“Where on earth is that bloody green bin?!” my husband asks angrily. “According to the plotter, it should be just up ahead, but it’s not there. Can you see it anywhere?” – “No. But you know the way, don’t you? We’ve sailed this route so many times before.” – “But it’s got to be somewhere!” my husband exclaims, getting worked up. “Maybe it’s been stolen,” I say. That would be a possibility, after all. The material value – just think of the rising raw material prices. Or some joker with a maritime imagination has used it to decorate their driveway. Then a red one would probably go missing next. “Who on earth would steal a navigation buoy?” He looks at me as if I’d told him he was the most sensitive and tender-hearted person in the whole world. For some reason, I’m reminded of my friend Andi, who once said: “Oh, there are great men on every corner. It’s a shame the earth is round.” But that’s another matter.
Here comes Marcel in his boat. “Can you see the green buoy anywhere?” he calls over to us, and my husband looks at me as if he’d just won a gold medal. “See, he can’t see it either!” – “I didn’t say I couldn’t see it.” My husband now reaches for his binoculars and looks like he’s taking part in a NATO situation briefing. “I can see the next one,” he now calls out to Marcel. “But the other one must be there,” Marcel calls back, “that’s not possible!”
What on earth is so hard to understand about a buoy going missing? Why get so worked up about it? It’ll be somewhere. The mooring has come loose, or someone’s just nicked it, or whatever. “It was still floating there yesterday when we drove past!” Marcel and my husband are staring at the water as if the buoy might slowly resurface out of shame.
An observation turns into a national scandal
Having arrived at the harbour in Sonderborg, we’re all sitting together having a barbecue. I mean, everyone. Including six men. It would be a good opportunity for a nice chat. My husband and Marcel are telling the group about the terrible, dangerous and catastrophic incident. A murmur ripples across the table. “What, the buoy’s gone?” asks Heiner, horrified. “They can’t do that! They’re ruining everything!”
Marcel pulls out his mobile and looks for a photo that’s doing the rounds. He’s actually taken a photo of the spot where the buoy should be. So he’s photographed water. “That’s not good,” mutters Hanno, who always comments on everything with the phrase “That’s not good”. Even the sunsets. A new group of barbecue-goers arrives on the site. “What’s that I hear: the buoy in the Marstal fairway’s gone?” – “How on earth did that happen?”
“What’s happened, then?” asks another man who happens to be passing by. “The bin’s gone.” – “Which bin?” – “Well, the green one at Bredholm!” – “You’re joking!” – “No, I’m not. I mean, no, the bin’s not there.” – “No!” – “Yes, it is!” – “Unbelievable!”
Maps, theories and very little meat inspection
Beer is drunk, and now things are getting serious. The man goes off and comes back with some nautical charts; one is spread out on the wooden table, and heads are now bumping into one another as everyone wants to see ‘the spot’ on the chart. “Here! This is exactly where it must be!” – “These are charts from 1984,” says Frank the Elder. “So what? The fairway isn’t going anywhere!” says Frank the Younger. “I once took that route towards Svendborg,” says someone I don’t know. “I remember it very clearly because I was so looking forward to the squid rings from Bendixen.” – “The fish shop right by the harbour?” – “Yes.” – “Do they do fish rolls there too?” – “No.” – “Have you ever noticed that there are hardly any fish roll stalls in Danish harbours?” asks another stranger.
A collective murmur of agreement. “There are some in Copenhagen,” says my husband. “Which harbour?” – “I can’t remember.” – “Copenhagen’s lovely.” – “But expensive.” – “Not as expensive as Norway. A scoop of ice cream costs eight euros there.” And so on. Michi has an explanation: “Back in the day, the barrels were still reliable.” Everyone nods reverently. Nobody knows when this ‘back in the day’ is supposed to have been. Probably during the German Empire. I try to stay calm, but I’m hungry and nobody’s looking after the barbecue meat. Meanwhile, the discussion continues.
“Maybe it’s been moved.” – “Why would anyone move a barrel?” – “The EU.” – “That’s right.” – “Or the Russians.” – “The Russians don’t steal barrels, do they?” – “How do you know that?” – “Maybe it was drifted by ice.” – “In July?” – “The weather’s gone mad.”
Half an hour later, several theories have emerged: The bin has been stolen. The bin was never there. It used to be further west. The new map update is to blame. The Greens have something to do with it. Buoys used to have a bit of character. The authorities are cutting costs again. That’s typical of Germany. That’s typical of Denmark. Maybe a whale. “We’re not getting anywhere like this,” explains Jan, and everyone nods. “I don’t think it was a whale.” – “Why not?” – “Because there are only porpoises round here, and I don’t think they’d mess with green bins.”
Silence. A moment’s thought, then a collective nod. “That humpback whale – what was his name again? – he can’t do anything now, he’s sadly passed away.” – “Do you think he stole the bin?” – “What was his name again?” – “Johnny.” – “Nah.” – “Jimmy?” – “No, not him either.” – “But you can’t really get inside an animal’s head. Anything’s possible. What if he mistook the bin for a crab or for plankton?” – “His name was Mandy.” – “No way.” – “Such a shame he didn’t make it!” – “Yes.” – “Yes.” – “Yes.”
“You never know with the Danes,” says one man, “they’d certainly clear away the rubbish without any red tape. In Germany, you’d have to submit an application first.” A lively discussion ensues about German civil servants, who have little chimney sweeps in their offices with 1-cent coins as good-luck charms and signs reading ‘I’m here at work, not on the run’.
“We should tell someone,” suggests Melina. Finally, a sensible idea. An awkward silence. I almost get the impression that no one wants to end this discussion. “Yes, definitely,” my husband says lamely. “I’m sure we’re obliged to report this.” – “Who do we ring?” – “The water police.” – “They’ll just laugh at us.” – “Maybe the sea rescue service?” – “Over a buoy?” – “Well, before anyone else dies.” – “Nobody dies because of a missing buoy.” – “They probably said the same thing on the ‘Titanic’.”
By now, a small crowd of know-it-alls has gathered round our table, though they’re now just watching each other do nothing. Mobile phones are pulled out; people go onto MarineTraffic and other websites to find out something. “I’ve got it!” Michi almost shouts. Everyone turns to him. “The buoy’s been taken out of the water for maintenance.” – “Pardon?” – “It’s being serviced.” Silence. You can literally feel the collective disappointment spreading at this alarmingly logical explanation. “How do you know that?” – “It’s in the news for seafarers.” Stunned silence. “You read that?” Michi nods. Now the mood takes a definitive turn for the worse. Nobody here likes people who know what they’re talking about. Jan clears his throat. “Well … Still, it’s badly organised.” – “Absolutely.” – “They should at least have put up a sign.” – “On the water?” – “Yes, why not?”
And whilst the missing buoy has long since been lying peacefully somewhere in a buoy yard, spruced up and polished to a shine, around twenty German sailors spend another two hours discussing whether buoys used to be heavier. Whether everything used to be better. I mention to the group that it’s getting later and later and I’d quite like to have a steak. Everyone’s eyes turn to the plate of grilled meat. It’s empty. The steaks and sausages have gone. I look over at Shaky, Frank the Younger’s dog. He looks content and full. “It’s your dog again,” everyone agrees, and Shaky looks guilty. “Well,” says Frank the Younger, “we could always go to the Italian place and order spaghetti tonno, haha.” Rarely have I laughed so hard with my stomach rumbling.
Oh, right: Timmy. Timmy was the whale’s name. But nobody here cares about that anymore.
For those who want to stick to the topic: some background on why Navigation buoys are merely aids to navigation are, like the Buoyage of navigation channels works and why the Danish South Seas remains a dream destination for many sailors.
Steffi von Wolff
Freie Autorin
