September 26, 1944 Evening
The crew could not hear the creaking sound that oars usually made, but then saw the rags and understood that the oars had been muffled. The Norwegians had been totally quiet, they were completely focused on bringing everyone safe and sound across the half kilometre of the strait. The visibility was minimal. The passengers could not see much beyond the waves breaking white on the sides of the boat. There was so little free board that waves splashed right over the gunwale.
In quiet moments at their base, the Canadians had talked about what could happen to them if they were ever forced down in occupied territory, but they had never imagined what they were now experiencing. They had been handed over to unknown persons who literally emerged from their darkness and whose faces they had not yet seen properly.
George Death and Harvey Firestone sat closest to the man rowing the boat. They were so close to him that they had to keep their knees out to each side so as to not keep knocking into his knees. Co-pilot Death said in a very quiet voice that he hoped that he would not be seasick. Firestone responded that the sea did not bother him and that the rain trickling down his neck was worse. It certainly reminded them of the persistent drizzle in Scotland.
The Norwegian who had invited them on board overheard them and took off his raincoat and spread it over their heads. Before he sat down, he bent forward and asked in American English with a Brooklyn accent:
“How's that Bud, feeling better now?”
“Yes. Thanks. Much better.” replied Death.
They had rowed a scant fifteen minutes when they glided into a sheltered inlet. The rower turned the boat and headed them towards towards another rowboat waiting there. The passengers were not aware of it until they were right beside it. Two men sat on benches in the other boat, and one man was standing in the middle of the boat. It was obvious they were waiting expectantly. They hoped-for meeting had occurred, and everything so far had gone according to plan.
Both boats were rowed to shore. Three Norwegians exchanged a few words among themselves. The apparent leader said through the interpreter that half of the crew needed to transfer to the other boat. The Norwegians had discussed how to distribute the passengers so that the weight would be balanced between the boats.
As soon as everyone took their places, the rowers put their oars to water. In the meantime, the wind had calmed. The rain had stopped, so they could now see considerably further than before.
They snaked their way among several islands, fairly close to the shore at times and further out to sea at others. The men at the oars rowed rhythmically for a long time. With six men in one boat and five in the others, they were never able to go very fast. For a long time no one said a word. Just when Firestone was hoping that the were arriving at their destination, although he hadn't the slightest idea where they were going, they swung away from land and headed straight out into the fjord again.
“We are half-way,” whispered the English-speaker into his ear reassuringly. One of the men in the lead rowboat suddenly saw a patrol boat that was lying silently sheltered by an island. It was one of the smaller style patrol boats and was sitting about a few hundred meters from them. It was rare for a German naval boat to be so far into the strait, but the local people sometimes saw seven or eight of them in the three nautical mile stretch between Bjørnatrynet and Strøno.
The rowers stopped rowing for a short while while eleven pairs of eyes stared at the patrol boat. They could hear that it had a multi-cylinder engine. Then someone took the helm and the boat turned and headed out at a slow speed heading west out into the fjord. The rowers then were very happy that they had not risked taking a motorboat.
The rowboats moved stealthily further, hugging the coast line not more than two oars-lengths from the shore. For those who know the waters well, this is safe. The riskier part of the journey was when they had to cross over two fjords, even thought they were narrow. A sharp eye can spot a rowboat in the dark out on a fjord – there is always some light at sea. But when a rowboat glides along the shadows of land at night, it is virtually impossible to see with the naked eye. They waited for a while before heading into a branch of the fjord and paused again before passing Bjørnarøy, but no other vessel was to be seen or heard.
Einar's parents, Kristian and Pernille Evensen had long wondered what Einar was doing. His father, Kristian, a marine pilot, worried about it. Einar would be gone all week before the sun rose. He could not possibly make a living only with fishing, boating, engine repairs and spending time with his friends. Kristian Evensen wondered about the classic sins: women, cards and drink, but Pernille took a more reasonable view. “Just wait, Kristian,” she said, “everything will be clear one day.” He admitted to himself and to his wife that she was right when Einar told the men from Bjørnen that he had connections. They had gone to bed at the usual time this Tuesday evening, but had not slept a wink.
As usual, Einar had not said anything when he left that afternoon, but this time they both knew what he was doing. They understood that the only chance for the aircrew was to get away from Bjørnatrynet before the next daybreak. Long after midnight they just lay there chatting. Kristian got up, dressed in wooden clogs and a raincoat and strolled outside.
Although Kristian was aging (he had turned 70 that year), his eyesight was still excellent. He stood on a hill from which he could see north and south on the fjord but could not be seen himself. The night was peaceful at the moment without any sounds of planes, and the only boat sounds were in the far distance.
After half an hour, he finally saw two rowboats coming out of the shadows of the islands to the east. They came very slowly, hugging the shore on the west side of the channel. He watched them until they were out of sight, continued to watch for a while to make sure that no one else was on the fjord, and then went inside to bed. “All well so far, Pernille,” he said to his wife.
The rowboats had been at sea for another 15 to 20 minutes after they had passed Bjørnarøy when they slipped into a narrow and secluded pool. They had reached a larger island where they veered to starboard and continued along the shore. The aircrew could see a faint light from a door that opened and closed in a building a few steps up from the water's edge. Outside the building stood a dark figure, probably a sentinel, but the boats passed by it and continued on for some distance. Either he didn't see them, or he took them for island folk on their way home from fishing.
They were rowing between two islands that were linked by a bridge. The Germans regularly crossed the bridge going to and from their base at Rottingatangane. A guard detachment was quartered in a house with views of the bridge and down to the sea. The guard detachment did not have to know about the aircrew to be suspicious about rowboats in a particularly sensitive area. The rowboats stopped a few meters short of the bridge. The passengers could see land on both sides of the boat and realized that they were in a narrow channel. The bridge was visible against the night sky, as was a figure that strode over it and walked away.
They waited motionless for a couple of minutes. When no other people could be seen on land, Holmefjord and Magnus Røttingen stepped out onto the shore. They moved stealthily up to the bridge and the lookout. They were gone for a quarter hour, a seemingly endless time, when one returned and reported that everything seemed clear, while the other continued to look in the area around the bridge. The rowboats went on a few hundred meters then again turned back to the shore. One stopped at a large rock and the person who had continued to scout the area appeared and stepped quietly on board.
They had still to cross the large bay at Vedholmen before going through another narrow passage and then their final leg across a fjord. A few fathoms [22] south of the mouth of the passage, they again stopped and waited by a large black rock, just outside the entrance to a channel. They heard the sound of a motor in the direction they had come from. They heard a boat head down the passage and head up unto the bay. Even before they see it, the Norwegians recognized the boat by the sound of its single-cylinder “dunk-dunk” engine. It was a boat that belonged in the islands, not some foreign craft.
The rowboats continued, and slowly but surely a black wall came into view ahead. The Canadians were informed that the were finally arriving at their destination. They had been in the rowboats for about two hours.
The rowers kept in close to the steep shore, with an island between them and the open fjord. They finally lifted their oars, while Nils Røttingen told the Canadians that they would be staying here.
The crew could not hear the creaking sound that oars usually made, but then saw the rags and understood that the oars had been muffled. The Norwegians had been totally quiet, they were completely focused on bringing everyone safe and sound across the half kilometre of the strait. The visibility was minimal. The passengers could not see much beyond the waves breaking white on the sides of the boat. There was so little free board that waves splashed right over the gunwale.
In quiet moments at their base, the Canadians had talked about what could happen to them if they were ever forced down in occupied territory, but they had never imagined what they were now experiencing. They had been handed over to unknown persons who literally emerged from their darkness and whose faces they had not yet seen properly.
George Death and Harvey Firestone sat closest to the man rowing the boat. They were so close to him that they had to keep their knees out to each side so as to not keep knocking into his knees. Co-pilot Death said in a very quiet voice that he hoped that he would not be seasick. Firestone responded that the sea did not bother him and that the rain trickling down his neck was worse. It certainly reminded them of the persistent drizzle in Scotland.
The Norwegian who had invited them on board overheard them and took off his raincoat and spread it over their heads. Before he sat down, he bent forward and asked in American English with a Brooklyn accent:
“How's that Bud, feeling better now?”
“Yes. Thanks. Much better.” replied Death.
They had rowed a scant fifteen minutes when they glided into a sheltered inlet. The rower turned the boat and headed them towards towards another rowboat waiting there. The passengers were not aware of it until they were right beside it. Two men sat on benches in the other boat, and one man was standing in the middle of the boat. It was obvious they were waiting expectantly. They hoped-for meeting had occurred, and everything so far had gone according to plan.
Both boats were rowed to shore. Three Norwegians exchanged a few words among themselves. The apparent leader said through the interpreter that half of the crew needed to transfer to the other boat. The Norwegians had discussed how to distribute the passengers so that the weight would be balanced between the boats.
As soon as everyone took their places, the rowers put their oars to water. In the meantime, the wind had calmed. The rain had stopped, so they could now see considerably further than before.
They snaked their way among several islands, fairly close to the shore at times and further out to sea at others. The men at the oars rowed rhythmically for a long time. With six men in one boat and five in the others, they were never able to go very fast. For a long time no one said a word. Just when Firestone was hoping that the were arriving at their destination, although he hadn't the slightest idea where they were going, they swung away from land and headed straight out into the fjord again.
“We are half-way,” whispered the English-speaker into his ear reassuringly. One of the men in the lead rowboat suddenly saw a patrol boat that was lying silently sheltered by an island. It was one of the smaller style patrol boats and was sitting about a few hundred meters from them. It was rare for a German naval boat to be so far into the strait, but the local people sometimes saw seven or eight of them in the three nautical mile stretch between Bjørnatrynet and Strøno.
The rowers stopped rowing for a short while while eleven pairs of eyes stared at the patrol boat. They could hear that it had a multi-cylinder engine. Then someone took the helm and the boat turned and headed out at a slow speed heading west out into the fjord. The rowers then were very happy that they had not risked taking a motorboat.
The rowboats moved stealthily further, hugging the coast line not more than two oars-lengths from the shore. For those who know the waters well, this is safe. The riskier part of the journey was when they had to cross over two fjords, even thought they were narrow. A sharp eye can spot a rowboat in the dark out on a fjord – there is always some light at sea. But when a rowboat glides along the shadows of land at night, it is virtually impossible to see with the naked eye. They waited for a while before heading into a branch of the fjord and paused again before passing Bjørnarøy, but no other vessel was to be seen or heard.
Einar's parents, Kristian and Pernille Evensen had long wondered what Einar was doing. His father, Kristian, a marine pilot, worried about it. Einar would be gone all week before the sun rose. He could not possibly make a living only with fishing, boating, engine repairs and spending time with his friends. Kristian Evensen wondered about the classic sins: women, cards and drink, but Pernille took a more reasonable view. “Just wait, Kristian,” she said, “everything will be clear one day.” He admitted to himself and to his wife that she was right when Einar told the men from Bjørnen that he had connections. They had gone to bed at the usual time this Tuesday evening, but had not slept a wink.
As usual, Einar had not said anything when he left that afternoon, but this time they both knew what he was doing. They understood that the only chance for the aircrew was to get away from Bjørnatrynet before the next daybreak. Long after midnight they just lay there chatting. Kristian got up, dressed in wooden clogs and a raincoat and strolled outside.
Although Kristian was aging (he had turned 70 that year), his eyesight was still excellent. He stood on a hill from which he could see north and south on the fjord but could not be seen himself. The night was peaceful at the moment without any sounds of planes, and the only boat sounds were in the far distance.
After half an hour, he finally saw two rowboats coming out of the shadows of the islands to the east. They came very slowly, hugging the shore on the west side of the channel. He watched them until they were out of sight, continued to watch for a while to make sure that no one else was on the fjord, and then went inside to bed. “All well so far, Pernille,” he said to his wife.
The rowboats had been at sea for another 15 to 20 minutes after they had passed Bjørnarøy when they slipped into a narrow and secluded pool. They had reached a larger island where they veered to starboard and continued along the shore. The aircrew could see a faint light from a door that opened and closed in a building a few steps up from the water's edge. Outside the building stood a dark figure, probably a sentinel, but the boats passed by it and continued on for some distance. Either he didn't see them, or he took them for island folk on their way home from fishing.
They were rowing between two islands that were linked by a bridge. The Germans regularly crossed the bridge going to and from their base at Rottingatangane. A guard detachment was quartered in a house with views of the bridge and down to the sea. The guard detachment did not have to know about the aircrew to be suspicious about rowboats in a particularly sensitive area. The rowboats stopped a few meters short of the bridge. The passengers could see land on both sides of the boat and realized that they were in a narrow channel. The bridge was visible against the night sky, as was a figure that strode over it and walked away.
They waited motionless for a couple of minutes. When no other people could be seen on land, Holmefjord and Magnus Røttingen stepped out onto the shore. They moved stealthily up to the bridge and the lookout. They were gone for a quarter hour, a seemingly endless time, when one returned and reported that everything seemed clear, while the other continued to look in the area around the bridge. The rowboats went on a few hundred meters then again turned back to the shore. One stopped at a large rock and the person who had continued to scout the area appeared and stepped quietly on board.
They had still to cross the large bay at Vedholmen before going through another narrow passage and then their final leg across a fjord. A few fathoms [22] south of the mouth of the passage, they again stopped and waited by a large black rock, just outside the entrance to a channel. They heard the sound of a motor in the direction they had come from. They heard a boat head down the passage and head up unto the bay. Even before they see it, the Norwegians recognized the boat by the sound of its single-cylinder “dunk-dunk” engine. It was a boat that belonged in the islands, not some foreign craft.
The rowboats continued, and slowly but surely a black wall came into view ahead. The Canadians were informed that the were finally arriving at their destination. They had been in the rowboats for about two hours.
The rowers kept in close to the steep shore, with an island between them and the open fjord. They finally lifted their oars, while Nils Røttingen told the Canadians that they would be staying here.