We - that's just a few of us, namely my wife and I - finally want to catch up on a bit of summer, which means a holiday with our "Musta Kissa". We swapped our originally planned destination of Lüneburg, up the Elbe and Ilmenau rivers, for "down the Elbe towards Oste" at short notice.
On the way to the Oste estuary
For the less "geography-savvy": The Oste is a navigable left tributary of the Elbe, about 100 kilometres long, whose wide estuary stretches out just before Cuxhaven and the North Sea and slowly becomes the open sea. The powerful tides that prevail here are accompanied by a current that commands the respect of even the locals, so the approach requires particular attention, as the Oste fairway between groynes, sandbanks and shallow shore zones is well channelled, but also narrow. Well, I know the area from previous trips. I therefore planned using the tide table, which meant the following: setting off from my home harbour of Grünendeich at the beginning of the outgoing tide in order to reach the Oste estuary with the tidal current after about four hours.
But it's not uncommon for plans to turn to waste, as it soon turns out. Halfway along the route, inky black stormy mountains appear unexpectedly on the horizon, a greeting from the North Atlantic. And the Elbe promptly reacts with increasing roughness to the onset of strong winds and gusts of rain. The foreship dives deep into the waves, and the overflowing water envelops the boat in a cloud of spray that sometimes reduces visibility to zero.
As I throttle back the speed, the starboard engine suddenly runs out of round, but calms down again from time to time - until I change direction into the Oste estuary.
Distracted by the stuttering machine
As I am briefly distracted by the spluttering diesel and simultaneous observation of the instruments, the tidal current, which is already rising violently inland, shifts the "Musta Kissa" to port in the narrow fairway. The head-on collision with the fairway buoy ahead can only be avoided by a hard starboard manoeuvre. I think so.
But because theory and practice don't necessarily go hand in hand, the underwater hull catches the fairway buoy at mirror height just as I'm sure it's over. Apart from a muffled noise, nothing happens at first. The engines are running and the boat continues to sail straight ahead. But the fairway buoy and its anchor chain have torn the hull open over a large area, which becomes visible later after the recovery. Documented in the two photos on page 20, the wooden hull of an old-timer, whose planks have not exactly gained in strength in over fifty years, has no chance against a mighty steel buoy in such a case.
There's no doubt about it: we're going down!
What happens next passes us by again and again in fast motion: my wife, startled by the collision, falls out of the cabin, which is already full of water. And the first floating hatch covers in the cockpit leave no room for doubt: We're going down!
Quick-witted, my wife runs back into the cabin, grabs her handbag with her mobile phone and scrambles to the front cabin roof. There she calls 112 - fortunately she knows that the emergency number valid on land in Germany is also valid for emergencies on the water* - where the Bremerhaven operations control centre immediately contacts her and advises her of help.
My bold idea of bailing water outboard as it flows into the cockpit turns out to be more of an attempt to escape reality. Reluctantly, already up to my stomach in water, I realise that nothing can be saved here. Even the built-in pumps from commercial shipping are no life insurance if the electrics fail. And the two engines have died and fallen silent - the gurgling water takes over.
The provisions float by
As strawberries, lettuce, potatoes and other provisions that had been bunkered for the trip leave the cabin and drift past me in the cockpit, it finally dawns on me that there is nothing left to save apart from us "two figures". Wearing the two automatic lifejackets, I join my wife on the cabin roof to watch the foredeck slowly sink (still) in disbelief.
From the collision to this point, just a seemingly endless quarter of an hour passes. A quarter of an hour that, after 25 years, simply cancels out the countless hours of work associated with the restoration of my classic car, which can almost be described as "sacrifice" (Flashback for younger people: I reported on the restoration of my ChrisCraft Seaskiff 32 in an eight-part series in 1987/88).
My laziness is also taking its toll. For 35 years, I never went out without a dinghy, following the motto "The dinghy is good as a life raft in an emergency". This time I was simply too lazy to inflate my Zodiac before setting off and take it with me. Now the empty davits stick out symbolically like gallows on the aft deck.
Blue light on the gloomy horizon
Meanwhile, after a second telephone distress call, help is approaching on the gloomy horizon. At first it's just a flashing blue light, which, as we get closer, turns out to be a small, open aluminium boat. It is manned by six firefighters from the east, while a federal police helicopter is already doing its rounds above us.
An absolutely fortunate coincidence on this fateful Saturday for us. Because the fire brigades of several municipalities in the area had scheduled training runs without realising that the theory of the exercise would become emergency practice.
What happened next was reported in the "Niederelbe Zeitung" Cuxhaven the following day: "The Bremerhaven control centre alerted the fire brigades in Neuhaus and Belum after receiving the emergency report. In addition, the Bremen Maritime Rescue Centre set the rescue cruiser 'Hermann Helms' stationed in Cuxhaven in motion. However, as the firefighters from the east were travelling with their boat between the barrage and the Oste estuary, they were the first to reach the motor yacht, which was already two-thirds under water at this point. They managed to rescue the couple from the boat. Local fire chief Dirk Klintworth praised: "The two older people behaved very calmly and level-headedly." So much for the newspaper.
How do we get home?
The two older, soaking wet people, wrapped up in warm blankets back in reality, were now pondering the best way to get back home: Train or taxi? The question is answered immediately by the crew of the DRK ambulance waiting at the barrage: "You're coming with us." We disappear into the mobile "hospital" for the next hour and a half "for observation".
There, Mayk Tessmer explains to us, among other things, the various states of shock and their consequences. Fortunately, they don't materialise, even though the pulse display on a huge monitor sometimes climbs to over 200. - The all-round care does not end there. The ambulance takes us on a one-hour journey to Hemmoor, where we are provided with warm clothes from an old clothes collection before we take a taxi back to Stade.
A tractor helps with the rescue
At the same time, the difficult salvage of the "Musta Kissa", which has sunk in the meantime, is underway on the Oste. Frank Strohsahl, local fire chief in Neuhaus, tells me the details days later. Because the fire brigade is not allowed to take action on its own initiative, the first point of contact was the water police in Cuxhaven. However, the response there was as follows: "Our police boat is moored in Büsum due to low water. Otherwise, we don't have any personnel available at the moment."
In the meantime, the Cuxhaven Waterways and Shipping Office (WSA) sent the workboat "Mittelgrund", but it was unable to do anything with the 3-tonne harness. Only the daughter boat of the rescue cruiser "Hermann Helms", together with two fire boats and 200 hp tractor support from Belum farmer Frank von der Heide, managed to pull the stricken vessel to the edge of the mudflats and secure it provisionally with ropes.
What costs will we incur?
As anyone can imagine, the stressful situation continued for me, especially as the WSA immediately informed me in writing: "The poorly secured yacht continues to pose a safety risk and must be salvaged for reasons of safety and ease of shipping. There is a need for urgency ... and the shipowner is jointly and severally obliged to remove the relevant obstructions."
After news like this, the brain starts to rattle. Now questions after questions roll through your emotional life like heavy crushers. What do I have to do, what costs will I incur?
Because as it turns out later, the fire brigade operation alone costs 4453.76 euros.
I think back to my boat insurance, which I took out a good 25 years ago with Pantaenius in Hamburg. However, I've never bothered with it before. Can they help me at all and how?
She can. And so begins a two-week rally through the colourful world of "post-rescue". Phone calls, emails, letters, car journeys. Including to the building yard outside Neuhaus, where the fire brigade collected and stacked everything that had floated away from the sunken yacht: upholstery parts, cockpit table, lifebuoy and the Waeco freezer box stuffed full of food, which the fire brigade thought they had "rescued" from a chemical toilet.
In the mudflats of the Belum Outer Wadden Sea
Unfortunately, only one of the beautiful deck chairs is there, its colleague escaped undetected and is presumably still drifting in the tidal current of the Elbe. - On a second trip, even the mayor of Neuhaus gets involved in the "rescue operation". Georg Martens travelled the two kilometres to the building yard outside on his bike to unlock the locked gate especially for us.
We also travelled to Glückstadt - to the local yacht yard, where the "Musta Kissa" was jacked up in the backyard waiting to be checked for damage. But first I got in touch with Kim Wiese via my insurance company's emergency telephone number, who hovered over us like a saving naiad for the next two weeks and promised direct help.
Eico Ehrsam, the salvage specialist from Marine Claims Service (MSC), a Pantaenius subsidiary, calls the same evening. On Sunday, the day after our boat sank, he travelled to the Oste outer dyke - only accessible by off-road vehicle via meadows, ditches and cow pastures - to sound out the salvage options.
To the Glückstadt yacht yard
His message is short and painful: "The hole in the hull cannot be provisionally sealed so that the boat can be towed away. Tomorrow, the salvage ship TK 8 from the salvage company Taucher Knoth in Hamburg will arrive. Due to the tide, we only have a narrow time window tomorrow afternoon to hook the "Musta Kissa". If you want, you can be there."
I am. With wellies, rain gear and camera, I find myself among the young cattle and seabirds in the silt of the Belum outer mudflats. My "Musta Kissa", which I have spent a quarter of a century working countless hours to turn into a classic car worth seeing, is in a pitiful state due to the previous salvage work. I am on the verge of tears.
Well, the Hamburg salvage professionals, working with Eico Ehrsam and his colleague Ole Pietschke, finally manage to free the yacht from the mud and lift it on board the TK 8. Destination: the Glückstadt yacht yard, where she arrives around midnight.
"You are fully insured"
Despite all the promises, there is only one question that keeps bothering me: do I have to pay for the costly recovery operation? - "No," Kim Wiese reassures me the next day: "You have fully comprehensive insurance, we'll take care of it." Sounds good. But residual doubts still remain when you imagine that a salvage ship has been requested from Hamburg, almost 90 kilometres away.
But there is no time for serious considerations. Next on the calendar is an appointment at the Glückstadt yacht yard to assess the damage. - Ultimately decisive for the payment of an insurance sum.
Total loss
My wife and I find our boat jacked up in the boatyard. Completely stripped out. What didn't float away during the sinking is lying in large wire containers in the neighbouring hall. The relevant specialists from the shipyard gather on board and outline the repair estimates. Hull repair including paintwork 22,000 euros, engines 25,000 euros, electrics 35,000 euros. Eico Ehrsam's dry commentary is not long in coming: "Total loss".
To explain: In our case, we speak of a total loss if the cost of restoration exceeds the sum insured (technically: fixed valuation). In contrast, you can also insure a boat for its current value, which leaves me with the question of where to put the wreck. Pantaenius also has the right answer to this: "We'll have it scrapped."
But another happy turnaround
But then came the turning point: The harbour master of Elmshorn wants to refloat the "Musta Kissa". She changes hands for a "decent euro". Pantaenius takes care of that for me too. Motto: "We won't leave you hanging in the event of damage." I used to think that was non-binding advertising prose. - It's nice to be so wrong. However, no sum insured can compensate for the emotional total loss. But, as the case described above proves, it can save you from a financial fiasco.
Provided you are properly insured - which may not be the case for many boat owners. No wonder, because in Germany - it's hard to believe - there is no compulsory insurance for boats. Neither liability nor hull insurance. However, the sinking story described here should make you think ...
In any case, we will always remember the overwhelming helpfulness of everyone involved, which fortunately brought the sinking to a good end for us after all
