The yellow mooring lines have turned brittle and hard as steel – the deck cold as. There is ice on the gangway and the grab lines laced between stanchions are trimmed delicately with an inch of white. Change is always welcome but the word about the boat this morning is: ‘a good time to be heading south’.

The day goes on and on and then, just before midnight, the bunker barge draws alongside. Our last day in port starts with engineers bundled up against the sub-zero starry night as three months fuel is pumped into the tanks.

Daylight arrives and with it three months worth of food provisions are craned down into the hold. The big yellow buoys are the last to arrive and the sunshine fades to night. The ship becomes quiet, crew to their bunks with dreams of high seas ahead and loved ones left behind.

The engineers start the stern thruster, I see a puff of smoke off the port quarter as confirmation. We are good to go. Crew let go lines and we float free of the dock, dead-slow ahead and thrusting slowly to starboard. It is a glorious day in Amsterdam and although my misting breath indicates temperatures below freezing point there is hardly a breath of wind. Perfect conditions for a first time at the controls of the Arctic Sunrise.

It is wonderful to have thrusters, something I have been looking forward to like a child anticipating Christmas. Moving on from the 55 year old Rainbow Warrior, I find myself captain of the 37 year old ice-breaker – now the oldest boat in the Greenpeace fleet. In gentle movements of the throttle I feel the power of her 2500hp engine, but the maximum I take her to this morning is slow ahead and half on the thrusters.

We edge out from the long shadows of Oranje Werf floating dock to emerge into a silvery winter sunshine, a swing around the dock to park up again on the the other side. I can feel she is eager to put to sea, soon that will be.

Arctic Sunrise

Alain was one of the first captains of Rainbow Warrior II in 1989. He positioned ‘Dave the Dolphin’ on the bow. At 78 years of age he is a grand master story teller and I am the lucky one to have the opportunity to hear those stories as we cross the Bay of Bengal.

The Rainbow Warrior has been handed over to the organisation Friendship, a Bangladesh based NGO. She has been renamed “Rongdhonu”, Bengali for Rainbow, and will be refitted as a hospital ship serving the coastal belt of Bangladesh, delivering primary and secondary medical assistance to some of the most vulnerable communities of the world.

Greenpeace has acted responsibly in the donation of the boat. In the contract with Friendship there is provision that when the time comes for the Rongdhonu to be scrapped, that it will be done to the highest environmental standards and that Greenpeace will provide financial assistance to make sure this happens. Greenpeace also have the right of approval of any potential future owners to ensure that the commitment to these standards will be kept and that the ship will end her life in the manner she has advocated for so many years.

We are all set to sail. The crew remains essentially the same for the delivery voyage to Chittagong. The weather is looking good with a steady SW monsoon and we should be able to get the rags out for one last glorious sail. We will have no internet or email or telephone for this crossing – only radio and telex. We will disappear and pop up on the other side.

I close now, with love and peace.
mike

First mate of the Rongdhunu

7 years later Greenpeace bought their first boat and named it Rainbow Warrior. But that was bombed in its 7th year of action – whilst protesting against Nuclear Weapons – in 1985. After the sinking of the first Rainbow Warrior the phrase ‘You can’t sink a rainbow’ was coined to explain that even though the ship had been sunk, the spirit sailed on.

The spirit has sailed on this boat for 22 years. This boat has carried people from around the world and has stood as an icon of hope over pessimism and as an emblem of action over complacency. I and my crew share a special bond with this ship that has been our home, that has helped to shape our lives. 

This Rainbow Warrior has traveled the world over. The 88 national flags on board indicate the places she has been. She has stopped the Russian whaling fleet in the straits of Gibraltar, protested in Mururoa like her predecessor, blockaded ships carrying coal, and ships carrying palm oil. She has confiscated illegal fishing nets and assisted in oil spill clean ups. She brought humanitarian aid in the wake of the Asian Tsunami of 2004 and most recently monitored radiation levels off the coast of Fukushima, Japan.

For me the Rainbow Warrior has been my finishing school. On my first night of command, five years ago, we rescued the crew of a sinking yacht. On my third day on board I transmitted a mayday distress when Rainbow Warrior was boarded by angry French fishermen with knives threatening to massacre the crew in Marseilles. The pace never slowed.

Rainbow Warrior has won the hearts of communities around the world and inspired hope. The bunting we’ve hung on the ship is decorated with memories from crew, supporters and well-wishers from Alaska to Argentina, Belarus to Bombay. People who have been touched by the Rainbow Warrior, and who are grateful that a ship like this exists.

Now it is time to say goodbye and so we lower the Greenpeace flag of this old Rainbow Warrior and let her spirit free.

I pause, reminded of a childhood difficulty I used to face with chocolate bunnies at easter: what was less painful: first biting off the ears or the legs? I did not wish to do either. I close my eyes and wish the Rainbow Warrior god speed on its journey to a new vessel. I reach down to touch the furthest corner of the totem.

Maite is on the stern, the colour in her pot is stone. She dips her roller into it whilst wiping away tears with the back of her hand. The top left corner of the Kwakiutl totem disappears with the first sweep of her long arm and roller. I watch from the jetty as the second totem disappears off the surface of the Rainbow Warrior.

The sun bakes the old riveted hull in Singapore and the paint dries quickly. The rest of the crew have green in their pots. Stripes of it cut swathes into the seven colours of the rainbow.

I have tears in my eyes. I have loved this ship. She has been my first command and my home for five years. Now it is time to say: Goodbye Rainbow Warrior.

Painting out the rainbow

Painting out the Kwakiutl totem

It is Katie who finds the treasure. It slips from behind a silkscreen outside the radio room door. Maite – designated Rainbow Warrior II historian – is the first person to be told. An excited babble comes down the alleyway growing louder until it bursts into my cabin: ‘Miiiiiike! Look what we found.’

A muster list from 1995. Ten years after the bombing of the first boat, Rainbow Warrior II sailed into the territorial waters off Mururoa. The French were about to conduct another nuclear test. Marines stormed, they spray painted the bridge windows, cut through the steel doors and seized the ship.

In those moments of grinding and sparks, someone must have hid the emergency muster list from view. In the closing days of Rainbow Warrior II the names of old crew are revealed and we are reminded of our roots – to end nuclear weapons testing.

1995 muster list

I recognize my old suitcase and the familiarity deepens when Jem lifts it off the belt. She strides towards the green zone trundling it behind her, then disappears from view. The shipping agent is leaning against a marble pillar, seemingly disinterested.

Whoosh! The doors slide open and she is in my arms. People are trying to get past – I edge us over to the side. My betrothed has arrived in Singapore. She is worried about her unbrushed teeth, I am worried about the waiting agent. There is nervous energy. He takes her suitcase and we turn to follow, hand in hand as we have longed for.

The vacuum cleaner comes out, along with a bucket, sponges and a green cleaning detergent. A feeling of satisfaction rises out of wiping it all away; the dust and the years of jumbled files in the mainframe. I polish my bare wooden desk and place upon its fresh surface my moleskine and fountain pen.

Captain's log

We step out of the forest and merge into cosmopolitan Singapore on a Saturday afternoon at the Botanic Gardens. Maite and Katie are with me. On the wide expanse of open grass we eat mango ice creams amongst the picnickers and frisbee players. I kick off my sandals and let the coarse grass touch the soles of my feet. Seated, I pat the wiry surface for feeling and then harder until I hear the thudding connection to solid mass beneath my hands – this is the Earth.

There is a feeling of incredulity. These are heightened moments of awareness but to be expected; borne of being on a boat, on steel decks and on the water for so long.

There is a waterfall in the midst of a ginger garden and sunlight sparkles off its curtain. Above, a stork billed kingfisher: red, orange and blue, sits on a branch overseeing the wedding couple. A bride and groom – white dress, black suit – seemingly plucked off a wedding cake, have their pictures taken, I am smiling along with everyone in the gardens.

The world famous orchid garden takes me deeper still, into the world of colour, impeccable design and symmetry. My eyes settle on the flowers, following their runways and slip roads towards nectar. I find myself longing to be an insect and thankful to be alive.

The entrance to the Republic of Singapore Yacht Club (RSYC) is dominated by the Lipton Cup – a dazzling piece of silver on proud display to members and their guests. A large swimming pool is surrounded by wooden deck chairs and blue umbrellas. From ‘The Bridge’ one can sip a pink Singapore Sling whilst watching the sun setting over Rainbow Warrior.

Twilights are short-lived, giving way to equal day and night – life on the equator. The days are hot and humidity is high. The occasional thunderstorm is a spectacular event where skies turn bruised purple and daylight takes on an electric yellow. When the clouds break over Singapore, the rain comes down in buckets.

Off the bow, a green park with lawns and trees. We paddle our kayaks over to where joggers, gymnasts and mothers with prams follow paths. Families set up tents over the weekend – Singapore is safe to do that.

And then there are the kite flyers who seem to fly all day and night – at night their kites are illuminated and we watch them flashing high up in the sky.

The spirit of Rainbow Warrior has taken good care of her crew in the final resting place of the old boat. All the doors do open themselves and all the lights do light themselves.