My Encounter with the Bay of Biscay: The Ship Graveyard

I was onboard a steam ship headed to Montoir, France, from Bonny Island, Nigeria, to discharge a cargo of LNG—liquefied natural gas. Part of our passage plan included crossing the Bay of Biscay, also known as the SHIP GRAVEYARD or the Gulf of Gascony. It’s a triangular stretch of the northeast Atlantic, between the western coast of France and the northern coast of Spain, notorious for its fierce waves and unpredictable weather. That was a real concern for us because it was winter, around December, when the wind is at its wildest.

Surprisingly, we crossed the Bay without a single hitch. The sea was calm, smooth as glass. It shimmered under the sky so peacefully that it seemed one could walk on it. With all the terrifying tales I’d heard from older crewmen and what I’d read online, I couldn’t help wondering if this was truly the Bay of Biscay everyone feared.

We arrived in Montoir safely. After the usual formalities, we all went ashore. I bought a few perfumes—I’ve always had a soft spot for them—and some other small things. By the time we got back onboard and finished discharging, a weather report came in warning of a storm forming over the English Channel. We had to cast off quickly to avoid it.

But when we reached the Bay of Biscay again, I didn’t recognize it anymore. I asked myself, is this the same sea we passed so quietly a few days ago? It felt as if the gods of the deep had awakened. The storm came upon us with fury. The ship rolled from starboard to port, as though it might tumble into the dark water. Since we had discharged our cargo, the ship was light and easily tossed by the wind.

The propellers groaned as we pushed against the storm. Our speed dropped to 5knots, then suddenly a thunderous bang shook the vessel. A steam pipe had burst. The boiler tripped, and the whole engine room filled with hot mist. The fire alarm went off.

The chief engineer and the engine team rushed down, while the rest of the crew mustered at their stations. In the confusion, the chief engineer slipped on the staircase and fell, losing a couple of teeth. By then the ship had stopped completely, drifting helplessly at the mercy of the sea.

The entire engine team worked through the night. Before dawn, the engines roared back to life. The captain altered course toward the Spanish coast until the weather settled.

That night was terrifying, but it also revealed the silent courage that comes from being at sea. It tested our strength, our calm, and our trust in one another. It was a night of fear and faith, and it was one of those moments that made me a sailor.