Not a ferry smooth ride: near-mishap at sea
Like restless waters
“Allahu akbar!” the woman in the other row of seats beside me cried out loud, setting off a chorus of wails among our fellow passengers.
The men rushed to the port side to get a closer look as our ferry was inching toward a similar vessel whose engine might have conked out in the middle of Bali Strait.
I asked Bretha, Amber and Cyan to stay put and stay calm. There was little chance we’d hit the other boat, I thought, as there seemed more than enough time for the ship captain to veer away. Besides we were close to land, the Port of Ketapang looked within reach.
Our boat, the roll-on roll-off kind, had departed half an hour earlier from Gilimanuk, a port town on the western edge of Bali facing the main Indonesian island of Java. A woman from the tour operator we had booked accompanied us for the crossing. The entire process of checking in and boarding was, I should say, smooth sailing.
The weather was clear that day — we had just taken a pleasant five-hour ride from Bali to Gilimanuk — but the currents in the strait were restless.
And the ferry we were on was a slow one, no different from the other diesel-engine steel ships navigating languidly through the swirling currents between Gilimanuk and Ketapang in Java.
I could see the nearby port of Ketapang and make out the outline of a modern dock similar to the one in Gilimanuk, but bigger. Ketapang was our gateway to Java’s ancient wonders, both manmade and natural: Borobudur, Prambanan, Mount Bromo and Mount Ijen.
A wave of excitement rushed through my head, if not for the stalled vessel now just a few feet away from ours, completely blocking my view of Ketapang.
The wails had gotten louder. And louder still when our boat bumped the other with a dull clang. The impact wasn’t violent, but who knows what the condition of these ships are? I looked at our guide. She seemed relaxed, so I didn’t bother to ask if this was normal. (Obviously not.)
As the other boat lolled mindlessly in the water, our ship captain managed to steer his boat inch by slow inch away from danger, at least for now.
“Allahu akbar!” the women chorused to their relief.
But the waters of Bali Strait remained restless and unpredictable. The swirling currents again drew both ships toward each other. Another impact was imminent. But how? Isn’t the sea big enough for both of these ships to navigate in peace?
The trepidation among our fellow passengers was understandable. On one of the empty seats lay the day’s newspaper. Splashed on the front page was the banner story of a continuing search for close to 200 passengers that have gone missing after a tourist ferry sank a week earlier in a crater lake up northwest in Sumatra. The infographic showed how the overloaded wooden boat sank 490 meters to the bottom of Lake Toba with only 18 people rescued out of the 213 on board. Perhaps some of our fellow passengers lost loved ones in the accident and were heading there thousands of kilometers away, and now this. But we wouldn’t know.
Cyan was crying. Bretha, Amber and Arwen were on the edge of their seats but calm. We had traveled on smaller boats through rougher waters back home and managed to get back on land mostly dry. As a family traveling in a place that’s both familiar and strange at the same time and now finding ourselves in such circumstances, we could not afford to lose our grip. But definitely, this wasn’t part of the itinerary. Our guide was her usual quiet self, though, and that was quite reassuring.
I went back to the port side to watch another unfolding collision. In everyday use, collisions conjure images of violent crashes, but in the scientific sense, a collision is a collision regardless of force of impact. And there we were in the middle of it all.
As if drawn towards each other like toy magnets, the hulls of both ships collided anew, and the sound of metal scraping against metal drowned the agitated wails of passengers. The other boat was empty save for the flustered crew. It was also facing Ketapang but heading nowhere.
For several long seconds, the two ships were grinding slowly but heavily against each other, like water behemoths hemming and hawing in an age-old ritual, one dragged by the undertow, the other pushed by the surface currents, as the sea gurgled and swirled under the hulls and bows. Then a final separation announced by a collective sigh of relief. God is the greatest, everyone chanted quietly in their seat.
The accidental pair finally split for good, and for the next half hour our good old boat continued on its short journey without incident.
As our boat approached land, we saw a number of piers jutting out of the modern Ketapang Port. Several vehicles, mostly motorcycles, were queued on one of the piers, the drivers and passengers oblivious to the minor maritime incident the boat they were about to board had gone through.
After our boat docked, we disembarked — smoothly — and passed through a covered walkway, our guide leading us to a waiting vehicle that would head straight to the nearby city of Banyuwangi where we would check-in at a nice hotel.
The short drive got me thinking whether I had planned enough to mitigate risks. I don’t overdo it, but when it involves planning a non-conventional trip for a family of five, one must think hard about what we’re getting ourselves into.
The legendary aviator Charles Lindbergh did say, “I don’t believe in taking unnecessary risks, but a life without risk isn’t worth living.” I agree to a fault. And yet there are risks that you can’t see coming, risks that are beyond calculating. In hindsight, that incident in Bali Strait could have gone south. But it didn’t. The worst that happened was a slight delay of our arrival, 30 minutes tops.
So, if you ask me whether we’d still ride a boat from Gilimanuk to Ketapang if we get the chance, I’d say no way. We’d probably take the one from Ketapang to Gilimanuk instead.