters of the trip, the center of the North Atlantic. All 4 diesels and both gas turbines are in full song, and you can now actually feel a bit of a thrumming through the floor when you walk around. But damned if the ride isn’t still glass smooth. There is just the tiniest bit of side-to-side shunting, reminiscent of the way a train rocks on its tracks, but otherwise it’s business as usual. I turn on the TV and wait for the speed to appear on the navigational display…
Exactly 29.6 knots.
The sea outside is smashing, churning and flying by like I’ve never seen.
I drift off to sleep in awe.
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