MICHAEL WALSH FORMER DECKHAND: The raw drama of nature at its most furious is not for the faint-hearted at the best of times. However, shipboard life on the ocean wave carries on with as little interruption as circumstances allow.

During our voyage from Panama to Britain, our log-laden vessel encountered the mother of all Atlantic hurricanes.

On January 9, 1960, I signed on to the MV Columbia Star in Liverpool as a Junior Ordinary Seaman (JOS). By this time, I had various tickets, such as Steering and Lifeboat tickets.

Our voyage had taken us through the Panama Canal and then up and along, in and out of the Western United States and Canada, mainly the lumber camps.

Such a vessel as ours is about 300 feet in length, so comparatively a rowing boat when meeting oncoming storm-driven greenbacks bellowing towards the ship at a fair number of knots. These Atlantic waves are each the size of city apartment blocks.

From feet to feat, to stand anywhere on such a ship in a full-blown hurricane is an achievement in itself.

From the comparative safety of the liner’s wheelhouse, I tried with difficulty to hold the vessel on its course as the distressed vessel reared into the 100 mph-plus shrieking winds. Total focus was needed as like a cork in a storm the cargo vessel head-butted each massive oncoming wave.

With pounding engines, the ship would crawl up the sides of each wave until, tilting at the crest, the ship descended like an Alps skier before burying its bows in the trough of the following wave.

Each time it did so, a tsunami accompanied by spume and spray hurled its death shroud over the full length of the vessel.

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Storms for us seamen were the ultimate entertainment. Laughing, we watched a Junior Ordinary Seaman lose his footing as he emerged from the forward locker.

With a 5-gallon open tin of paint held in each fist, the unfortunate Junior Ordinary Seaman skidded the full length of the foredeck on his backside before crashing to a halt at the ship’s bulwark. Surprisingly and much to our amusement, he hadn’t spilt a drop during his unwanted slalom.

The ship’s Scottish bosun was very much a no-nonsense taskmaster. Few of us would have lost sleep at the loss of the ship’s petty officer.

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On this full hurricane occasion, the bosun found it necessary to leave the foredeck to reach the afterdeck. His doing so necessitated his passing along the open all-weather alleyway situated beneath the boat deck.

Biding his time to get his judgment right, the veteran seaman dashed at what he thought an opportune moment towards and along the open alley.

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Alas, at that moment, a mighty Atlantic greenback slammed into the plunging ship’s port side and rolled the vessel over on its starboard side. As the ship shuddered and rolled, the vessel’s alleyway and the vessel’s bosun became submerged.

All appeared lost. It seemed our voyage would continue to London without the bosun. However, fate on this occasion was merciful.

RIGHT: MV Columbia Star makes slow headway battling against a North Atlantic hurricane.

As the vessel shuddered and righted itself whilst hurling from its flanks a bursting dam of green-speckled waves, the tough-as-nails Aran islander was seen grimly hanging on the liner’s bulwarks. His near-death experience was met with a storm of good humour.

During the hurricane, the younger and, it must be said, more stupid of the crew sported about on the foredecks.

The teenage seamen dove for shelter in the lee of the vessel’s hatches as thousands of tons of seawater reared and crashed along the heaving ship’s plunging decks. TELL US WHAT YOU THINK: PLEASE SHARE OUR STORIES

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