Mælström

Spinning water that will suck you and your ship down to the depths.

Introduction

A Mælström, more often spelt maelstrom, but mælström looks cooler, is a fast rotating body of water which has a downwards suction component. Another name for the phenomenon is whirlpool, but those are bodies of rotating waters without a downward suction.

Mælströms are feared by sailors and swimmers alike, as they can potentioally suck a ship or a person in to the depths, to for ever disappear below the waves.

Mælström by Hellbuny (via wikimedia commons)

How do they work

In your sink or bathtub, small mælströms can also occur when you drain away the accumulated water. It's gravity that pulls down on the water in the sink trough the drain. And the force of rotation of the earth and/or the shape of the sink, that causes the water to start spinning.
But for a mælström in the seas, it is usually the tidal currents forcing water over through a narrow passage that creates these immense whirlpools. But it can also be the weather that pushes the water along.

The largest mælströms can reach up to 15 meters in diameter, and can spin water around as fast as 18 knots. What you might not know or expect is that the mælströms make a deep roaring sound that can be heard over a great distance around. Greatly adding to them being prevalent in local folklore and the fear for them.

But most surprising fact of all is that some whale species, especially Mink Whale love to play in those death traps! They willingly dive in, to be sucked down, try to swim against the current, try to jump out, and then disappear under water to later reappear outside the mælström, presumably having been spit out by the downdraft near the seafloor, only to swim back and dive in again.

Type

Natural

Etymology

The world mælström, or maelstrom, comes from the Dutch word maalstroom, which is the word for the same phenomenon. Maalstroom is a contraction of the verbs malen, to grind, and stromen, to flow. Via the Scandinavian languages it came into English with several possible spelling option.

Coire Bhreacain

Coire Bhreacain in Ghaelic, Corryvreckan in English, Which means as much as "Cauldron of the Speckled Sea"

Coire Bhreacain by Walter Baxter (via wikimedia commons)

This Cauldron is a famous mælström on the Scottish west coast. It is formed by a strong tidal flow, rushing trough the Strait of Corryvreckan, a narrow passage between the two islands Jura and Scarba. The shape of the seafloor, creates one of the biggest mælström's in the world.

The flood tide creates waves of up to nine meters high. and the water can reach speeds of 10 knots. The deep roaring sound the water makes can be heard from 9 nautical miles away.

The Royal Navy originally classified the Coire Bhreacain as 'not navigationalble' but later reduced the classification to only 'extremely dangerous'.

For a Scottish documentary, a mannequin with sensors was once thrown into the cauldron, it was found to be pulled down to a depth of 262 meters, and was dragged along the ocean floor for a great distance.

Whiskey and Rum

Stijn was horribly seasick. He didn't want to admit it, but he was. Stijn was on the HMS Rover, a Royal Navy patrol boat. Now what was a Dutch navy cadet doing there? Stijn had volunteered for an exchange project. Hoping he would go on one of the cool modern frigates the British had. But here he was, in some old tiny leaky patrol boat rolling and pitching while they patrolled some Scottish Fjord in the fog he didn't care about. What was the name of this place again? Oh right. Firth of Clyde, the Brits have a submarine base up river. 'Firth' sounded an awful lot like 'filth' to Stijn. Anyway, two months more and then he could get back home.

"Captain?" Rose asked. "Why are we picking up illegal whiskey here?. Gesturing around.
"Didn't you watch the Lord of the Rings Rose? The closer you are to danger, the further you are from harm. That's what Pippin said, right, the hobbit?" Peter answered. Not explaining anything.

It had been a pleasant trip, Rose thought. First, they had shipped (better known as "smuggled") a cargo of rum across the Atlantic Ocean to the UK, for a pub called Pirate Refuge. The Narwhal was not a big ship, but it was surprising how much bottles went into her hold. After they made their way around the south of the United Kingdom, posing as a pleasure yacht. To now pick up a load of whiskey, under the same conditions, for the return trip to the Caribbean where they would sell the bottles to The Last Drop ale house and some bars on Plage de Sable.

The radio crackled and Stijn couldn't make heads nor toes from that message that was some mix of posh English and rural Scottish. But the skipper made a sharp turn and the boat that was already rocking and rolling came at a horrible angle on the waves and Stijn felt his stomach bounce. "It's a bit rough, isn't it? The tide is rushing in at the moment." Said the skipper while looking at Stijn. "The radio asked to check out a yacht. They can't get in touch, and they are afraid it's being caught by the current. Probably some yachties." the skipper explained.

"Damn fog." Rose muttered.
"There is no need to swear Sec., we got RADAR and ECDIS, we'll be fine, just have to get out of this bay, and into the ocean and we're on our way back home." The radio cracked again. The coastguard was calling them. "Just ignore them. Hope they think we're a yacht without radio." The Narwhal had her engine running, together with the sails, there was fog, but there was also wind, and together they just managed to push into the rushing in flood tide.

"krrgggt.. this is the Royal Navy Patrol Boat Rover. Do you read me over?" .... "This is the Rover, we are coming to check if all is okay."
"Fucking nosy grey boat, why are they even out in this weather? Go to the pub." Peter muttered. "Rose, turn around. Steer with the tide, we don't need their eyes on our cargo. Boatswain all hands on the sheets! I want the Narwhal racing."
The Narwhal turned around swiftly, and with the flooding tide, they rushed along fast.

"Well, that's bloody odd. Why would they do that?" The skipper of the Rover muttered while frowning at his radar screen. "They turned around. Helmsman follow them, course zero-three-zero."
The Rover turned, and was now sailing with the waves coming from behind, lifting up the stern, pushing the small boat off course every time the wave passed under them, the helmsman was fighting to keep the Rover on course. Stijn didn't know how to sit anymore. He tried to stand up to get some fresh air on deck. But he was thrown off his feet and trown forward against the center consol. The sudden impact to the consol, made Stijn empty his stomach all over the engine controls. With a lot of beeping and red flashing lights, one of the engines stopped. "GOD DAMMIT BLOODY CHEESE EATING IDIOT!"

From the Narwhal, they just got a glimpse of the vessel chasing them in between the fog. It was a one of the grey's, but it seemed to have slowed down a lot suddenly. "How are we going to lose that?" One of the crew asked. "I don't know yet." Peter answered.
"Captain? What is that sound?" Rose asked worried. A low rumble was piercing the fog from somewhere in front of them, slowly getting louder.
"The cauldron" Peter looked over his shoulder. The grey boat was on his port quarter. "Rose, steer towards that sound, but keep it to our port."

The rumble was turning into a loud roar, and the current had picked up speed. The GPS showed a speed of 21 knots! Rose was having trouble to keep course. The Narwhal kept being sucked to the port, but luckily the wind was on their side, and they just could keep out of what Rose now knew was a mælström! Looking over her shoulder, she could see the grey boat was still on their tail, a bit off to the port. They would soon turn to the starboard right? To avoid the mælström, Or did they think they could power through it?

On the Rover it was chaos, the helmsman was having serious trouble keeping course with one engine, while the engineers were busy dismantling the center consol to find the short circuit that prevented the second engine from re-starting. Stijn was sitting outside, miserable. He could see the two-masted sailing yacht off their starboard bow. Full sail, they looked like they knew what they were doing.

Suddenly the skipper started shouting, "Hard to starboard! Hard to starboard!" Stijn felt the boat starting to turn to starboard, but then the Rover appeared to slide sideways to port, and started to spin. Stijn saw the coastline flash by. Sometimes he picked up a look of the yacht that disappeared in the fog, but most of the time he had his eyes closed tight, while holding on tight to bollard he was sitting next. Hoping it would end soon, but the boat kept spinning and spinning.

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