Silence reigns in the wheelhouse of the "Oscar Tybring". A small angel hangs from the panelled ceiling between cables. It turns on its thread like a shy child, first to one side, then to the other. Its golden face shines faintly. The only light comes from outside, from the lanterns on the icy pier and those on the facades of the restored Tollbodgate warehouses. Christmas is two weeks away. Midwinter, the darkest time of the year. At nine o'clock in the morning, the sky is still as black as in the dead of night. Although Tromsø will soon be shrouded in pale twilight for a few hours at dusk, you will wait in vain for the sun itself: almost four hundred kilometres beyond the Arctic Circle, in the far north of Norway, it remains hidden behind the horizon from the end of November to mid-January.
But life not only goes on, it even picks up a gear, at least on the water. Fishing is booming, everything is waiting for the "migrant", the skrei: this is what the Norwegians call the winter cod, which will soon be travelling back down the coast from the Barents Sea to spawn. Although declining stocks due to overfishing and climate change are an issue, things seem to be better up here than elsewhere in this respect. There is obviously plenty to catch - and plenty of work to do.
Redningsselskapet - the Norwegian sea rescuers
The reverent, pre-Christmas calm on the "Oscar Tybring" is deceptive - even if the ship is not a trawler: it belongs to the Redningsselskapet, or RS for short, the "rescue organisation", as the Norwegian sea rescuers are known. And the three men who are now approaching from the service building over the slushy snow with full shopping bags have certainly spent the night on board. On standby.
Together they form the crew of the "Oscar Tybring". Skipper Odd Arne Hermansen has been on board for twenty years. A bloke like a tree, with thinning blond hair and a loud laugh. Like many of his colleagues, he learnt the sailor's gait early on, having been a fisherman himself: "Jan Mayen and Spitsbergen. This is much more pleasant," he says with a grin. Roger Pettersen has the same professional background. The co-skipper may be a little smaller, but he has just as much humour. He also collects things: at home, he has a piece of teak deck from the "Tirpitz". The German battleship was sunk by British bombers not far from the island of Håkøya in the last winter of the war. The craters of the bombs that exploded on land remain - like the remains of the wreck. "Even today, things still float up from time to time, sea boots and all," says Pettersen.
After midday comes the night
Chief engineer Andreas Lerøy, the master of the machine, is the youngest of the trio and the calming influence on board, not a man of many words, but calm and precise. He only joined the RS in May. Before that, he worked on offshore supply vessels until the job became too unstable for him: "We were stationed in the Canary Islands, which was great for holidays. But when you sit on board and wait for weeks until another order comes in to leave, a lot of things lose their appeal."
Below deck, Roger is brewing a strong coffee. The crew's 28-day shift only started yesterday, and Christmas and New Year's Eve are celebrated on board. They also live here, although there are beds at every base. Seafarers are particular about this and sea rescuers are no different. There is a room for everyone, plus a workstation with a computer in the mess room and a kitchen with a seating area next door. On the table is the "RS Magasinet" with a woman's face framed in fur on the cover: environmental politician Sandra Andersen Eira not only has a fishing boat and a family, but also the looks of a model. "Freedom is not the same as free time," she says. "Interesting," says Roger.
On the walls all around hang the memories of the ship, old pictures and coats of arms from Lofoten to Kirkenes. The "Oscar Tybring" has travelled a lot, has even had a different name and is by no means the newest rescue cruiser in the fleet. She was commissioned in 1988 and once rescued Russian sailors north-east of Vardø. Roger was there at the time. "Their boat was so rusty that the sea simply smashed it when the drive failed," he explains. "They waited in the life raft on deck until the ship sank beneath them - and were then almost pulled into the depths by the antennas as if by a net. We were lucky." The rescue cruiser is a ship with a history. It has also just undergone a complete technical overhaul. "We finally got a bow thruster," laughs the skipper. "That makes a lot of things easier."
Get ready to set sail! Life comes into the wheelhouse, one display after another spreads a reddish glow, including the two large plotter screens. An inspection trip to Skjervøj is on the programme, about 55 nautical miles north-east of Tromsø. The fishery is underway there. Andreas reports the engine clear, while Odd Arne completes the "paperwork" on the tablet. Then it's time for the proper logbook. Co-skipper Roger checks the safety equipment and life-saving equipment for completeness, from survival suits and life jackets to eyewash and plasters. On the ceiling, next to the angel: four impressive rockets and the corresponding line firing device.
What there is not to see is sun
Aft, the "Oscar Tybring" moves away from the pier, turning and leaving Tromsø behind, the brightly lit hotels, the snow-covered statue of Roald Amundsen by the cathedral and the Arctic Ocean Cathedral on the other shore. The landmark rises up like a frozen wave. It foams up under the stern as Odd Arne pushes the throttle forwards: the wide arch of Tromsøbrua has been passed. In the last light, we head north-east at twenty knots on the Grøtsund. The new night is already lurking there. It is half past twelve in the afternoon. It is not certain whether there will be another mission today. "But actually there is often something to do. It's usually nets or lines in the propeller that lead to calls for help," says Odd Arne. "It can always happen when fishing, even if you're paying attention." As a rule, everything goes well, he adds calmly - but unfortunately not always. As was the case with the two Polish tourists who capsized in their fishing boat and could not be found in time.
The Lyngen Alps pass by on the starboard side, and the radio announces that the "Aurora Explorer" has set off for thewhale watching caught a line at a fish farm. Thanks to the second engine, however, the catamaran is still manoeuvrable. The coastguard was listening in. The diver from the patrol vessel "Heimdal", which is also checking on the fishing grounds, will take care of it. As Roger is filing the report, the RS cruiser is called directly: This time it's a fishing boat, the "Skjersgrunn". It has overrun its own net. The position is in the Kvænangenfjord a few nautical miles east of Skjervøy, but the south-westerly wind is driving the fishermen towards the coast at Reinfjord. They have to make an emergency anchorage to avoid landing on the rocks. Odd Arne puts the levers on the table.
Blackness now reigns ahead. In the icy light of the bow floodlights, seagulls scatter, visible only for a moment like sparks over a bonfire. Torn spray flies over the forecastle in glowing shreds. At top speed, the "Oscar Tybring" cuts through the crests of the waves. Andreas keeps an eye on his gauges: the roaring diesels suck the fuel for two thousand horsepower through the pipes with murderous lust. Then the destination is reached: as the bow wave collapses, the deck lighting is switched on. Lights twinkle ahead: the stricken vessel and a few other boats that continue to work calmly. As long as there is no danger to life, time is money. The coast is clearly visible on the plotter. It is less than five cable lengths away.
The two crew members are already waiting. They are very young and wave as their ten-metre-long Cleopatra 33 rolls in the choppy sea. Roger and Andreas are standing on the stern in life jackets. The co-skipper carefully launches the heaving line with the weight in order to bring it precisely onto the foredeck of the "Skjersgrunn". Odd Arne carefully picks up speed. The actual hawser follows the line and slowly disappears aft, passed out hand over hand so that no kinks are created. Finally, the shackled chain rattles over the coaming. The harness tightens like a taut bow and jerks in: At six knots, we now sail together through the darkness towards Skjervøy. The soundtrack for the last leg of the day comes from the loudspeakers in the wheelhouse: Roger's country playlist. Bobby Bares croons his greatest hit "Detroit City". The diesels hum along to the chorus:I wanna go home, I wanna go home, Oooh-oh, how I wanna go home...
In Skjervøy harbour, the cruiser then takes the fishing boat alongside for a mooring manoeuvre. Its catch has to be put on ice immediately and is released alongside the warehouse in the neon light. Fifteen fat fish are given directly to the rescuers as thanks. The real bill comes later.
Sea rescuers on standby
Closing time - on standby: "Oscar Tybring" moves to another pier where the RS has a reserved berth. With a sharp knife and the routine of a former fisherman, the skipper fillets the presents himself before they are frozen. The rest goes to the prawns in the harbour: "Then everyone gets something out of it," he says with satisfaction. Meanwhile, Roger has conjured up the food on the table below deck. He is the chef today. Of course there's fish: butter-tender cod with almond potatoes, served with sour cream, fried bacon and béarnaise, topped off with raspberry compote and cream. There is only water in the glasses. If you prefer, you can have milk.
Nobody is getting old on board today, food and warmth provide the necessary bedtime vigour. A little more reading or writing e-mails, then peace returns to the "Oscar Tybring". Sleep is important, after all, nobody knows when the next call will come. Outside, meanwhile, Skjervøy's lights shimmer over the black water. Two thousand people live here, tonight there are three more. There are still two weeks until Christmas and four until the replacement. The sun will return in five weeks. High up in the cold sky, hidden behind thick clouds, the northern lights dance.
The saviours
The Redningsselskapet was founded in 1891 in Kristiania, now Oslo, on the initiative of the naval doctor Oscar Tybring - the namesake of the boat in this report. It is financed by donations, membership fees, grants and state funding. It has more than 100,000 members. 52 rescue boats and cruisers are available for rescues, with the crews of the smaller units consisting of volunteers, as in Germany. Last year, help was provided almost 6,000 times and 27 people were rescued from drowning. The RS also carries out training, prevention and youth work.
- Further information: www.redningsselskapet.no
The ship
The "Oscar Tybring" - ship number RS 104 - is already the fourth unit of the Redningsselskapet to bear this name: Built in Måløy in western Norway, the almost 20 metre long rescue cruiser was commissioned in 1988 as the fourth of five units in the Skomvær class. Four of them are still in service. With an output of 1000 hp each, the two MAN turbodiesels enable the 52-tonne special ship to reach a top speed of 25 knots. On board, the three-man crew have two radar sets, DGPS, autopilot, two SSB transceivers and a VHF set with GMDSS at their disposal. In addition, there is full diving equipment with underwater communication, tow hooks, external bilge pumps and a 3.8 metre RIB. The range is around 400 nm.
This article appeared in the BOOTE Exclusiv issue 01/2020 and was revised by the editorial team in December 2023.
