Hard aground!
Running on far too little ballast, the Philippine-registered cargo ship’s high freeboard must have acted as a sail, causing her to drag her anchor. Either things happened very quickly for the crew, or they thought they had everything under control and called for help too late.
No doubt the dudes with braid on their caps will figure it out but obviously, even though the plimsoll line was somewhere around the helmsman’s ears, the shrimp-rich sandbars and surf of Wijk aan Zee (that had failed to fell me and 1,400 others on New Year's Day) just held too little water for the ship’s 7.7m draught. By mid-morning, she had stopped teetering in the waves and was hard aground – mercifully with her flat underbelly on English Channel mud. Mind you, wherever the wind might take you, there’s not much but similar dune-backed beach to hit from IJmuiden to Den Helder.
As the news spread during the morning the beach became more crowded with what the Dutch deliciously call ramptoeristen. In spite of its frequent storms, this section of the coast seldom sees groundings. The harbour, lock and oil platform supply infrastructure at IJmuiden less than two miles to the south ensures there are always a few serious tugs hanging around and they can usually reach a ship in trouble before it scares the bathers.
By the time I found out about it, there were already videos on YouTube, so I wasn’t going to brave the same wind that had blown the ship onto the beach in the first place just to take more. Anyway, high tide wasn’t till around 01h30 which was the first chance the 226-ton tug Svitser Marken and the Coast Guard’s Ievoli Black would have to attempt to drag her free.
It took me all of ten minutes to drive to the beach, and by the time I climbed over the high dune to reach the sea, the sun was well set. By now the ramptoeristen hailed from far afield as the newspapers and 20h00 NOS Journaalled with dramatic pictures.
Most of the locals had gone home for dinner, so the out-of-towners poured in and the beach cafés who would usually be looking at a quiet nigh twere doing the local economy proud. The wind had abated slightly but what was left was icy. The beach itself was still quite empty, just couples or small groups standing here and there. The odd dog-walker. Aztec Maiden was only listing very slightly but apart from the regular waves battering her starboard side, she was practically high and dry with the underside of her bulbous bow and her rudder clearly visible.
The tugs were going to have a fight on their hands. At about 23h00, we saw a rocket go up. It couldn’t be a distress flare because everyone including the postmaster of Goree Overvlakkee was quite aware of their situation, and there was no immediate danger for the crew. Turned out it was Ievoli Black firing a line rocket. It landed on the beach not 25m from me, a perfect shot directly over one of the ship’s derricks, and we saw a flurry of hands on board. The tow cable was attached.
As the 00h30 “high water” deadline approached, more people broke the cover of the restaurants and some of the locals were back to see this marine tug-o-war. An hour later, as a squall blew in to dampen a hitherto dry evening, all that could be seen beyond the ship was the lights of the two tugs, straining against the lines, heeled to port like dinghies close-hauled to the wind, which was whipping up again. By now there were as many people on the beach as you’d see on a warm spring afternoon. But Aztec Maiden wasn’t going anywhere tonight.
By the time I reached home (and my keyboard and mouse fingers thawed), reports said that the National Police “will be looking into it”. Suffice to say I doubt this Captain will be allowed to command anything larger than a canoe again. According to the concise summary I heard from one of the Coast-Guard members – who had to keep patrolling the beach after I had the luxury of going home – “there was a very high stupidity factor involved here….”
