tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68302347882578489882024-03-13T19:09:53.317-04:00Deep Water WritingOf a Life at Sea and on ShoreDeep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14606788574805657758noreply@blogger.comBlogger190125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-70936329877225587162011-08-28T08:48:00.006-04:002011-09-05T23:21:44.264-04:00Into the Ship Yard<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dtezA6M5FLY/TmWPpD4fH3I/AAAAAAAACKY/ZxXJB_4MJaA/s1600/Raffles.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dtezA6M5FLY/TmWPpD4fH3I/AAAAAAAACKY/ZxXJB_4MJaA/s320/Raffles.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649079243185790834" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Remaining anchored for an extended period of time is tedious at best. Bridge watches must still be maintained as the ship swings in concert with a hundred others to face the current. As long as no one drops their hook too close or, on account of a light draft and stiff wind, swings the opposite direction of your own ship, there is little to do. And if something does come up it's a challenge raising another ship </span>on the VHF radio<span class="Apple-style-span">, especially the little bunker barges that scurry about passing under stems and sterns with uncomfortable intimacy. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--LcLgaygLCA/TmWOfjsn8TI/AAAAAAAACJ8/PemiVvu6h0M/s400/IMG_5466.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649077980415652146" /><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> For three weeks we waited for an open berth in the shipyard. When the Captain finally sent me forward to weigh the anchor the only available space in the shipyard was outboard of an FPSO or "double banked." In order to arrive at our congested berth we had to pass south of the island on which Singapore sprawls. Looping around Raffles Light I was witness to hundreds of hulking ships spread throughout the anchorages. Container ships, crude oil tankers, liquefied natural gas carriers and every manner of support vessel for the offshore oil and gas industry abounded. As the ship turned the corner towards Keppel shipyard the Boatswain relieved me on the bow and I went to the bridge for docking.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span"><div><br /></div></span><div><div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ssvc5PdggLE/TmWOf6y4MbI/AAAAAAAACKE/EO85wXxcA2Y/s400/IMG_5490.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649077986615898546" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /><div><div style="text-align: left;">At the last minute the yard informed us that we'd be docking port side to when all our lines, messengers and gangway had been readied for a starboard side docking. We had our trusty shipping agent to thank for yet another inconveniencing miscommunication. I took one of the AB's down to the weather deck where we quickly raised the now inboard gangway and lowered the outboard so that the harbor pilot could disembark. The docking pilot, three radios strung around his neck, ambled up the ladder and brought us along side with a single bell and lots of tugging. Passing lines to a Floating Production, Storage and Offloading unit was a drawn out event but because the yard was so full we were lucky to even have a spot.</div><div><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-R3Bl3uyQlFI/TmWOfSmV46I/AAAAAAAACJ0/VuN-P7cf1Xg/s400/DSC01207.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649077975825900450" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /><span class="Apple-style-span"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>In the three weeks that followed I realized that ending my hitch with a shipyard was not a good move. I had a plan though and getting an extra months pay was part of it. This was my first bona fide dry docking of a large commercial ship and it was a very impressive endeavor. The only part I played in it was to give the go ahead for removing the docking plugs and ranging the anchor chains but most of that work I left for the third mate anyway. I had my hands full just showing each shop where the broken things were so they could fix them. </div><div><br /><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ed5VXl08s_I/TmWOe8PG5mI/AAAAAAAACJs/DljqNHUJOWY/s400/Docking%2Bit.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649077969822869090" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></div><div>I sincerely hope I can find the time to relate my time in the shipyard and all that has transpired between then and now. Suffice to say I'm back on terra firma with a new set of hurdles in front of me and a future more hazy than ever before. But that's something I'm learning to be comfortable with and will try to include in this blog. </div></span></div></div></div></div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-49797820193439047792011-06-19T06:30:00.006-04:002011-06-19T08:10:00.335-04:00Eastern Special Purpose<p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 21.6pt; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">It is a unique sensation to come half way around the world and feel as if you had just left the other day. My own familiarity with the Strait of Singapore, the shipping lanes in between Indonesia, Singapore and Malaysia, stems from four months spent on a cable repair vessel servicing breaks in fiber optic cables here. For weeks on end I stared at the same unmoving islands north of Horsburgh light when on a repair or the three towers of the Marina Bay Sands hotel in downtown Singapore when at anchor. These structures have now been completed since my time here in 2009 each erected independently and then bridged at the top by a soaring blimp like roof hosting trees, a pool, a nightclub and a photo shoot in the latest Sports Illustrated Swim Suit Edition. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 21.6pt; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">The ship I work on is in the unenviable position of sitting empty and idle in the anchorage waiting for a spot in one of Singapore’s two shipyards. I say unenviable because from a financial perspective when any ship besides a cable repair vessel is in one spot for too long it means she isn’t making money for her owners. For the crew on the other hand it’s been a reprieve from the tedium of sea passages. With a daily launch to haul shore going crew anyone besides the 8 to 12 that needed a night off the ship has gotten their fill. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 21.6pt; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">Like Orchard Towers at night the shipping lanes around Singapore are teeming with activity above, below and at street level. Just as taxis line up to escort hookers and their clientele to the closest hotel an endless train of ships arrive to pick up pilots at all hours. Anchored a thirty minute launch ride from the shore landing we're directly under the outbound flight path of Changi International. Every two minutes throughout the day and then again at night a jet takes off lifting above the tree lined shore ascending directly overhead. We’re also right in front of the high speed ferry terminal servicing Indonesia so a constant stream of high speed craft zip back and forth. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 21.6pt; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">The day we arrived the Singaporean military was holding maneuvers near Raffles light house. A squadron of F-16s made circles around the anchorage while helicopters dropped off and retrieved frog men from the water. Naval patrols in the Strait are a daily occurrence and unlike the navies of another nation with which I’m familiar maintain a conspicuous radio silence. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 21.6pt; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">The shipping traffic is just as I remembered; hundreds of ships pass daily, some swinging into Singapore’s myriad of terminals and others trucking right on past. Before we anchored in Singapore’s territorial waters we spent a week anchored off Indonesia in a no man’s land where every single ship save for us was a tanker waiting for a cargo. As far as the eyes could see Suez max tankers in ballast sat quietly, their crews spending what could be months trapped onboard. Every now and then an illegal sheen of oil would drift by but with so much current and so many ships finding the culprit would be impossible without aircraft. Something the Indonesians don’t seem too concerned about. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 21.6pt; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">Just as when I was here before ships continued to sink right in the middle of the traffic lane a few miles away. When I explained the may-day relay on the Sat-C to one of the crew I attributed it to the law of probabilities. If there are a thousand ships in the Strait today there’s bound to be a serious collision or one junker hours from springing a leak and going down.</span></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 21.6pt; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"></span><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">I’ve had the chance to get off the ship twice since arriving and neither time did Singapore disappoint. </span><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">Before the sunset on my first jaunt ashore I had to return to the one and only Thai massage parlor I have ever been to. While massages in Asia are synonymous with happy endings this joint, shown to me by a sailor well versed in the ways of massage, includes nothing of the sort. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>Instead you are given a ridiculous looking set of loose fitting green pajamas to change into after locking your valuables away in the shower room. You ascend a staircase passing by a series of photographs featuring masseuses with awkward smiles contorting the bodies of supine victims in what appear to be painful poses. I could hardly contain my excitement. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 21.6pt; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">At the top of the staircase women turn left and men turn right to meet your masseuse and enter a room filled wall to wall with thin mattresses. In the late afternoon after a stressful day in Singapore’s financial sector it isn’t unlikely that the place will be jammed packed with Asian men being pushed and pulled and kneaded like dough. My masseuse was small and when she began I was sure that her muscles weren’t fit for the job of relieving two months of accumulated stress. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 21.6pt; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">The tempo, as I was to be reminded, picks up over the massage’s hour long duration and by the end, right around when she was using her elbows to push into the knot of muscle that is my hips did I remember how skilled the Thai are at this. When it was over I felt as if I had suffered a caning for spray painting graffiti on cars but soon realized that I was absolutely free of tension. Elated I joined the engineers I had gone ashore with and ordered the weirdest looking seafood we could find in celebration.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 21.6pt; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"><o:p>There is something about going ashore with sailors that is indescribable. The pent up restlessness of being at sea, the bittersweet shortness of our time ashore and the anticipation of the unknown in foreign lands lends to a traveling experience unlike any other. That common bond helps too, something which I believe transcends ethnicity, nationality, trade, department or company. </o:p></span></p><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 21.6pt; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 21.6pt; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"><o:p>This I attribute to the character needed in each and every mariner to live the life we do. A character I notice even in people I've worked with on the shore end of shipping but who have spent a portion of their career at sea. There are those who've been to sea and those that haven't and for those that have the way they view, communicate and treat us sailors is vastly different than interacting with their colleagues. It is a level of character lost on some in this business, not all, but some who know ships only by fact, figure and name but will never know the sea. </o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: 21.6pt; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"><o:p>Thus taking in the Asian air a million miles from home in a city where your two best friends are the guys you just spent the last two months sharing three meals a day can be quite exhilarating. Throw in a few hundred venues for entertainment, a few thousands taxis to get you here and there and a few million Singaporeans to converse with and for the night you've got it made. </o:p></span><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span></span><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-74689966683534705792011-06-04T18:36:00.012-04:002011-06-05T17:12:20.849-04:00The Tropics<div align="left"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vhto32e5354/TetxlwJg7LI/AAAAAAAACJg/4Qnfi3jEgeI/s1600/DSC04244.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614706253841362098" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vhto32e5354/TetxlwJg7LI/AAAAAAAACJg/4Qnfi3jEgeI/s320/DSC04244.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"></span><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"></span><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"></span><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"></span><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"></span><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">Weather is everything to a sailor. Fair winds and following seas have seen thousands of voyages through to safe conclusions while typhoons and winter gales have perilously prolonged or prematurely ended countless others. Weather at sea is the difference between the calm grace of slipping over the water towards the never ending horizon or clutching handrails at the wave's crest as the trough falls out from beneath the keel.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">Save for when the wind howls the sea state is usually benign in the Middle East but the heat adds another hardship, one that I would happily trade for a few days of rolling in the North Sea. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>I lived on a ship where the only way to take a shower after a day’s work was to wash in the bucket you filled in your head that morning. The fresh water tanks adjacent to the hull would become so hot during the day that by evening the water was scalding. I stood bridge watches on the same ship with no AC in the wheelhouse and one little window unit to cool the 90 degree Red Sea air at midnight. Dripping sweat and charts don’t mix. The heat not only makes sleeping hard and work miserable but for a New Englander fond of changing seasons the persistence of Middle Eastern weather patterns is rather depressing. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">This is why, after a month in these waters rounding the tip of India wasn’t just a physical relief but a mental lift. Still covered in a layer of brown dirt we left the Arabian Gulf and turned east for one last discharge port. From Pakistan we were ordered to the Far East which meant passing South of India and Sri Lanka and then direct to the Malacca Strait. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>One would think that getting closer to the equator (We’re now 90 miles north of it) would mean more heat but it’s been the opposite. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">Meteorologically speaking the crossing from India to Indonesia was phenomenal. I had forgotten what the tropics were like when the weather is agreeable. The air is soft and light, the humidity comfortable and the ocean a mirror image of billowing clouds and indescribable sunsets. Just seeing clouds, endless vast arrays of them, was such a pleasant change from the daytime haze and evening murk of the Arabian Gulf. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">But most delicious of all was the rain. Sweet water deluges that in two hours took care of the sand problem it would have taken the day men a week of constant pressure washing to rinse off. Every square inch of the ship was cleansed making for great painting conditions. I was thrilled not only to have saved the man hours but to see a cloudy day with no sun, cool winds and visibility inhibiting squalls. Changes in weather are so welcomed at sea where the monotony of a high pressure system, or worse, a rollicking low makes the body, eyes and mind grow weary. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">The ship is in ballast which means there isn’t a single metric ton of cargo onboard and the salt water ballast tanks are full. This also means that the cargo holds, vast parking garage like chasms, are completely emptied which is the perfect state for <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>one of my favorite pass times, organizing. Doing so in the cargo holds involves corralling the lashings, stowing them by type in metal bins and stacking those bins in strategic locations depending on what kind of cargo goes where. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">Roro cargo is a beautifully efficient stowage system when it comes to anything that can be loaded onto a trailer, towed or driven onboard. Containers surely take the prize for speed of handling but there are certain things like out of gauge / over height vehicles and equipment, automobiles or very long pieces that do not fit well or weigh too much for the typically rigid limitations of a TEU; such as rail cars, yachts or heavy mining equipment. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">When it comes to flexibility the roro is hard to beat but the variety of commodities mean different lashing equipment for each kind and it’s my responsibility to ensure it is inventoried, inspected and ready for use. While it’s not rocket science, nothing about sailing ever was, it is a feat in organization to have these lashings properly sorted and arranged. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">There are thousands of lashing chains and binders or tensioning bars. These must be neatly stowed in lashing bins and cannot be mixed unless one wants to infuriate the longshoremen. There are web lashings, short and long, for vehicles and light cargoes including break bulk which we load quite a bit of. There are corner protectors or softeners to keep the web lashing from chaffing, web slings and chocks, both large for trailers and tractors and small ones for cars. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">I have hundreds of twist locks for when we do load containers which are placed on trailers, pushed onboard by a tug, and then removed by specially designed low height forklifts to be placed on top of their designated lashing points. The twist locks secure each corner of the container to the deck or to one another as they are stacked. There are car lashings for automobiles which have their own decks higher in the ship. There's also piles and piles of rubber matting, wood dunnage, trailer jacks, trailer horses and traffic cones. Lashing bars need to be collected from the holds and stashed away for the next port, trash picked up, the holds swept and vacuumed. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">My guys spent three days busting ass in the holds picking up lashings and sorting the bins. Tomorrow I'll let them know how much I appreciated their hard work by sending them back down to sweep and swab the areas our deck sweeping machine couldn't reach. And there are still light bulbs to change, bulkheads to sougee, hydraulic control stations to clean and trash to bag. It’s a ton of work but worth the effort when you have the rare chance to clean all the holds at once. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">After crossing the Bay of Bengal we rounded the northern tip of Sumatra encountering the strong charted tidal rips. The Malacca Strait, a very narrow and shallow body of water, links the Indian Ocean with the South China Sea. Because of this it acts as a conduit for any tidal variations between these two large oceans and therefore strong currents surge back and forth mounding up in certain areas underwater sand waves that can reach 45 feet in height. Unlike the rips these are not charted. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes">Another anomoly, this one less interesting, was the amount of garbage my lookout and I saw as we entered the strait. Still out of sight of land in every direction we looked was floatsom and it's ugly relation, jetsom. Palm fronds, trunks and entire trees were plentiful but not nearly as plentiful as the plastic garbage. I truly believe plastics are the scourge of not just the ocean but the developing world. It appeared that all of this debris was yesterday's water bottle or lunch tray and no thought was given for the fact that once it was tossed into a culvert in Malaysia or off the porch in Indonesia it would spend the rest of it's days slowly deteriorating in the ocean's eco system. </span></span></div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">There was oil too, testament that despite the international communities best efforts ship's continue to illegally pump bilges, slops and tank washings overboard. An easy thing to get away with in waters traveresed by thousands of ships each week with little to none in the way of coast guard patrols. As much as the industry has cleaned up it's act there will always be a pollution stream from shipping but I don't think it even holds a candle to what cities and run off are doing to the oceans. </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614704581354905394" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M49GXCCvWl0/TetwEZpq3zI/AAAAAAAACJU/_OxXb9wJ3PY/s400/DSC04238.JPG" /><span style="font-family:'Georgia', 'serif';">The crew is excited for our next port where everyone is hoping for some much deserved time ashore, a rare occurence for our normal run. Asia is a wonderful place to be a sailor and we happen to be pulling into one of my favorite towns so there is that added sense of familiarity, something I don’t mind half way around the world with limited time to explore as I all ready know where the cheapest beer and best food can be had. </span>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-1291566759943565062011-05-31T04:24:00.005-04:002011-05-31T05:25:51.635-04:00American Feeder Lines gets to business in Portland!<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 18px; font-family:georgia, tahoma, verdana, arial;font-size:14px;"><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Early next month, </span></i><i><a href="http://www.american-feeder-lines.com/en/home/index.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">American Feeder Lines</span></a></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> plans to launch a container ship service linking Portland, Boston and Halifax, Nova Scotia, in a triangular route. Its feeder cargo ship — the AFL New England — is small by comparison to the behemoths that ply the global trade routes; it can only hold 700 20-foot containers, or their equivalent." - </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">See the </span><a href="http://bangordailynews.com/2011/05/27/business/companies-eye-the-ocean-to-move-their-goods-as-new-portland-ship-service-opens/trackback/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Bangor Daily News</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Article for more. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This article just popped up in my google alerts. While the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">M/V AFL New England</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> is not herself a Jones Act compliant vessel this is the start of what may be a major shift in East Coast container traffic. If there's anyone in need of reduced shipping costs it's small businesses in Maine. Even the bigger ones such as Poland Springs (Nestle) would benefit. Who knew Poland Springs sends 400 tractor trailer trucks out of Maine each and every day! No wonder I hate driving as much as I do. </span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Visit </span><a href="http://www.american-feeder-lines.com/en/home/index.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">American Feeder Lines</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> here for more information on their business plan for the US East Coast including the port pictured below. </span></div></span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J_i1ehMQxeU/TeSyzvP8CdI/AAAAAAAACJE/ShYRY5yAyH0/s1600/portland%2Bport.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J_i1ehMQxeU/TeSyzvP8CdI/AAAAAAAACJE/ShYRY5yAyH0/s400/portland%2Bport.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612807637536868818" /></a>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-68409955121411355612011-05-29T04:16:00.006-04:002011-05-31T05:35:23.848-04:00The Brown Blizzard<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hLFXbasgmoE/TeINhnfs16I/AAAAAAAACI4/JQcI0eK6Qj0/s1600/buoy.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 152px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hLFXbasgmoE/TeINhnfs16I/AAAAAAAACI4/JQcI0eK6Qj0/s200/buoy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612062956845848482" /></a>It's not often at sea when I come across a sight that gives cause for a double take. Celestial, meteorological or biological phenomena are, if not always predictable, at least expected. A solar or lunar eclipse is a slow affair. A meteorite's fiery atmospheric entry is sudden but not surprising. A waterspout is a waterspout. Breaching whales or spinning dolphins are entertaining but not uncommon. <p></p> <p class="Body1">A school of 200 migrating sea rays was different. At first I thought they were flotsam, maybe plastic bags drifting aimlessly around the gulf perfectly arranged edge to edge just under the surface. Nope, look again. There were narrow tails, flapping wings, and small eyes moving towards shore in organic formation, definitely not trash. An absolutely incredible sight from the bow as we anchored; something I had never seen before. An encounter the kind of which should be taken as an omen.</p> <p class="Body1">One of the most frustrating aspects of working on a cargo ship in the Arabian Gulf is dealing with the pilots and port control. I do not pretend to be a sea pilot or a docking master but after participating in hundreds of dockings on the bow, the stern and the bridge a mariner fosters a certain feel for a vessel's natural progression under the direction of a pilot.</p> <p class="Body1">Pilotage is the carefully planned series of events needed to maneuver a vessel down a river or channel, stop and turn in where there’s sufficient room and then gently lay her along side the dock. This is an all hands evolution requiring the deck department to be split between the bow and stern with the second mate forward and third mate aft while the Master, Chief Mate, a helmsman and the pilot are on the bridge. The process involves tugboats, bow and stern thrusters, helm and engine orders and line-handlers on the dock to receive the ship's hawsers and place them on bollards.</p> <p class="Body1">A seasoned crew familiar with their ship and under the direction of a competent pilot or docking master can easily accomplish a docking or undocking safely and efficiently at any hour of the day. Each step is discussed by the bridge team and executed with the calm confidence that comes with any well practiced routine at sea. A cautious breed, pilots usually have years of experience either at sea or in one particular harbor or both. They tend to think ten steps ahead of time but do not hesitate to take quick and substantial action when the situation warrants.</p> <p class="Body1">The repetition of piloting ships into and out of a single port garners a level of specialized expertise that masters depend upon. The pilot in turn relies on the master to furnish all the necessary information about that particular ship and her capabilities. For the world around this is an industrial norm and lends to a sense of pride and professionalism for everyone involved. Unfortunately when in the Arabian Gulf it all comes to a stop.</p> <p class="Body1">It's hard for me to understand the lackadaisical approach the pilots in most Gulf States have. If there is one aspect of my job that I really enjoy it is being involved with handling the ship.</p><p class="Body1"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="Body1">My role involves keeping the bell book and operating the thrusters but recently the Captain has been taking a step back and allowing me the conn when working with the pilots. Every single time he lets me do this I learn something new about the process. If I swing too wide making a turn into the channel or cant the stern too close to the dock when coming alongside I make a mental note and do everything I can to never repeat my mistake.</p><p class="Body1"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="Body1">Being given responsibility and allowed to make mistakes under supervision is the best way to learn any job but the pilots here in the Arabian Gulf never seem to learn from their own. They perform the same ridiculous maneuvers over and over again oblivious that they're "Stop engines, hard right" command is counterproductive and a shoddy show of seamanship.</p> <p class="Body1">It's a miracle ships don't go bump more often with the bottom, the dock or one another here. I have seen pilots completely oblivious to current and wind botch simple turns in buoyed channels and get indignant when the Master, concerned about bank suction, asks if he's getting back to the channel center. I have seen pilots get on and off the ship inside the breakwater feeling that their duty ends once the ship is off the dock and headed in the general direction of the open ocean.</p> <p class="Body1">I have to give the Captain his credit here. When pilots do things completely counterintuitive to ship handling he calmly stands by balancing the absurd with the hazardous. It's a fine line to walk in-between instigating a cultural clash by taking the conn from the pilot and kicking him off the bridge or allowing him to put the ship in near jeopardy to get the ship docked without a fracas. Fortunately for us the ship always makes it along side despite the teeth clenching over reliance on start air draining engine commands, tugboat assistance and constantly asking "What's the course now" as the pilot stands over a gyro repeater.</p> <p class="Body1">Port control is no help either. Entrusted to direct ships like air traffic control the port towers are oblivious to the navigational hazards we contend with when drifting a half-mile off the port waiting for a pilot that's a half hour late. Pilot on arrival is an unheard of concept in many ports, unless they're waiting for you and then there will be all hell to pay. It makes the crew feel as if our purpose is to appease the port and the pilots taking every chance to make their lives as easy as possible.</p> <p class="Body1">In one recent port call after the pilot had taken us off the dock, when he should have been lining the ship up to pass between two reef markers, he allowed the wind to take over and push the bow to leeward. When the captain questioned if he was intending to steady the ship on a course the pilot said "It's ok Captain, you can take it now" to which the Captain replied "All right, why don't you just get on your pilot boat now". Doing so the pilot explained wasn't allowed. Watching from the tower we were just passing Port Control could levy a fine against him. He had to wait until after the first reef was astern before he could disembark.</p> <p class="Body1">What was even crazier was that this guy had two apprentice pilots in tow. They spent the transit dabbing form their faces what must have been the first sweat of their lives with handkerchiefs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>All three grimaced when I told them sorry, but there were no white gloves for their delicate hands when climbing down our dusty pilot ladder. What kind of pilots will these guys turn out to be if this is whom they're learning from?</p><p class="Body1"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="Body1">The afternoon I spotted the school of rays we were anchoring 6 miles off another port awaiting a berth. When the ship sailed from our slip we weighed the anchor and began steaming in as directed by port control. After the wind picked up to a blustery 12 knots the port informed us they would not be taking us in due to adverse weather; very typical.</p><p class="Body1"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="Body1">I let go the anchor as the sun set and then went to my room for some sleep, weather delays can last days here. Ten minutes after laying down the bridge called ordering me back to the bow to begin heaving up the 7000 kg anchor under a flood of orange sodium deck lights. Port control had changed their mind as the wind had calmed a little. Unbeknownst to them an anvil cloud was rising to the west pouring bolts of lighting onto the refinery dotted shoreline. </p> <p class="Body1">Only once the anchor was aweigh did the port realize the calm airs they were experiencing were those ahead of a vicious cold front. With little concern for our troubles they called again to tell us that "All port operations are canceled” indefinitely. As the lighting increased stretching across the sky I laid the anchor chain back on the bottom. A cold draft of upper level air swept down from the encroaching front and rushed over the bow. After a month of 90-degree weather that cool breeze felt as foreign as if a snowball had hit me in the back of the head.</p><p class="Body1"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="Body1">Sensing that all hell was about to break loose the Boatswain and I briskly secured the anchor and walked aft to the safety of the house just as a brown wall unseen moments before obliterated the lights on shore and raced towards the ship. By the time I made it up to the bridge to watch the show the entire ship was immersed in a swirling haze of sand.</p> <p class="Body1">It was an all out sandstorm that only the sea rays knew was coming. The shore authorities had no forecast for the event nor had we received anything from the GMDSS. The sand filled air was so thick with sand that there was nothing to see but a pool of brown light radiating from our deck lights. With 40 knots gusts the situation, had we not been at anchor could have been precarious. Had we been underway it's doubtful the engine would have ran for very long with sand filled air filters. Had the port called any sooner we would have been underway and turning around close in to shore with a handicapped engine, an unenviable situation. </p><p class="Body1">At least we were able to wait at anchor for the next 24 hours until the sand subsided and visibility improved. When the pilot did finally board the following day he was dressed in a fine white uniform wearing a high pressure naval cover and aviator glasses. If only his ship handling were to turn out as smart as his appearance. </p><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AMBwzihNHPQ/TeIHy4JqppI/AAAAAAAACIs/CKAG4RYAXVM/s1600/dhow.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AMBwzihNHPQ/TeIHy4JqppI/AAAAAAAACIs/CKAG4RYAXVM/s400/dhow.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612056656304842386" /></a>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-9038972714132755102011-05-18T04:43:00.004-04:002011-05-18T05:21:24.898-04:00An Arabian Gulf<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3f8B2C47_MA/TdGUS0Tz3QI/AAAAAAAACIg/jJdHUB0QVxQ/s1600/bird.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3f8B2C47_MA/TdGUS0Tz3QI/AAAAAAAACIg/jJdHUB0QVxQ/s200/bird.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607426062053268738" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 190px; " /></a>When referring to the shallow, hazy, hot body of water surrounded by desert sand, monarchies and dictatorships be careful when choosing your words. If, for example, you're in Saudi Arabia using the term "Persian Gulf" is sure to piss off any Arabian Port State Control Inspector. This is not too surprising given the prevalence of surface to air missile batteries lining the entrance to ports here which happen to be aimed in the direction of Persians.<div><br /></div><div>There is something unique about this body of water and unfortunately familiar. Six years ago after a hectic first transit through the Strait of Hormuz I remember stepping onto the bridge wing at two in the morning. The silent water through which we glided was, save for the wake, without a ripple. A steam of saturated air shrouded the after mast light and obscured the stars. It must have been 98 degrees outside, at night. The windbreak was hot to the touch and the single AC unit shoved through a bridge window was hardly keeping the bridge electronics dry.<div><br /></div><div>That steam bath stuck with me and while I've returned to the gulf many times since then, often during more pleasant seasons, the heat is something I will never get used to. Sitting in the Captain's office yesterday waiting for our pilot and tugs to leave the U.A.E. we called the bridge and engine room to compare temperatures. The dry bulb on the bridge read 98 in the shade, the engine room 104 by the boiler. It sucks the life out of every one on board turning a twelve hour day into what feels in your muscles and parched throat like a 24 hour day. Constant hydration, cargo hold ventilation and keeping every accommodation door shut and curtain drawn is the modus operandi. But the heat is just one unique aspect of this hot and dusty place.</div><div><br /></div><div>Getting in and out of the Gulf as I said means a passage through the Strait of Hormuz. Usually falling on a single watch one of the mates will get stuck with the three course changes needed to pass from the Gulf of Oman, around the north east tip of the Arabian Peninsula, into the Gulf. This time I was on the bridge and the fishing boats were thick.</div><div><br /></div><div>As long as you zoom in on the radar and focus on the vessels close by the pace isn't too crazy until the sun comes up. Having all ready passed several dozen small skiffs getting an early start on the day casting single nets into the middle of the traffic lanes I saw an armada of small craft screaming towards us on the starboard beam. The sun was just up and they were all teenagers coming from Iranian side of the strait in light aluminum skiffs with big outboards.</div><div><br /></div><div>Whether fishing or smuggling the lookout and I didn't really care as we diverted our attention from the ship we were overtaking to the approaching swarm. After appearing as if all 20 or 30 skiffs would pass astern a half dozen fell under the bridge wing where I no longer could see them. A few moments later, much to my surprise, they reappeared running almost perpendicular to the hull intent on, as they say in Asia, "Cutting the dragons tail."</div><div><br /></div><div>To the fishermen flying towards us at 30 or 40 knots I'm sure all 200 meters of the ship looked as if she was standing still but from the bridge with the helm in hand steering and my finger on the horn there is little consolation in relative motion. When a vessel crosses into the blind spot ahead of any ship taking action could result in the opposite intended effect.</div><div><br /></div><div>In such a situation of extremis when making twenty knots reversing the engine is impossible. Risk of collision hinges on whether the speed boat's motor will keep going. The urge for small boat operators to take chances befuddles me but for a ship in heavy traffic and operating within an IMO mandated traffic separation scheme the watch officer is limited because the fishermen are going so fast and making such abrupt course changes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Why not call them on the radio as one might back in other regions? Even if they did have one, which none did, it is a special form of communication reserved for singing, chanting, howling, whistling and my favorite, Arabic scream talking. It's unlikely these young Iranians would neither speak English nor have it turned up loud enough to hear over their roaring outboard engines.</div><div><br /></div><div>Communications, not so common in the traffic lanes, are essential in port once the ramp is landed and I'm trying to figure out exactly what the game plan is for getting our cargo off the ship. Most foremen speak English though I recently offended one in Jordan trying to communicate with English and hand gestures. "I don't speak English!" he shouted highly irritated that I might assume as much. At least he had four more words in his English vocabulary than I did in Arabic.</div><div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-joY9n11W88o/Tc5JYV9qqOI/AAAAAAAACII/cN01PfS0ywU/s400/sunset.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606499268684327138" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></div><div>Arabic isn't the only language one would need to know to speak with the "local" labor. The longshoremen come from all over the East. Indians and Filipinos are the predominant stevedores. Pakistan, Bangladesh and Nepal supply most of the grunt labor. They all come to the Middle East for two or three years at a time and then return home for 4 or 5 months before beginning another stint in Oman or Saudi Arabia or the Arab Emirates.</div><div style="text-align: center; "><br /></div><div>Being foreigners in a Muslim land they are easily replaced and this prevents their ability to problem solve and think independently. Any small problem such as moving a container out of the stow if the forklift cant scoop it up straight on or jacking up a car to fix a bad tire is met with consternation. The mates here are often summoned as the first option to provide the laborers with the tools or solution to their trivial problems. The longshoremen are reluctant to make waves with their seniors and will only enact an unconventional approach once implicit permission has been granted.</div><div style="text-align: center; "><br /></div><div>They also are incapable of giving a straight forward answer. This is more of a cultural trait than anything else I think and it's shared across several south Asian cultures. Whether a question, a suggestion or an order the response is almost always the no problem head shake. Nodding up and down or back and forth is physiologically impossible. Instead the head is quickly rocked side to side two or three times with a beguiling smile. Whatever might have been the issue or question is thus quickly irrelevant. "No problem my friend" is a commonly heard phrase.</div><div><br /></div><div>But there are so many problems in this part of the world and it amazes me how interconnected my own country is with this distant parched land, a place that has so little in common with where I call home. Still we Americans are here. Navy bases in Bahrain and the U.A.E., Air Force bases in Oman and Saudi Arabia. Massive hubs of material support for the ongoing operations in Iraq, Afghanistan and elsewhere.</div><div><br /></div><div>Civilian contractors, expatriates, business people and mariners from all over the U.S. find work here. There is a massive amount of commerce taking place but why anyone would want to build a half dozen emerald cities in such a hot and unsustainable place is beyond me. Yet the more I come here the more familiar it becomes and I'm not surprised to find so many people living and working near so much mineral wealth, the only product of the region worth exporting in large quantities.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nor am I surprised when pilots let you take the ship down the channel and right up to the breakwater before boarding or port control towers needlessly put ships in compromising situations. There's just a different almost haphazard way of doing things yet piles of paperwork and photocopies and signatures and ship stamps to get it all done. Every time a car is driven ashore in Jeddah I have to sign an exception list stating that it was discharged in a "dusty condition" and it always makes me laugh. "Dust?" I like to ask the foremen. "But this is the desert!" It only became covered in fine brown powder after turning the hold ventilators on. But that's just how it is.</div><div><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NO-hMkdy-wE/Tc66jNJZeFI/AAAAAAAACIU/A9QZzWrjV8o/s1600/carrier.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NO-hMkdy-wE/Tc66jNJZeFI/AAAAAAAACIU/A9QZzWrjV8o/s400/carrier.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606623700110112850" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 330px; " /></a></div><div>An aircraft carrier and her escort caught up to us as we passed through Hormuz. A fitting reminder of how much is at stake here for so many. Her flight deck was crammed with warplanes bristling in the morning sun, a show of force surely directed at the homeland of those Iranian fishermen. In front of the the fortress like ship a destroyer ran interference and above three helicopters were constantly employed dusting off unwary skiffs. Beneath the strait a submarine was surely lurking as I turned over my watch and wondered how long America will be here. </div></div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-4184188405494505342011-05-06T08:00:00.008-04:002011-05-10T13:07:25.884-04:00Marlboro Reds<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oqLOcg1Ilpc/Tckrf3s2S0I/AAAAAAAACH8/7XKTH_QwEhI/s1600/DSC04081.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oqLOcg1Ilpc/Tckrf3s2S0I/AAAAAAAACH8/7XKTH_QwEhI/s200/DSC04081.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605059037767289666" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The presence of flies in the wheelhouse </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">hearkened</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> our arrival to Egyptian shores. Expecting the usual delegation of canal inspectors, security officers and agents to converge on us once anchored at the entrance to the Suez Canal the accommodation ladder was rigged and lowered to the water's edge. To </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">every one's</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> surprise the agent called the captain informing him that the authorities no longer made visits to the ships at anchor. Only he and a canal inspector would board us as we passed through Port Said greatly simplifying our transit.</span></div></span><div><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Getting underway on the other hand was business as usual. Ships entering the Suez Canal are directed to cue according to a predetermined convoy arrangement. Naval vessels, LNG tankers and ships carrying hazardous cargoes transit first. Then tankers and lastly container and general cargo vessels. With orders to have our engines ready at 2330 the Captain called us out a little early. Standing by on the bow at 2300 with the Boatswain the line of ships stretching to the north told me it was going to be a long night. After an hour and a half we weighed the anchor, washed the mud off the chain, and approached the pilot station.</span></span></p><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_fam4Pdi-No/TckqIlGZ_UI/AAAAAAAACHg/ZuiZK1-dfyE/s320/DSC04079.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605057538125593922" /> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">As is standard practice for the Mid East as soon as we were making way and pointed right at the beach Port Control told us to stand by. While airplanes can turn circles we on the other hand, with a jetty ahead and another ship astern, had to drift in one spot, a maneuver only possible in a beam sea with a 15 knots breeze thanks to a pair of two thousand horsepower tunnel thrusters. After nearly an hour of holding position the pilot boat was finally sighted coming out of the port. </span></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">By this point I was tired and ready to get the first pilot on, the ship cleared with the canal inspector, and then switch the pilots out. As is custom the pilot boat, keeping ten meters off the side began honking their little horn. "Hello my friend, call Captain and ask him for cigarettes! Cigarettes for pilot boat! Four cartons please!!" Invoking the Captains name in his first request, despite saying please, told me I was in trouble. I had never gotten back up to my office after weighing anchor to stock up on emphysema inducing presents and was therefore about to be denied a pilot. There was no way this guy was going to pull alongside and allow the canal pilot to board without his bribe.</span></span></span></p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bzV_IvJQOa8/TcQk_wfKf7I/AAAAAAAACHU/Tu15cUkbvU8/s400/Suez%2BCanal%2BPilot.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603644514121711538" /> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"What the hells going on down there mate?" the equally exhausted captain testily asked. "They won't board the pilot until I give them cigarettes Cap" I replied as one of our security guards hustled up to the office to grab three cartons. As we waited and the Port drew closer on a half ahead bell, I attempted to reason with the launch crew by explaining that the cigarettes would be lowered to them shortly so could they please board the pilot before we entered the harbor. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Not surprisingly the crew took this as a ruse to get a pilot without handing over any cancer sticks and flat our refused to come along side. All the while our pilot just stood there, sheepishly holding onto a hand rail, fully aware that if we didn't hand over the cartons as requested he wouldn't be climbing the ladder until the second pilot was about to board.</span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The cigarettes arrived from my office in the nick of time and after lowering them by a heaving line to the now appreciative boat crew, the same ones who had just been yelling and screaming at me, the boat pulled along side. Our pilot, a younger than average canal pilot, waddled up the accommodation ladder and bid me good morning as if the conduct of the launch crew was just a funny game and demanding bribes for a pilot to be boarded is commonplace around the world. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The transit went smoothly for the duration of the 150 kilometer canal. All the container ships were jammed packed with boxes including the 170,974 gross ton Emma </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Maersk</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, the world title holder for largest container capacity at 15, 500 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">TEU</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. Soon though </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Maersk</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> will even trump their own by constructing ten </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">EEE</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> class container ships between 2013 and 2015 which at a speed of 23 knots will carry up to 18,000 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">TEU</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> between Asia and Europe exclusively. There is no current port in the United States that could unload the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">EEE</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> class fast enough to justify the vessel calling in the United States. I wonder how many cartons of Marlboro Reds it will take to get one of these behemoths through Egypt?</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p></div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1ILKxcyjMXU/TckqJRhJbqI/AAAAAAAACHw/Wvivd-N92sA/s1600/DSC04082.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1ILKxcyjMXU/TckqJRhJbqI/AAAAAAAACHw/Wvivd-N92sA/s320/DSC04082.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605057550048915106" /></a>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-74634077970686308262011-04-29T12:00:00.002-04:002011-04-30T00:50:30.504-04:00Ship Envy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tB_Rt1It1Aw/TbLYw9TqxJI/AAAAAAAACGE/hHZfKaomwbA/s1600/mural.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598775622377325714" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tB_Rt1It1Aw/TbLYw9TqxJI/AAAAAAAACGE/hHZfKaomwbA/s200/mural.jpg" /></a> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Ever since my first experience at sea I have listened to mariners lament how the number of ships sailing under a U.S. flag has dwindled for decades. In a world where there are now over 100,000 merchant vessels the </span><a href="http://shipbuildinghistory.com/today/statistics/wldflt.htm"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">United States Merchant Marine accounts for only 1.4% of the total gross tonnage</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">; a number that has only fallen year after year from a high of 36% in World War Two. Of course WWII was an exceptional time when our sealift capacity ensured the allied nations of Europe were fed, fueled and armed but for the wealthiest nation on earth to reside so low on the list is concerning for seafaring Americans such as myself. </span></span><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"></span></span></p><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >What troubles me more than the low number of American owned, operated, crewed and sometimes constructed ships is the average fleet age of the few remaining deep sea vessels. While American shipyards are busy pumping out tugs and barges the number of new build activity for long haul ocean transport is anaemic. Not counting the "grey hulls" or ships funded specifically for defense purposes the U.S. merchant fleet is antiquated and will eventually become obsolete as fleet age is a major factor in choosing a shipping line to haul one's cargo around the world.</span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px"><span style="font-size:100%;">Like farming and banking nearly all american ships in foreign trade are in one way or another subsidized by the American tax payer. The only reason I have a job sailing overseas is because congress has authorized funding through 2015 for the </span><a href="http://www.marad.dot.gov/ships_shipping_landing_page/national_security/maritime_security_program/maritime_security_program.htm"><span style="font-size:100%;">Maritime Security Program</span></a><span style="font-size:100%;">, a subsidy which encourages the re-flagging of foreign built ships into US registry. By offsetting the higher operating costs for US flagged vessels it ensures sufficient sealift capacity in time of war or national crisis. Since these ships are foreign built they are ineligible for Jones Act or domestic trade and therefore are only engaged in foreign commerce, hence why my job. </span></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >These thoughts were running through my mind the other week when I leveraged my rating as Chief Mate to take a quick tour of a Norwegian flagged vessel moored astern of us. Since only in America are there "Chief Mates" I introduced myself to the Filipino security watch as the "Chief Officer" of the American ship loading cargo at the next berth and inquired if his Chief Officer wasn't too busy to allow me onboard. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >"Yes, he's on the bridge and would be happy to show you around" the crewman replied in a thick Tagalog accent as another of the ABs on watch came down from the upper holds to escort me to the elevator. On the bridge? That's about as far from the cargo operation as he could be I thought as we rode the elevator to the upper most deck. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >The size of the ship was impressive from the dock and standing on top of this sky scraper was no different. The AB led me to the bridge, which he would not enter in working clothes and boots where the Captain, First Assistant, Radio Operator and Chief Officer were standing around wearing pressed salt and pepper uniforms. They greeted me with some curiosity unaccustomed to having visitors from neighboring ships. I was immediately curious why three of the top four officers were all on the bridge. I've never even seen the First Assistant Engineer on the bridge of a ship much less wearing a pressed uniform. "Don't you belong down in the hole?" I wanted to ask as we made small talk and I explained the trade route and number of crew on board my ship.</span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >"Only 20 crew?" the Chief Officer asked. "We have 27 plus two British deck cadets." Oh that must be nice I thought as it explained why the management officers were all bullshitting on the bridge in port during cargo operations. The Chief Officer then explained that the Radio Officer, another rating now absent from the crew lists of American ships (Ever since GMDSS was implemented), was running some sort of IT test on their internet system to check for cyber terrorism weaknesses (Every ship in their fleet has internet), but he had a few minutes and could show me around. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >I thanked the Captain for his time and made my way down the ladder well to the accommodation deck. The door opened into an atrium with a wide stair case that descended to the accommodations. I was blown away by the grandeur of such a space on a ship that really served no utilitarian purpose besides impressing visitors. At the bottom of the stairs were a set of glass book cases crammed with literature. To the left of the atrium was a small lounge for port officials and other important persons visiting the captain. A model of a Viking longboat crafted out of wood served as a centerpiece in the cozy room. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >We walked past the ship's offices, one of several places including the bridge where the Chief Officer could remotely operate the ventilation and ballasting systems, and into the officers mess. The entire crew could have eaten in the room but the unlicensed had their own mess abaft the galley and closer to their own living quarters. A well appointed gym was across the hall complete with a glass faced squash / basketball court. All that was missing were the saunas commonplace on Swedish flagged ships. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >If an after duty game of squash wasn't enough to wear you out than retiring to one of two lounges was always an option. The crew lounge was fitted with an entertainment and Karaoke system as well as a full drum kit, guitar, bass and amplifiers. Music is as culturally necessary for Filipino seafarers as white rice and fish at breakfast. The officers lounge was further forward and massive. Art work, a dart board, photographs of numerous barbecues onboard and plush settees lined the walls while a full bar and stools filled one corner. The spotless carpet professed that it was an off duty clean clothes only establishment and beer coasters sporting Beck's, Fosters and Heineken abounded. It was evident that Norwegians could not only be trusted to operate a multi million dollar ship but they could also be trusted to have a pop or two afterwards. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >Moving further aft down the recently waxed deck, besides the cleanliness and modern fixtures of the interior, I was most impressed by pyramid sky lights placed in the overhead at each intersection of the passageway allowing natural light to fill the ship. It hearkened back to deck prisms and the master's cabin sky light on sailing ships. I peeked into the Chief Officer's stateroom at what looked like a showroom at Ikea. "The carpenter put in a new carpet this trip. Last trip he tiled all the officer's heads." I don't think an American ship has employed a carpenter since the 1970s. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >Leaving the ship I couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. Not for the posh accommodations or large crew but for the overall impression the vessel and her crew gave off. They were employed by a powerhouse in the shipping world and everyone onboard and in the port knew it. The vessel was built for cargo and a lot of it but making an impression on visitors and the crew as comfortable as possible was also calculated in; sentiments that today seem lost in the Walmart mentality of most shipping companies. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >Of course it would be hard to use this vessel as a comparison for American ships. First of all she was definitely not built in Norway. Doing so would be as cost prohibitive as building one in say, the United States. She was of South Korean ancestry and therefore much more affordable and timely in her construction. An American vessel, unless subsidized by MSP must be built in the United States if she is to carry cargo from one domestic port to another or in other words be Jones Act compliant. As it stands now without being constructed in the U.S. a ship couldn't carry a single TEU from Newark to Portland Maine legally. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >Also, her crew was only partially Norwegian. The unlicensed, and quite possibly junior officers were all selected by a Filipino crewing agency from thousands of qualified mariners educated in Filipino maritime academies. American vessels on the other hand are almost always crewed by American citizens. (Unless you're working in the South Pacific fisheries where only the "Paper" captain must be American, an egregious loophole for U.S. registered fishing boats with Asian crews). </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="font-size:100%;">American crews are traditionally viewed by shipping companies as expensive not just on account of the higher standard of living in the U.S. but our litigious nature. While it's true we earn a higher wage than the majority of seafarers from other nations the reason American mariners may be so sue happy could be that the maintenance and cure offered by the Jones Act when injured was pegged in the early 20th centure at seven dollars a day. That won't even get you an aspirin in hospitals today. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >Furthermore an entire Norwegian vessel, though flying a red and white flag, can be entirely manned by non citizens benefiting the company with reduced crewing costs making the Norwegian flag comparable to any other "Flag of Convenience." In the U.S. this too is prohibited by the Jones Act, yet another reason almost all shipping companies based in the United States flag their fleets in Liberia, Monrovia, the Marshal Islands or Panama. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >While the shipping industry remains to be big business in the United States the companies do not support American shipbuilders and seamen as it once did. The industry has been outsourced to foreign fleets for the very same reasons we no longer make television sets and automobiles like we once did. While large shipping companies reap the rewards of cheaper labor, looser regulations and lower construction and maintenance costs I fear that we may loose the capability to maintain a true ready reserve capability as a maritime nation. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px">I'm no war hawk but with the reduced size of not only our merchant fleet but also our navy we may look big in GDP but our presence on the high seas may be relegated to the lowest bidder. Loosing the work force to build, maintain and operate deep sea tonnage will prevent the United States from regaining the autonomy we once held as a global economic force. The original purpose of the continental navy was not to project military might but to protect the merchant vessels that supplied the expanding colonies with everything they could not grow or produce on their own. </span><br /></span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >I do not mention these thing for want of alcohol onboard ship or dinning ware emblazoned with the stack insignia or the white glove role some officers on foreign ships with multiethnic crews enjoy. I mention it because I believe that when you loose something as integral to our maritime economy and heritage as a self sustaining commercial merchant marine free of government backed construction loans, subsidized operations and cargo preference laws the chances of recovering such a fleet are slim to none. </span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px;font-size:100%;" >And I don't think the answer lies in the good intentions of investors dedicated to the furtherance of an American Merchant Marine despite the economic forces weighing against such an effort. The solution lies in the halls of congress and reworking the antiquated legislation that today protects the few remaining jobs for american seamen but will ultimately squash the ability to find backing for new maritime ventures. If there was ever a time to change these laws allowing for business plans that will actually work to grow the American flag it is now.</span></p><br /><br /><p style="MARGIN: 0px; MIN-HEIGHT: 14px; FONT: 12px Helvetica"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px"></span><span style="font-size:78%;">For more information on the U.S. merchant and naval fleets through history visit Tim Colton's website </span><a href="http://www.shipbuildinghistory.com/"><span style="font-size:78%;">http://www.shipbuildinghistory.com</span></a><span style="font-size:78%;">. His daily blog <span style="COLOR: rgb(25,0,174)" class="Apple-style-span"><span style="LETTER-SPACING: 0px; TEXT-DECORATION: underline"><a href="http://www.coltoncompany.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">http://www.coltoncompany.com</span></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">/ </span></span>includes the latest in ship building and operational news. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vPG074gVgCs/TbLX1oFpDLI/AAAAAAAACF4/CM3HGtKU6HU/s1600/sunrise.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598774603069066418" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vPG074gVgCs/TbLX1oFpDLI/AAAAAAAACF4/CM3HGtKU6HU/s400/sunrise.jpg" /></a>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-51665370790134384272011-04-22T12:00:00.000-04:002011-04-23T14:54:56.728-04:00Cargo is King"Cargo is King" was something I remember my dad saying when I was young. At the time I had no idea what it meant as he related tales from his latest trip as Chief Mate on a product or chemical tanker to his buddies. As I grew older and decided a maritime college was the best way to liberate myself from the drudgery of a nine to five (And the financial indebtedness a bachelors degree incurs) the thought of spending a career moving one commodity or another across the ocean was not at the top of my list o' reasons for joining the merchant marine.<br /><br /><br />Nor when I sat through my first introduction to dry cargo class did cargo mean any more to me than memorizing the aged professor's maxims such as "Bung up and bilge down" or "Cold to hot, ventilate not, hot to cold, ventilate bold!" The first cargo I actually ever dealt with was a small lift of medical equipment loaded into the lower deck of the maritime academy's training ship. A humanitarian cargo destined for Natal Brazil and gladly transported by the two hundred cadets <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">on board</span> eager to drink Arctic beer and cavort with the local inhabitants on the white sand beaches.<br /><br />It was in the summer of 2002 that I had my first smell of a real shipborne cargo. Verified gas oil or <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">VGO</span></span> was about the nastiest sulphuric gunk the chemical tanker I had the luck to be assigned to would carry. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ketones</span></span> and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">glycol</span></span> smelled much sweeter but would send your head spinning after too much time spent needle gunning down wind. Even in my cabin at night <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">I would get stomach aches when the crew washed <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">naphthalene</span> tanks, </span>the one time of day I didn't participate in the evolution, and caustic soda left a huge, purple, hickey like burn on the side of my neck which the Captain personally told me would never go away or as he put it "Oh s%$t cadet, now you're f$%&<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">ked</span></span>, that's never coming off."<br /><br />The caustic burn did peel off but my interest in liquid cargoes remained. After spending my first summer out of school on a schooner sailing to Newfoundland with a cargo of adolescents I did found work on my third mate's ticket aboard a tanker but it wasn't one of the big money jobs everyone who had sat through the advanced liquid cargo class had hoped for.<br /><br />Just like my cadet shipping she was another rundown American chemical tanker. This one though was a "pharmacy" tanker with 52 segregated tanks, four separate headers, two single tiers forward and two double tiers aft and enough piping to require hundreds of low point drains. Each tank had an efficient stripping system for when the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Framo</span> deep well hydraulic pump lost suction so you could get every last droplet of product out. Those <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Framo</span> pumps made a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">whining</span> noise I will never <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">forget</span>. The <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">center line</span> tanks were stainless steel for food grade products and caustic soda. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">Paraxylene</span></span>, the stock chemical for plastics and a very tricky cargo as it will freeze solid at a mere 56 degrees <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Fahrenheit</span>, plus lubrication oils were our most common products but we could carry anything else including phenol which at best would induce a coma if ingested.<br /><br />My cadet shipping experience had prepared me well to stand my own cargo watch. The autonomy we had during cargo, even stripping out and topping off tanks, was great for building my confidence. I learned to communicate exactly what I needed to the pump man at the mix master or AB at the manifold.<br /><br />It was a hard working ship and had a solid and very young crew but after two trips I could see the toll the complexity of the cargo system and demands of the spot market were taking on the Chief Mates. I also noticed that the world of tankers was a little lonely. There you were in the middle of some hot August night floating in a swamp in Texas loading enough product to fill an <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">olympic</span></span> pool but there were only two or three guys around. Job satisfaction yes but not much of a team effort with people ashore.<br /><br />I gave up on the company early and became intrigued by a job I had heard about on a fleet of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">RoRos</span></span>. Clean cargo holds, European ports, art in the corridors and rooms. This sounded like a nice change, especially if I was going to see less more of the world and less of the Houston ship channel.<br /><br />I applied and was hired but found myself on the oldest of the old with smoke stained passageways, dirty cargo holds and leaking hydraulics all around. It didn't matter though, I was sailing foreign and loved it. Charts for the Mediterranean, Middle East, Asia and Pacific Northwest were needed plus we had long sea passages for celestial navigation practice and then lots of traffic to challenge my recently acquired bridge team skills.<br /><br />Unfortunately unlike the tanker there wasn't that much for me to do at first. The cargo was rolled up the side or stern ramp and then secured by <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">gangs</span> of lashing bar <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">wielding</span> longshoremen. All I knew how to do was check the lashings for tightness and proper amount and try to impart my desire for secure cargo to the longshoremen. I used to say things like "Hey guys, you're not the one that has to sail into a hurricane with these lashings loose so could you redo this one?" but now I know better and go directly to the foreman to lodge my complaint about lazy lashing gangs. Despite their gruffness they are more than happy to get the job done correctly once you remind them how it should be done every single time.<br /><br />It took me two years to really gain a footing as to how cargo on a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error">RoRo</span></span> should be stowed. There are so many variables involved that when I look back on my first couple of trips I realize how very little I knew. Probably the major reason I felt as if the Chief Mate at the time didn't really trust the junior officers to do more than watch vehicles for damage and check lashings.<br /><br /><br />The most satisfying aspect of my job today, a job that is about as far from a nine to five as one can get, is taking part in the sometimes simple and sometimes massive operation of getting a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error">RoRo</span></span> filled with cargo. And what fascinates me now isn't just the operations that take place inside the cargo holds but the bigger picture of getting the cargo from the manufacturer to the consumer.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GLgr1Js-9-k/TatBOUeKFMI/AAAAAAAACFs/QW0eYLqjXtw/s1600/Grimaldi.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596638676207146178" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GLgr1Js-9-k/TatBOUeKFMI/AAAAAAAACFs/QW0eYLqjXtw/s320/Grimaldi.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:78%;">A beautiful brand new ship and example of cargo versatility using the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error">RoRo</span></span> method plus a weather deck with ships gear for <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error">ondeck</span> stowage of containers and heavy lift cargoes. </span><span style="font-size:78%;">If only we could build em like this...</span></div><br /><br /><div align="left">The <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" class="blsp-spelling-error">RoRos</span></span> I work on can take such a variety of cargo that they <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_19" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">hearken</span> back to the days of stick ships carrying break bulk, the main difference being instead of taking weeks to unload with booms and runners and winches and guys our cargo is simply rolled, towed, pushed or driven on and off. Right now we have containers, automobiles, heavy machinery, loose pipe, diesel generators, motor yachts, motor homes, break bulk and even a few massive pieces of power plant equipment all stowed under deck. Most of the cargo requires either web-lashing or chain and tension binders but some of the project cargo has been welded in place and secured with massive chains. </div><br />The entirety of the past twenty days have been focused on getting the ship alongside 8 separate docks for the load we are now carrying towards the Mediterranean. With lubes, slops, bunkers, a Coast Guard inspection and loading all the stores, spares and provisions we'll need for the next three months it's been a busy spring. The cargo though as my dad would say is definitely king.<br /><br />Without cargo the ship wouldn't go to sea and I would go unemployed. Without cargo tug boat outfits and pilot associations would be without jobs. Without cargo entire coastal economies built around large marine industries would shrivel. Without cargo globalization would come to a halt and all that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_21" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ikea</span></span> furniture at home would still be in Sweden.<br /><br />Even beyond the satisfaction of packing our ten decks full of differing commodities I find it rewarding to just stand as a witness to trade on a scale only shipping allows. I see firsthand what is sitting on the docks in Baltimore or Jacksonville or Japan waiting to be exported all over the world. I see the cargoes that are being imported from abroad, unless it's a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_22" class="blsp-spelling-error">container </span>and then you just see <span style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: #ffff00">those</span> by the thousands.<br /><br /><br />I remember right after 9-11 when I was a cadet and the mates on the ship were all commenting about how empty the decks of the container ships were coming in and out of Newark. It was the economy nose diving after that event when trade volumes plummeted. You could see the same thing two years ago. The world's <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_24" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_19" class="blsp-spelling-error">RoRo</span></span> fleet went from a complete under tonnage necessitating our steaming to Korea to load hundreds of excavators for Long Beach to talk of car ships being used for parking garages in a matter of months.<br /><br /><br />It is incredible to think about a life in which one assumes there will always be gasoline coming out of the pump and the TV you need will always be in stock. Simply explaining my profession to people, even those who live in the ports I visit, is more often than not met with blank stares. The concept of ocean shipping is so foreign to the average American I chalk it up as another sign of our collective ignorance, a sad predicament for a nation so dependent on imports.<br /><br /><br />Perhaps it's that very same ignorance that I so often lament which keeps the masses from finding out about ships and flooding the job market making seafaring a more competitive and less lucrative occupation. Or perhaps it's being off the land for months on end. Like all things in the marine profession such as spending a watch surrounded by whales or seeing the mid oceanic horizon swallow the sun in a green flash, taking part in the world's commerce first hand has been a part of the trade since boatswains were wearing short pants and cargo was king.Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-4340775853049797612011-04-18T05:31:00.000-04:002011-04-18T05:32:17.878-04:00Open Water<div>Looking out my office window today I could see the last pair of green and red buoys marking the channel to Fort Sumter range. For the next ten days these channel buoys will be the last vestiges of shallow water. The only other objects afloat such as ODAS buoys for weather forecasting or DART buoys for tsunami detection are found in deeper water on the edge of the continental shelf.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you imagine what lies beneath the waves when going to sea then leaving the continental shelf gives the impression of taking off in flight. The bottom drastically recedes from the surface making room for abyssal plains and mid atlantic mountains. Miles of water fill the void between our tiny hull and the darkness of the unseen ocean floor. </div><div><br /></div><div>With our speed reduced for the right whale seasonal management area off the Carolinas the buoys slowly fell astern lending to an overwhelming sense of relief. I've been onboard the ship for twenty days now and have had no more than 72 hours at sea in-between Texas and Florida, otherwise it's been in and out of ports on the east coast non stop. Three strait weeks of port calls makes time fly but it's tiring. Port means cargo and with the support of the third and second mates it is a lot of work facilitating the safe and efficient loading of our ship. Now with a sizable 12,000 metric tons of cargo onboard we are ready to begin the Atlantic crossing and head for the Strait of Gibraltar. </div><div><br /></div><div>During pilotages in two different east coast ports I saw pilots using an Ipad as an electronic chart. Running NOAA charts through the iNavX application in conjunction with a wireless signal fed by our own AIS the pilots were receiving accurate GPS position, speed and course data for our vessel and surrounding vessels fitted with AIS. I thought that was a pretty novel use of the latest device from Apple. </div><div><br /></div><div>It looks like I've lucked out on the crewing end for this trip. The boatswain, who arrived not with one or two seabags but an entire Uhaul truck stuffed with all his belongings including furniture is enthusiastic despite his apparent homelessness. He's the first Boatswain I've had that kept a work log tracking each crew member's hours and jobs on overtime. </div><div><br /></div><div>He also is a bit of a nut when it comes to tactical police gear which he revealed one coffee break when showing off a pair of SWAT team goggles. "I got these on store credit" he bragged to one of the day men. "Why do you have those?" someone asked. "Because the guy who owns the store didn't have enough change when I bought my taser...and they're awesome" he boasted holding them up for all to see. Okay, but you're a boatswain, not a hostage negotiator I thought. "I'll drop a thousand bucks on this stuff when I'm at home" he continued. Possibly a contributing factor to why he's homeless? I guess we all have our vices. </div><div><br /></div><div>When it comes to seafarers I have learned not to judge people by their actions ashore. If you choose on your own time to spend your money on women and booze, pick fights in bars or use it to dress up like you're in the special forces it's your business as long as you pull your own weight at sea and as the saying goes, hand, reef and steer then that's good enough for me. Just don't run out on a hooker as I was assured by an AB from Fall River that this brings the heaviest of weather.</div><div><br /></div><div>The rest of the crew appears hard working and interested in overtime. Several of the unlicensed are return crew and most of the officers have now been onboard for an entire year so it should be a huge improvement from my first trip when I was burdened with one complete sociopath and a schizophrenic. </div><div><br /></div><div>In other news the large upper deck lounge and reception area has been transformed from a disused venue for schmoozing port officials with Becks beer and Aquavit, which are no longer allowed on board, to the senior officers entertainment center, guests by invitation only. The Captain and Chief wall mounted a 52 inch flat screen TV with surround sound and DVD player plus an Xbox. There is a seating arrangement diagram taped to the bulkhead and ample room for all the officers onboard to partake in movie time which begins promptly at 2000 every night. Lunch and coffee breaks are reserved for Halo. </div><div><br /></div><div>My girlfriend for one reason or another did not greet this improvement with as much enthusiasm as I had hoped. Apparently when I'm at sea she pictures me reading Herman Melville as I swing from my hammock, knocking together ditty bags and rope buckets and learning sea shanties on the guitar. While I certainly do all those things I also enjoy having some of the comforts of life on the beach at work such as rotting my mind with video games from time to time. Something I've gotten much better at with the help of her child.</div><div><br /></div><div>Everyone on the ship is bracing for a long trip. There is talk about a stop on the eastern coast of India and there will most likely be a shipyard somewhere in the far east. I'm focused on getting home for a camping trip in July so as long as that happens all else will fall into it's right place. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-70445140252131978352011-04-04T20:09:00.002-04:002011-04-04T20:39:05.413-04:00UnderwayIt's hard to tell whether I'm busier when at home or at work. The notable difference being that when I'm at home my time is filled with things I mostly want to be doing whereas at sea my time is filled with things I have to do. Seafaring, if I've never mentioned it before, is a non stop affair. It is not infrequent that I feel a certain envy for the AB who works a worry free eight or twelve hour day and beyond that is free to do as he or she pleases whereas I am constantly trying to hedge my time so as to not fall behind in my duties. <div><br /></div><div>The first week back is typically the most brutal in terms of adjustment to new sleep patterns, stress levels and physical exertion when compared to the leisurely pace of life I lead vacationing ashore. That said I couldn't be happier to have returned to the same job on the same ship with mostly the same crew; the systems and procedures we've all ready implemented in addition to the improvements we've made in the ship is paying off in a safer, simpler and more organized operation. </div><div><br /></div><div>We've left the Gulf of Mexico and called on our first east coast port leaving four more to go. I'm also pleased that a nearly full load of automobiles, heavy machinery and containers awaits us on the docks of Savannah, Baltimore, Wilmington and Charleston. An underutilized cargo ship leaves more than just myself in a strange funk when steaming across an ocean. </div><div><br /></div><div>Along with the engine and stewards departments the watch standing AB's still due to get off did an excellent job this past trip. I'm sorry to see them go especially since every time a new crew member signs on it's a roll of the dice. Save for watches will they stay in their room or come out for overtime? Are they the kind of people you'd like to spend a four hour bridge watch with or are they complete sociopaths? Are they "able bodied" seamen or are they a health hazard to themselves and potentially their shipmates? You never really can tell until the ship has sailed and any chance of replacement has faded over the transom. </div><div><br /></div><div>There was a great sunset this evening. An expansive bank of cumulonimbus hid the sun until just before setting. The scene was beautiful but the inherent atmospheric instability of such a cloud formation is not. The marine forecast is for 20-25 knots out of the southwest by the early morning when I come back on watch. Picking up a pilot at four in the morning and making our way 25 miles up a winding river with more sail area than any clipper ship should make for a riveting start to a very busy day. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-22146185229724080052011-03-31T20:44:00.000-04:002011-03-31T20:44:40.561-04:00The Maritime Executive Magazine - Challenges for America's East Coast Shipping, Ports and Trade<a href="http://www.maritime-executive.com/article/challenges-for-america-s-east-coast-shipping-ports-and-trade?sms_ss=blogger&at_xt=4d951f9f291d2fae%2C0">The Maritime Executive Magazine - Challenges for America's East Coast Shipping, Ports and Trade</a>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-64911111451699849382011-03-24T12:40:00.008-04:002011-03-24T13:18:17.682-04:00A Full House<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z3ssIMQI70w/TYt3CIMfGwI/AAAAAAAACFU/yf72zNLOBR4/s1600/DSC00791.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z3ssIMQI70w/TYt3CIMfGwI/AAAAAAAACFU/yf72zNLOBR4/s200/DSC00791.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587690641126529794" /></a>No other vacation of mine has been comprised of so many consecutive days at home. Save for two quick ski trips, one to Maine and one to Vermont, the number of nights I have slept in hotels, hostels or on friends couches has been dramatically reduced. And though I still yearn to spend my time off from sea traveling I've been content this time staying closer to home.<br /><br />My living situation certainly plays a role in this new found contentedness. I have a small family living at my place now including a cat, a Pembroke Welsh Corgi and my girlfriends eight year old son. The transition from a strict bachelor's pad to that of a home with homework and dog walking has been a challenge to my well established sense of independence but the satisfaction garnered from cooking and eating with the same wonderful people day after day is an unparalleled experience.<br /><br />The presence of a dog, albeit a small one and not the long haired husky I always pictured, is a perpetual source of entertainment. At one year old he is the archetypal Corgi; athletic, smart, obedient and affectionate. Whenever I move from a seated position at home or when we're hanging out at our favorite bagel shop I have to take care not to step on him. Though never fed from the table his favorite spot when not on the move is directly under my chair.<br /><br /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bQQ1AH_Jhqc/TYt4haxs5yI/AAAAAAAACFg/tzJdkcsjixg/s320/DSC00644.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587692278202033954" />With more people, animals and furniture in my modest home than ever before I have been reflecting on the situation in Japan where in an instant thousands of homes were obliterated by the power of nature. <div><br /></div><div>I have an image from the Internet trapped in my mind of the devastating tsunami. The image is reinforced by the time I spent on Honshu, most of which was with my brother, at the time an apprentice seaman on my ship. The scene showed a sidewalk, meticulously hand swept, along a narrow road lined by miniature automobiles parked in an orderly manner as if they were cargo on the roro. Across the road is a low levee separating the order of Japanese civilization from a wide river fringed in the distance by green conifer covered hills. Pouring over the levee is a black wall of water three meters high as full of flotsam as it is wet heaving the compact automobiles up and sweeping them towards the front of what moments ago must have been occupied store fronts.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7fL3XuABVrY/TYt2q8ywuaI/AAAAAAAACFM/u_ddz_bUVc8/s1600/DSC00200.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7fL3XuABVrY/TYt2q8ywuaI/AAAAAAAACFM/u_ddz_bUVc8/s400/DSC00200.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587690242928851362" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Longshoremen loading break bulk cargo in Tokyo</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>It is a terrifying scene from a place that I have very fond memories of. I have never enjoyed working with stevedores and longshoremen as much as I did in Japan. The efficiency and work ethic that was carried onto the ship each time the stern ramp went down is unparalleled in my experience. The pilots were memorable for their advanced age and naval like formality. Many of the pilots were teenagers during World War Two, their age a reflection of how much trouble the associations in Japan have recruiting younger people into the marine profession. But despite their rigidness and extreme politeness they usually had a sense of humor and enjoyed talking on the bridge during long passages through the inland sea.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-43IaZfQl0ZQ/TYt2YSyml1I/AAAAAAAACFE/Q-BDhGGDN9c/s1600/DSC00799.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-43IaZfQl0ZQ/TYt2YSyml1I/AAAAAAAACFE/Q-BDhGGDN9c/s400/DSC00799.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587689922416252754" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "><div style="text-align: center;">Prayer cards at a shrine in Kobe</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span>World events are weighing heavily on my mind as I begin packing my bags for this next hitch. Almost every nation in the Middle East is experiencing some level of historical instability. Somalia, always the deep sea mariner's first and foremost concern, has shown no change in the pace with which piracy is being committed despite increased pressure from the coalition Navy. </div><div><br /></div><div>The deaths of four Americans on the Sailing Vessel Quest has only reinforced my opinion that the only proven defense for merchant vessels is to have better weaponry and more of it in the hands of personnel with superior marksmanship than the pirates. Until the incentives of big paydays and all the khat you can chew is met with an equal disincentive of having your skiff sunk from under you in the shark infested Indian Ocean or a life sentence in Guantanamo Bay piracy will continue unabated.<br /><br />My sense of self worth, something linked closely to my job performance and reputation at work, has been somewhat bolstered by reaching one of the mile stones I set for myself a decade ago. I'm the proud owner of my first Merchant Mariner's Credential, the unimpressive and disappointing 21st century version of a USCG paper license. My own is a little more memorable as it has printed, if you can find it in size nine font under the Medical Waiver requiring that I carry a spare set of corrective lenses on board, the word "Master".<br /><br />Besides my GED the State of Florida Department of Education mailed to me when I was seventeen and my college diploma this passport sized booklet is the most valuable piece of paper I have ever received. Not so much because it represents my legal ability to operate any motor or steam vessel floating on any of the world's oceans but because it is proof that I have spent no less than three years, eight months and 20 days of my life working on board vessels of one type or another.<br /><br />Because I take such satisfaction from knowing the numbers I did a quick tally of my total sea time and was surprised to find that in the last seven years I have spent 1,359 total days on documented vessels. Of these sea days 192 were spent on sailing vessels up to 115 tons, the rest on unlimited tonnage ships. In addition to sea time I have also spent nearly four months of my unpaid vacation time attending mostly required training.<br /><br />Thanks to my affiliation with one of the United States three unions for seafaring officers my training has been completely subsidized through employer contributions and my payment of quarterly dues. Otherwise the 72 days spent in IMO required "upgrade" training would have cost me not just precious time at home but also $29,376 including room and board. Add on the other 45 days of training attending courses like Medical PIC refresher, Vessel Security Officer, and Fast Rescue Boat Operator and the bill would total over fifty thousands dollars!<br /><br />While most management level officers belong to a union, or better yet a company that will pay for this onerous training, there are some out there that have had to pay out of pocket to climb the license ladder. As for the unlimited HP engineers who haven't yet tested for their First Assistant/Chief Engineers license the days of living without the burden of upgrade courses are numbered. Rumor has it that beginning in 2012 the IMO in it's infinite wisdom will begin requiring competencies that can only be documented in the classroom and not where you'll actually use them, on your ship.<br /><br />As I sit in my kitchen on one of my remaining days at home watching the snow continue to fall on this, the fifth day of spring, I chuckle at the mental anguish I know it inflicts on all the New Englanders fed up with the winter of 2011. Personally I don't mind all that much. It's going to be a hot spring where I'm headed to in a few days and not just on account of the scorching sun. Autocracies, revolutions, no-fly zones and hijackings abound so it stands to be an interesting trip. I'll do my best to keep you posted.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UsXCNABo7K0/TYt1aVg7bQI/AAAAAAAACE8/8shwq0Rpudg/s1600/IMG_0389.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UsXCNABo7K0/TYt1aVg7bQI/AAAAAAAACE8/8shwq0Rpudg/s400/IMG_0389.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587688857995537666" /></a><br /></div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-8459486139520998012011-03-11T17:24:00.003-05:002011-03-11T18:40:21.572-05:00And the Waters Rage<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vHE71Q0sWU0/TXqxRY2XWNI/AAAAAAAACEw/VPjcerw1Wk4/s1600/IMG_0429.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vHE71Q0sWU0/TXqxRY2XWNI/AAAAAAAACEw/VPjcerw1Wk4/s400/IMG_0429.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582969600365517010" /></a><br />It feels like spring time here in northern New England. Somewhat of a relief where road ice and blocked rain gutters are concerned yet still, I weep for the waning snow and all the fun we had this year. A day of rain and a heavy snow pack is swelling all the rivers and threatening to flood the low lying areas but it's nothing compared to what Japan is going through right now. <div><br /></div><div>Disasters that strike with no warning are usually the hardest to comprehend, especially when all you can do is watch youtube videos as fishing boats and mini vans are swept under bridges in torrents of rushing water. Just the other day I was almost witness to a disaster while waiting for the train at north station in Boston. </div><div><br /></div><div>After my third and last trip to Ikea (Completely outfitting my home has taken the better part of four years) my girlfriend and I stopped in Boston to take her son to the Aquarium. After parking we all held hands and descended the stairwells to take the T into town. Her son never having been on the T before was probably a little excited and a little apprehensive to be among so many people at once. </div><div><br /></div><div>Just as the speakers announced the approaching orange line train a commotion began a hundred feet further up the platform. As I peered over the edge and down the rail bed I could see a large man staring at the ground absolutely dazed. Turning my head in the other direction the headlights of the approaching train were all ready illuminating the rails as people began rushing towards the conductor frantically waving and screaming for her to stop the train. Without much thought involved I turned and began sprinting down the station pushing shocked and sedentary bystanders out of my way. </div><div><br /></div><div>As I approached the group of people all ready trying to pull the guy back onto the platform I was sure the train was moments away from hitting him. With both my girl friend and I heaving on his coat the combined power of four or five complete strangers yanked three hundred pounds of dead weight up and over the yellow line as the train came to a stop 30 feet short of what could have been a grizzly scene. </div><div><br /></div><div>Every heart was pounding as people slowly backed away from the man, now prostrate on the concrete bleeding heavily from his forehead. I was relieved to see the guy trying to stop the flow of blood with his own hand so I knew he was conscious and somewhat alert. Taking what was available from those around me I applied a wad of tissues to his laceration and told him to keep pressure on the wound. </div><div><br /></div><div>By the time I had coaxed his first name out of him transit personnel had arrived on scene and were radioing for a paramedic. With nothing left to do but give a witness statement, of which there were plenty standing around, we boarded the train and thanked our stars that my girlfriend's son had not witnessed anything more than his mom save save a clumsy man's life. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was such a rush to switch from bee bopping around the subway without a care in the world to screaming at the top of my lungs "For f$%#ks sake pull harder" to a group of people I had never met. The real credit goes to the conductor who managed to put the emergency break on in time to stop short of where the guy had fallen. Those trains pull in fast but they also stop just as quick. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-54328359519546452702011-03-07T18:58:00.007-05:002011-03-07T21:56:11.466-05:00Short seas container service to Portland?<div style="text-align: left;">After two of my favorite contenders for introducing a bonafide short seas shipping operation here in the USA, <a href="http://www.coastal-connect.com/">Coastal Connect</a> and <a href="http://www.seabridgefreight.com/about.cfm">SeaBridge Freight</a>, shut down there is finally some good news for people who love the idea of moving containers off interstates and onto the <a href="http://www.marad.dot.gov/ships_shipping_landing_page/mhi_home/mhi_home.htm">Marine Highway</a> system.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.american-feeder-lines.com/en/home/index.html">American Feeder Lines</a> is poised to begin a Boston, Portland, Halifax service returning a regular container vessel to the Port of Portland's underutilized International Marine Terminal as reported in the <a href="http://www.pressherald.com/news/container-ship-service-to-resume-_2011-03-02.html">Press Herald</a>.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TnUaf7eNP4s/TXWZAsVbkjI/AAAAAAAACEk/rZ9BH4E8MIY/s400/f9503656.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581535550375694898" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF66;">Port of Portland Maine. Note the VLCC along side the Portland Pipeline and the anchored product tanker. Now if only there were a few roros and container ships in the mix. </span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>While the initial service would require the chartering of a foreign flagged vessel if financing can be secured for building 10 Jones Act compliant vessels than perhaps I'll have my dream job of driving one up and down the eastern seaboard someday. It was the lack of such all important financing that dissuaded Coastal Connect from becoming a reality and SeaBridge from using the 3 million dollar marine highways grant received from MARAD as reported below by the <a href="http://www.cargolaw.com/">Cargo Letter</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family:arial, helvetica;font-size:13px;"><span style="font-family:Geneva;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"> </span><span style="font-family:Geneva;font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><b>***The <span class="il" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 204); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Seabridge</span> Collapses </b></span><span style="font-family:Geneva;font-size:85%;color:#000000;">... as one of the most promising ventures in the infant marine highways industry went out of business in Jan. for lack of financing. <span class="il" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 204); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Seabridge</span> Freight was a pioneer operator that established service between Port Manatee, Fla., and Brownsville, Texas, in Dec. 2008, but ceased operations last Nov. Officials announced in Jan. they had been unable to raise enough capital to carry out the company's strategy, and now it is closed with no plans to reopen. A company official explained that an investor who had a 75% stake in the company dropped his support when other unrelated ventures went bad.<span class="il" style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 204); color: rgb(34, 34, 34); background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Seabridge</span> Freight operated a tug and barge on a four-day schedule between ports Manatee & Brownsville. A principal source of business was containers too heavy for highway transit. The company was doing well enough to be the beneficiary of a US$3.34M marine highways grant that the Maritime Administration awarded to ports Manatee & Brownsville. The money, slated for disbursement in March, would have paid for two additional barges to increase service frequency.<br /></span><span style="font-family:Geneva;font-size:85%;color:#FF0000;"><b><a href="http://www.seabridgefreight.com/contact.html" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(51, 70, 76); ">www.seabridgefreight.com/<wbr>contact.html</a></b></span></span></div><div><br /></div><a href="http://www.pressherald.com/news/container-ship-service-to-resume-_2011-03-02.html">Container ship service to resume in Portland | The Portland Press Herald / Maine Sunday Telegram</a>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-66812550976238819722011-03-06T17:19:00.003-05:002011-03-06T17:44:15.847-05:00Nubble Light<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O-QDGOc86Yk/TXQIwwhcAGI/AAAAAAAACEY/bdnohd5qJpQ/s1600/nubble.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O-QDGOc86Yk/TXQIwwhcAGI/AAAAAAAACEY/bdnohd5qJpQ/s400/nubble.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581095471970779234" /></a><br />Cape Neddick, Maine - February 25, 2011<div><br /><div>Established: July 1, 1879<br />Light List: Aid No. 125/J0226<br />Position: N 43° 09' 54", W 70° 35' 28"<br />Nautical Chart<br />Cape Neddick, near the entrance to<br />York River; York, Maine<br />Characteristic: Iso R 6s (2) [6 seconds Red<br />alternating with 6 sec darkness]<br />Original Optics: Fourth-order Fresnel Lens -1879 (3)<br />Present optic: Fourth-order Fresnel Lens -1928<br />Elevation: 88-feet high Focal Plane<br />Range: 13 nautical miles visible reach at sea<br />Structure:<br />(Daymark) 41-feet high White Conical Cast iron lined<br />with brick Tower with Black Lantern<br />Fog signal: One Second blast every 10 seconds<br />First Keeper: Nathaniel Otterson<br />Automated: July 13, 1987<br />Current Use: Active aid to navigation,<br />U.S. Coast Guard Access to Optic;<br />Owned by the Town of York since<br />June 20, 1998<br /></div><div>http://home.comcast.net/~debee2/maine/CapeNeddick.html</div></div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-52010826383822502652011-02-11T10:15:00.002-05:002011-02-11T11:28:21.233-05:00The Silence of SnowThe White Mountains were silent yesterday. The fifth storm to hit New England since returning from sea had coated every tree with a foot and a half of new snow. Stopping amongst the evergreens and young softwoods branches mounded with beautiful dry snow muffled every scrape and thud a snowboard makes in the back country. A holler from a skier looking for his partner further down the stream bed was hardly audible in the noise dampening forest.<br /><br />These were perfect conditions for being out of bounds; ample snow to cover every rock face and fallen tree trunk along the trail and provide sufficient control to carve through the trees. A few skiers had all ready been down the stream we were following so it wouldn't be so easy to get lost on the back side of the mountain. I had been down this glade a few weeks before with a brother so I had a good idea where speed was needed to avoid unstrapping and walking to the top of the next rise and I knew where to slow down and duck in the tighter areas to avoid wayward tree branches.<br /><br />My helmet and goggles were all ready scratched and my board had received a few gouges when there was less snow so the paranoia associated with ruining perfectly good equipment had subsided. A friend also on vacation from sea was following close behind so if one of us broke something we'd probably be able to extricate ourselves and not have to pay for our own evacuation (Rescue is not gratis when you're out of bounds).<br /><br />After 78 days at sea just standing in the woods on the side of a mountain after a proper blizzard was almost as much of a thrill as snowboarding in the best conditions of the year. The sensation of freedom dry land and free time provides a sailor kept me pumped throughout the day as we made run after run on my favorite mountain in New England.<br /><br />It's days like this that provide my greatest justification for spending at least half of my life away from the world and they become an important source of energy and confidence when I'm exhausted and fed up with life at work. My last hitch was no exception.<br /><br />All in all it was a great trip. We had one of the best crews I have ever worked with. The steward department put out some of the most edible food I've had at work or at home. The Boatswain managed the deck gang as all Boatswains should; handling beefs before the mast whenever he could and giving the guys breaks when they needed them while completing my ceaseless to do lists. The cargo was delivered in the condition in which it was loaded and there were no major accidents or injuries. Despite all of our small victories, for one reason or another, this last trip had a draining effect on my energy level and interest in remaining at sea indefinitely for the rest of my life.<br /><br />Ask anyone who sailed in the U.S. Merchant Marine prior to the grounding of the Exxon Valdez and they will tell you sailing isn't anything like it used to be. No more port time, no more fun time, more liability, more paperwork, more headaches. After working in the industry myself for the last seven years even I can see that change isn't relegated to the 1990s. The industry continues to change and the changes are coming fast and none of it seems to be improving my working conditions, benefits or professional liability.<br /><br />2010 was a very interesting year for the merchant marine. There are a hundred topics I'd just love to give my opinion on ranging from the Oil Spills in the Gulf of Mexico to Piracy to shifting environmental regulations but I'll just stick to what really gets me pacing back and forth on the bridge wings.<br /><br />The "Global Recession" has made the business of shipping even more competitive than it all ready was and every where I look companies are reducing costs. After two years of scrapping old tonnage and laying up new ships cargo volumes are slowly picking up but there is still an oversupply of vessels. Cost cutting measures such as slow steaming, voyage routing guidance focused on fuel efficiency more so than weather avoidance and enhanced fuel / lube oil consumption monitoring are being introduced at my company. The senior officers in my fleet are seeing an increase in oversight from the office via satellite based technologies that once upon a time would have been unimaginable to the skipper of any freighter.<br /><br />For managing the condominium association in which I reside, my finances and socializing I adore having the internet aboard ship but being out of sight of land no longer provides the cloak of anonymity a ship at sea once received. Imagine an 18th century whaling ship. A Captain was employed, usually as a partial owner in the venture and fitted out with crew, stores and provisions to last months at sea. The vessel much like a warship of the time was meant to be self sufficient for years save for fire wood and water. The ship would sail from Nantucket and disappear around Cape Horn and not reappear in New England for one or two years.<br /><br />The success of the entire voyage was entrusted to the Captain. He would hunt down whales filling the holds with blubber oil and not return to Nantucket until the ship was full and down providing a large enough profit to the owners and himself to justify his livelihood. Save for the occasional stop at a whaling station or encounter with another ship when letters, news and, among the literate, books could be traded the ship was completely out of touch with the rest of the world. Even when disaster struck not a soul would know until survivors were rescued or hundreds of years later an anchor is discovered on the top of <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/11/science/11shipwreck.html?ref=us">Frigate Shoals </a>as it was this week.<br /><br />To compare the experience of a merchant sailor two or one or even a half century ago to seafaring today provides such a contrast that it's hard to believe anyone can still be romantic about the life of a 21st century mariner including myself. On a personal level the escape once afforded to the sailor who wanted to leave a troubled history over the fantail is no more. Running from the law, the IRS, family problems, the ills of society or simply the drudgery of a nine to five just isn't possible.<br /><br />Seafarers are subject to thorough background checks at a minimum every 5 years. Any conviction besides a "Minor offense" is grounds for even more scrutiny requiring written statements and waivers. Driving records, criminal records, and now even your health records can prohibit the issuance of a merchant mariner's credentials. We are subject to enhanced physical screenings where conditions such as asthma, kidney stones, recurrent back pain, arthritis or restless legs require medical review by the Coast Guard and a waiver to work. Once upon a time American mariners received free health care thanks to the founding fathers knowledge that the fledgling nation required able bodied and fit sailors to keep commerce flowing and cannons thundering but today the health care provided by the major unlicensed union is a joke (Just ask my brother). Just before Reagan closed the USPHS hospital system, the first uniformed service in the United States, I was born at no cost because my mother held an MMD.<br /><br />Today a sailor who never sets foot on U.S. soil but simply sails on a U.S. ship must pay the same tax as a citizen ashore on a wage that has stagnated in most industry sectors over the last quarter century. Unlike many European nations which historically have only taxed a portion of their mariner's wages the United States treats sailors no different than any one else, despite the best intentions of Martin Kapp.<br /><br />With access to news, email and calling cards crews are now as up to date on global events and family happenings as anyone else. While this is usually good for morale it is now easier for the crew to become focused on things occurring at home or in the world providing more distraction for the crew, something Captains not long ago never contended with.<br /><br />On an operational level shipping as mentioned before is under more scrutiny than ever before. Messages from the home office once relegated to packets of mail or the morse code of a signal station moved further offshore with the advent of radio stations. While satellites brought us cheap phone cards and eventually the Internet they have also introduced telephones in the Captain's and Chief Engineers office. 24 hours a day the Captain is accessible through phone and email. Any vessel can be tracked by any person on line through AMVER weather reports or AIS when in range of a participating port. Long Range Identification Tracking through SAT-C ensuring port states know which vessels are headed their way is light years apart from the observatory on Munjoy Hill that once hoisted the house flag of ships standing off Cape Elizabeth for a pilot to prepare the agents and merchants on the dock for a cargo's imminent arrival.<br /><br />Even when the Master of my ship determines his route across an ocean the waypoints are reviewed by a routing agency who more often than not disagree and recommend a route through rougher seas in search of more favorable winds. In their eyes a reduction in fuel oil consumption outweighs a better ride and safer cargoes because in the short term the company saves money justifying their service. Who cares if it's too rough out to swing from a boatswains chair chipping rust or change gear oil on the bow? Who cares if we increase our lashing checks to every day because we're rolling ten degrees for days on end if it means a quartering wind to push us?<br /><br />The science of saving money is becoming so precise that vessels are now being fitted with monitoring equipment to track fuel and lube oil consumption. While no one dares run an oily water separator because they are prone to malfunction and extremely burdensome in their testing, inspection and maintenance requirements (The operation of the OWS is also satellite tracked), the company will pay millions for slop removal in port.<br /><br />Port time is also under more scrutiny and it seems that the trend is to spend no more time in port than is required for cargo. That would be fine if it meant that cargo was all my crew needed to focus on but as it turns out the only time for receiving stores, provisions, spares, lube oil, fuel oil, contractors, inspectors, regulatory agencies, company representatives, audits and on-signing crew is when the vessel herself is in port means which means that our STCW "Minimum" manned vessel is taxed to the limit. Combine this with the impending increase in STCW required rest hours and you can see how unrealistic adhering to each and every regulation becomes. Can you see me pacing now?<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TsF8Z6Xn7Ik/TVVjDbV_OKI/AAAAAAAACEM/F6ee1bh42RI/s1600/DSC03849.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TsF8Z6Xn7Ik/TVVjDbV_OKI/AAAAAAAACEM/F6ee1bh42RI/s400/DSC03849.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572469024471595170" /></a><br />Thoughts like these and many more are why the mountain silence punctuated only by the sound of my snowboard is something I cherish so much. I really feel that in our quest for a safer, more efficient and secure world we humans have given up much in the way of personal liberty. When you get back a little piece of your life whether on a mountain or at a concert or in your home with family it must be held on to. Otherwise we wouldn't have any reason to climb back up that gangway.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LxQD23arPoI/TVViStl7TdI/AAAAAAAACEA/fepC0Au1vyE/s1600/DSC03849.jpg"></a><div><br /></div></div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-17692242109616612922011-01-01T00:23:00.005-05:002011-01-01T03:41:13.151-05:00New Years Eve<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">It was so close the crew could taste it. “Put on your dancing shoes” the Honduran Boatswain said as he passed by my office. It looked like a sure thing, New Years at the dock. As a coastal fog shrouded the Sabine River the chance of sailing was getting slimmer by the hour. Cargo had finished the night before and the stern ramp was all ready raised. All hands had broken foreign articles the day before and with the $10,000 the captain had distributed amongst the crew whom elected cash at pay off it could have been an evening of epic proportions. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Just as I was allowing myself to imagine what a beer or two would taste like and how different being in public around people I haven’t been working, eating and socializing with for the past ten weeks would be “Pilot aboard” came over the radio. More than a few crew’s shoulders slouched as everyone knew there was now not the slightest chance that anyone would be doing any amount of the Texas Two Step on New Years Eve. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The agent, a breed of people I am continually disappointed with, had obviously not been doing his job and provided no warning that the good pilots had decided they could get us down the river just as the fog lifted and before complete darkness settled in. My thoughts of walking on terra firma and allowing my mind to wander very far away from work evaporated as the engine was hurriedly turned over and the deck department rushed fore and aft. As the line handlers tossed our hawsers into the water a drizzle began and the emissions from a pair of nearby refineries blended more and more into the low gray sky. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Adding to the disappointment was the news that our load of 700 cars had been delayed and wouldn’t be reaching our next destination in Texas for two days. The inside story was that the pilots in Mexico, where the cars were manufactured, had a habit of getting into the tequila after dark and if sailing was scheduled any later than that they were routinely too borracho to take the ship off the dock. Because of their insobriety our schedule was now pushed back two days which for departing crew such as myself meant delaying vacation another 48 hours. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I wasn’t really surprised. There are very few breaks in this industry and New Years wasn’t going to be one of them. The last three days had been non stop work. Between discharging and loading cargo, facilitating the repair of hydraulics (Which could only take place after cargo operations ended at 2300) and the annual CO2 system testing, not to mention stores and garbage, it had been a full couple of days. Departing now rather than the following morning would mean another full night of work ballasting the ship and anchoring of the mouth of the Houston Ship Channel. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Sitting in front of the ballast control panel watching tank gauges slow fall reflect the massive amount of clean mid ocean seawater I’m pumping out of the ballast tanks and into the Gulf of Mexico I have a little time these last few hours of 2010 for reflection. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The first thing that comes to mind is I will never allow longshoremen to eat food in my cargo holds again. </span>This could be considered my one and only New Years resolution and is all ready company policy but from time to time I have turned a blind eye allowing them to bring food onboard. It seemed fair for lashers and drivers working 5 hour shifts without a break to be able to eat while working but my sympathy, which as professor of mine oft remarked is found between shit and syphilis in the dictionary, has waned considerably. </p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">This is due to the amount of trash myself and my mates found ourselves picking up over the last three days. Dozens of chip and peanut and cracker bags. Cans of soda and water. Candy bar and gum wrappers plus cigarette buts all over the stern ramp where they’re allowed to smoke. </span>My department is 9 persons large and we are tasked with keeping a floating parking garage measuring in at over 40,000 square meters spread over ten decks clean. We try to pick up every bit of dunnage and even have a sweeping machine that brushes up dirt and oil absorbent. There is no way another longshoremen will ever watch me bend over to pick up their trash off my decks again after repeatedly telling them to use the trashcan. As one longshormen said when I was chastising his buddies for not picking up their garbage, "It's like talking to a dead dog man". Yes indeed, it's just like a dead dog. </p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Another reflection is that the more Texans I meet that don't litter, the more I like them. I have always found it comforting when a group of people bound by a geographic region display similar endearing traits and Texans are definitely included. They are a tall, humble and outgoing people, funny as hell, quick witted and polite. Of course I’m generalizing who is a Texan but I speak mainly of the river pilots and stevedores that I work with. They take their work seriously but not themselves and because of the industry that is pervasive in Coastal Texas have a better understanding for what makes the world go round and the lights stay on, more so than my compatriots to the North who feign locally importing gas, developing wind power or any other energy source that Canada will gladly sell to us. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Industry is always close at hand down here both on land and in the Gulf of Mexico. I had to carve out a little time over the last few days to read the entirety of the New York Times latest <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/26/us/26spill.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=deep%20water%20horizon&st=cse">piece on the Deep Water Horizon</a> and what I consider the most pivotal event in the maritime industry since <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exxon_Valdez_oil_spill">1989</a>. While I dislike reading about disaster at sea while being at sea, at least recent disasters, this article was the best account of the event I have read in the media yet. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><br /><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Much of the information is nothing new; the Captain chastising the junior DP watch stander for sending out a Mayday call when the rig was minutes from sinking, lifeboats being lowered without a complete muster of occupants, inaction playing a major role in what may have been a preventable sinking. What this article did better than the rest was to tie everything I had heard over the last 8 months into a succinct timeline explaining exactly what was and was not done in the short amount of time the crew had to react to the blow out of the Macondo well. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I highly encourage anyone involved in the maritime industry, especially the O&G sector, to read this article. It made me very curious to know what repercussions this has had in the safety culture at Transocean and other offshore oil drilling companies, especially because I now have so many classmates working in the same field. It is always startling when I put myself in the shoes of another mariner faced with a decision where no matter which course of action is chosen all have drastic consequences. I feel that the lessons of this event will unfold for years to come. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Work this past week has grown tiresome. Three days of cargo kicked my ass and my normal resilience is slightly depleted by the early onset of severe channel fever. I'm always anxious towards the end of the trip to get off the boat and on with my other life, a life filled with everything I've worked for and enjoy experiencing, but this time there is another feeling. It involves more longing and homesickness than I'm willing to admit to myself but it's there. It's something new and indescribable but completely welcomed and is giving me the feeling that 2011 will be a magical year. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">With the ballast almost wrapped up I went to the bridge to hear the GPS chirp the new year in. Clearing the sea fog the anchorage at the mouth of the Houston Ship Channel was packed with delayed ships illuminating the overcast sky. Watchstanders, mostly Filipino with a few Texans mixed in, were wishing all stations a Happy New Year on the UHF. We too would soon join the throng waiting for our turn to enter Bolivar Road and our cargo in the dock yards.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Happy New Year! </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-37226559392439238762010-12-24T20:20:00.003-05:002010-12-24T20:30:33.432-05:00Christmas at Sea - Robert Louis Stevenson<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand;</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand;</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">The wind was a nor'-wester, blowing squally off the sea;</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; min-height: 15.0pxcolor:#333233;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 18.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day;<br />But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay.<br />We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout,<br />And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 18.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North;<br />All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth;<br />All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread,<br />For very life and nature we tacked from head to head.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 18.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide-race roared;<br />But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard.<br />So's we saw the cliff and houses and the breakers running high,<br />And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against his eye.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 18.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam;<br />The good red fires were burning bright in every longshore home;<br />The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out;<br />And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 18.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer;<br />For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year)<br />This day of our adversity was blessèd Christmas morn,<br />And the house above the coastguard's was the house where I was born.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 18.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there,<br />My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair;<br />And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves,<br />Go dancing round the china plates that stand upon the shelves.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 18.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me,<br />Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea;<br />And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way,<br />To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessèd Christmas Day.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 18.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall.<br />"All hands to loose topgallant sails," I heard the captain call.<br />"By the Lord, she'll never stand it," our first mate, Jackson, cried.<br />. . . ."It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson," he replied.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 18.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good,<br />And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood;<br />As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the night,<br />We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 18.0px 0.0px; line-height: 19.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana; color:#333233;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC66;">And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me,<br />As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea;<br />But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold,<br />Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were growing old.</span></span></p><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-83766347156896731332010-12-21T04:08:00.001-05:002010-12-21T06:00:21.473-05:00Eclipse<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Void of all matter besides the liquid ocean and gaseous heavens the sea is an amazing place to call home. I adore living in the immensity of this natural world and have been to no other place on earth where so much of it can be seen at once. Granted it’s all blue, or in the middle of the night a purple grey, but the sheer scale of the ocean continues to awe and inspire me. On nights such as this when visibility is limited only by the horizon, the moon is full, the water rippled by a light wind and undulated by the swell from a forgotten storm, the majesty of seafaring is tangible. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Because of the moons effect on the sky the horizon appears as a sharp line delineating where a pale metallic blue meets the inky purple sea. Everything is circular. The horizon circumscribes a body of water in every direction beginning at eye level 14 miles distant giving the impression that you’re slightly depressed as if standing in the middle of a shallow bowl. Above the sky appears like a dome fitted perfectly onto this watery disc and with the moon shinning only the brightest stars are visible causing the winter constellations to stand out that much more. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The weather for the past three days has been exceptional. The sky has been clear and the air absolutely dry. Warm water and warm days at this southerly latitude normally means humidity but because the prevailing easterly breeze is blowing off Saharan Africa the air is completely dry. All night long I can feel the warm breeze as it blows through open bridge wing doors over my bare arms and legs. It feels like a fleece blanket just from the dryer is being wrapped around me. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">On top of all these sublime conditions today is the winter solstice and to kick this celestial phenomena off a full lunar eclipse took place all morning long two points on the starboard bow. Through the entire watch the lookout and I viewed the full moon turn rusty red and the faintest stars become emboldened by the increasing dark. It’s enough sensory stimulation to give reason to doubt if this is really my job as if something besides the need to work calls me to live half the year in this place. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Our track has been laid well to the south of the major low pressure system that will be developing on the East Coast later this week. Because of this we will be entering the Caribbean south of Cuba through the Caicos passage and not the usual route through Hole in the Wall in the Bahamas just off Florida’s southern tip. Being closer to the Cape Verde Islands than the Canaries is why we’re having such a stellar run of weather. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">It is drastic a contrast to the solstice I spent at work two years ago in the North Sea. We were on our way to Germany and the sun refused to rise until ten in the morning. The air was bitter cold and damp. This morning as the earth’s shadow recedes from the moon the sun is simultaneously warming the eastern horizon and it’s only five in the morning. Ideal weather at sea makes life much easier and I’ve noticed how it has also buoyed spirits. This is good because the holidays can be stressing for mariners stuck at sea. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Besides having awesome watches filled with stars and lunar eclipses I’m also elated because I’ve had a string of days with the crew doing nothing but chipping rust and painting without fear of rain and flash rust. It’s greatly increased both my own and the Boatswain’s sense of productivity though he continues complaining about how slow the guys paint. I agree that they are slow but as long as it gets done without drips, spills or holidays I’ll be satisfied. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I had an epiphany the other day while I was working overtime. A hydraulic cylinder had decided to start leaking and I was hurriedly trying to free a corroded block valve that would stem the leak if closed. Looking at my watch I grew frustrated that I was running out of time to get the job done before having to clean up for watch. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">As I sat there wrenching and hammering away I couldn’t believe that there had been a day many years ago when all I could do at work was count down the hours until I would be released from my servitude. Back then I was mucking Alpaca stalls or stacking hay bales on the back of a trailer and spent as much time sneaking cigarette breaks as I did wheeling wheelbarrows of shit out of the paddocks. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">It was such a different experience as a teenager needing money but really preferring to not work. Now all I want is more time in the work day to get things accomplished and always come up short. There is just too much to do on these big ships and neither enough people or time to get it all done. That’s the challenge though and probably the reason sailors make more now than the what the minimum wage paid in the nineties. </span></p><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><br /></span></div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-90927770785092352872010-12-15T02:06:00.010-05:002010-12-17T01:39:55.380-05:00Heavy weather and the impending coffee crisis<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TQpCQIXiUWI/AAAAAAAACDk/HfUGMSAyqK8/s1600/barometer.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TQpCQIXiUWI/AAAAAAAACDk/HfUGMSAyqK8/s200/barometer.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551322335579099490" /></a><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">You know it’s going to be a rough morning when the water in your toilet bowel has almost been emptied by the overnight rolling. That was my first thought a few mornings ago as the ship passed from the lee of Crete and into an area of the Mediterranean where the gale force winds had enough fetch to build up a 20 foot swell. Staggering from an almost sleepless night to the bridge for my morning watch I met a fatigued captain who had been up all night trying to reduce the wracking stresses our ship was experiencing. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Heavy weather sailing is an experiment in course and engine adjustments. Big seas exert immense forces on even the largest ships affecting the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ship_motions">six degrees</a></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ship_motions"> of freedom</a></i> a vessel afloat experiences. Heave, sway, surge, roll, pitch and yaw each describe an axis of motion on witch a ship rotates when inclined by external forces (Not to be confused with list or trim which describe static conditions affected by the movement of internal weights such as fuel, ballast or cargo). When exacerbated by heavy weather these six ranges of motion can have detrimental effects. Not only are the vessels course and speed keeping abilities deteriorated but her stability, cargo and crew become endangered as well. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">With the swell on the beam and plenty of sea room to leeward the Captain decided to put the seas slightly abaft the beam and reduce the RPMs to slow ahead. The reduction in speed eased the pounding action of the bow which was reverberating down the keel and into the house shaking the entire ship like an earthquake. The course change minimized the rolling to some extent except when a larger than average wave slammed into the transom. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Because of the rolling we soon found what was and was not adequately secured on shelves and desks and counter tops. A refrigerator decided to tear loose of the bulkhead nearly flinging all it’s contents across the galley deck. The coffee station on the bridge piled itself into the sink during one large roll to starboard, a lucky thing seeing how the coffee makers and nearly full pots could have easily gone the other way spilling onto the deck and down the ladder well. </span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">As soon as the day working ABs and Boatswain were up I had them checking cargo lashings beginning at the uppermost deck. Vertical accelerations, the kind which loosen cargo lashings and send vehicles skidding are more severe the further from the center of gravity plus most of the cargo on the upper decks was secured by web lashings which will chafe and break more easily than chain. One parted lashing was discovered just as the piece was beginning down the destructive path of damaging the eight vehicles around it. We had it chocked and re-lashed before it caused any major issues.</span></span></p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TQo-M6jTZYI/AAAAAAAACDY/uTyb8P28YaU/s400/swell.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551317882284238210" /> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">On the lower decks the heavier cargo lashed by chain was literally jumping every time the transom would take a wave sending a vertical jolt to the stern of the ship. This was a little disturbing to watch. Timing the tightening of the chain is crucial when what may have been a sedentary 60 ton piece of machinery is now flexing it’s suspension with each roll. Fingers and faces have to be clear of the lashings when the deck heaves upwards and the chains come taught. When the ship falls into the trough of the next wave the binder bar is quickly reefed on as the cargo comes back down to the deck with maximum inertia. If you time it right the chain is tightened with less effort than usual. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Once the crew had the cargo holds under control I made a round to ensure our lifeboat and rescue boat, anchors, cranes and ramps were all secured. The jostling caused one small hydraulic leak on a ramp which we discovered the following day as well as loosening the foremast stays but all this was easily corrected once the weather abated. The storm dissipated after 36 hours but it lasted long enough to wear everyone out and make the muscles in my legs sore from the constant compensation standing on a moving ship. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">A run to the middle east is a blessing in the winter. The weather we normally come across is nothing compared to weather typical of runs in the winter North Pacific or winter North Atlantic. It served as a reminder how quickly your seemingly stable home can turn into a roller coaster and reinforced why I always try to get the longshoremen to put more chain on the cargo. They’re not the ones who have to risk it when a piece breaks loose. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">In other news my dependence on caffeine has taken a dramatic turn for the worse. Consuming a pot of coffee before sunrise plus frequent caffeine infusions during the day with Earl Grey tea and diet coke has coincided with the rationing of our last real whole bean coffee. I have personally made matters worse by giving in to the stewards request to share some of our remaining whole beans with him since he ran out of his own stash a few days ago. Feeling sympathy for another connoisseur I relinquished an entire bag of Star Bucks Kenya Roast, spicy with hints of sweet currant, an action which was met with the full wrath of the third mate. Apparently one who loathes Folgers more than I he felt my actions were a direct assault on his situational awareness. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I didn’t really need to justify my actions though because for one the steward does a really good job of feeding us and therefore I would do anything I can for the guy and two, he’s not the mate. If a littler hypertension over the sharing of our sacred coffee is the most disgruntled the crew gets I can live with that. It would have pissed me off too which might seem irrational to people with a Dunkin Donuts or better yet, an Early Bird cafe right around the corner but for us out here we have no such luxuries. If it’s not provisioned, bought in port, locked in the slop chest or packed in your suitcase than you will go without. When the apples are eaten there are no more and when the milk goes sour you eat your cereal dry. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">As a Chief Mate I worked for once told me as he was putting down a bowl of ice cream after a robust meal “Out here we can’t have any booze and no ones getting laid so besides eating there’s not much else for distraction.” Well, at least we have coffee, for now.</span></span></p>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-70945490163558946512010-12-06T22:21:00.033-05:002010-12-08T05:31:20.240-05:00Snakes, oil and the sea<div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TP5_FSOg1yI/AAAAAAAACDA/hxyL0PbK1FQ/s1600/DSC03725.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548011519735813922" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TP5_FSOg1yI/AAAAAAAACDA/hxyL0PbK1FQ/s200/DSC03725.jpg" /></a>When the hustle of arriving, departing and working cargo in port is left astern the monotony of seafaring can be quick to set in. Though the work list remains long and there is always more to be done than time allows the tantalizing thought of home waiting over the horizon lends to ever present feelings of expectation and impatience. I'm doing all I can this week to fight those sensations and remain focused on the task at hand but it's a challenge when the first snow is falling in New England and Christmas will, for the third year in a row, be another day spent at sea. </div><div><br /></div><div>Departing the Arabian Gulf marked the half way hurdle of the trip, at least in a geographical sense. The coast was an easy one with lighter cargo volumes than hoped for and a sensible port schedule. Our last berth in Kuwait happened to be adjacent to a collier discharging her sooty cargo onto a conveyor belt. The windward cloud of coal dust did a fine job of coating the ship from bow to stern requiring that the first three days at sea be solely committed to washing the entire vessel down. I had the day men and watch standers on overtime use fire hoses to remove the soot and then power washers to rinse the corrosive salt water off. </div><br /><div align="center"><div style="text-align: left;">While the deck department took care of washing the car the engineers pumped our gas. The only stop after passing through the Strait of Hormuz on the way to the Suez Canal was at what has to be one of the world's largest gas stations. On the Indian Ocean side of the U.A.E. the ports of Fujairah and Khwar Fakkan supply bunkers to thousands of ships every month. While there is a port the majority of vessels wait at anchor for the bunker barges, small tankers commonly seen in the waters of Europe and Asia, to tie up alongside and deliver the fuel. It's a popular spot for stemming your fleet as bunker prices are a better deal here so close to the source.</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TP54VkeOPvI/AAAAAAAACC0/2bnvzMA8plk/s1600/DSC02608.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548004102930054898" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TP54VkeOPvI/AAAAAAAACC0/2bnvzMA8plk/s400/DSC02608.jpg" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The anchorage here is packed. </div></div><br /><div>Anchoring off the lofty, rugged, and brown coastline of the Arabian Peninsula in water 90 meters deep requires a substantial amount of anchor chain. A merchant ship typically carries 12 to 14 shots (A shot is 15 fathoms, a fathom 6 feet) of chain in each locker, port and starboard. Safely anchoring in 300 feet of water meant paying out ten shots of chain which still only provided an anchor chain to water depth ratio of 3:1 whereas a scope of 5:1 is preferable. Once the chain was laid out, the flukes set in the bottom and the ship tide rode headed into the current the bunker barge began her tedious approach.</div><br /><div></div><div>This approach, which in flat calm seas and light airs should only take 15 to 25 minutes, takes twice that here due to the poor quality of the ship handlers working these barges. Routinely the Captain will hemm and haw his little vessel and controllable pitch propeller creeping up almost parallel to the hull from a hundred yards astern and then try to get just close enough for a heaving line to be thrown in the eastern fashion; by whirling the monkey fist in a massive circle over the side of the boat and then releasing it at our heads. On one occasion I watched the bunker barge take a full two hours to get close enough so that a messenger could be passed over. Once the yelling and screaming of the bunker barge's frantic captain subsides and they're finally made fast the engineers connect a fuel hose and the Second Assistant oversees the bunkering of several thousand metric tons of heavy fuel oil. </div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TP8kc7PC4bI/AAAAAAAACDM/auRNQCCwiR4/s1600/DSC03740.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TP8kc7PC4bI/AAAAAAAACDM/auRNQCCwiR4/s400/DSC03740.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548193345299472818" /></a><br /><div>With our substantial thirst for hydrocarbons nearly satiated we began to make preparations for weighing the anchor early the next morning. While receiving the last of our fresh food and milk from a supply boat some of the crew were marveling at a dozen huge dolphin fish basking in the glow of our halogen floodlights. Among the fish circling about in search of food pale sea snakes, at least four feet long, slithered through the water. A few minutes later the eerie nocturnal scene was interrupted by a viscous brown cloud moving down the side of the ship. The presence of oil in the water to any mariner I've met is cause for grave concern and the sighting was diligently reported. Topping off was suspended and the Captain summoned.</div><br /><div>A few minutes later my phone rang and a few more after that, hardly awake, I was peering into the darkness over the bow trying to see where the oil had originated. The Chief verified that the fuel tank levels were all around 80% and that no pressure fluctuations or burps through the tank vents had occurred. Feeling confident that the oil could not have come from us the captain on the bunker barge remarked that oil is routinely seen in the waters around Fujairah. The fuel surveyor attending the load said the shores were covered in oil and that it was probably just some ship pumping bilges or slop oil in the middle of the night at max current.</div><br /><div>Just to be sure the captain ordered the rescue boat lowered for a hull survey. Appearing as if ready for a search and rescue mission adorned in safety harnesses, life vests and hardhats with headlamps the second mate and I un-griped the boat and had the boatswain lower us into the water. All around us the dolphin popped out of the water returning with a splash. The Chief Engineer was on the radio mischievously reminding us not to fall in and go swimming with the snakes. Though I knew he was just messing with us I was still careful not to put the sponsons down too far with a hard turn in case a coral snake did washed in.</div><br /><div>With a strong flashlight we circled the ship and verified that there was definitely slop oil in the water but it wasn't coming from below our waterline. In the strong current it was all ready beginning to dissipate drifting down stream. This was not the first time I had seen oil pollution oil at sea, not even on this trip. </div><div><br /></div><div>From the perspective of an American crew willfully pumping oil over the side just to save the cost of discharging it legally seems ridiculous. With so much liability in our home waters we wouldn't even contemplate such an act. Oil spills in the united states are not measured in barrels but gallons, a unit the media prefers because everyone knows what a gallon of milk looks like. Even a few table spoons of oil down the scupper from a leaking winch or a blown out hydraulic hose is a reportable quantity. Accidental discharges create a whirlwind of notifications, paperwork, questioning and statements. Intentional discharges, or even negligence brings out the handcuffs.</div><br /><div>Yet in the middle of the night on the other side of the world with dozens of ships around who is to say you were the one that pumped the oil? And is anyone checking? Nope. I've never heard of one single port state inspection in the UAE to look over the oil record book pumping arrangement. No helicopters, no boats, no Coast Guard. Even if we had tried to report the spill there would have been no one to tell that would have done anything about it. </div><br /><div>During out transit into Iraq we saw an even more blatant example of intentional marine pollution. With a pilot in the wheelhouse we passed by a small offshore supply vessel most likely headed for the Basra oil terminal. Just before our closest point of approach the derelict little boat began pumping it's bilge leaving a black slick of engine oil astern in broad daylight. The pilot didn't even bat and eye while the rest of us were amazed though I suppose if your former dictator lit off all the oil wells in the country causing the worst ecological disaster ever you wouldn't think much of it either. </div><div><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TP52W88ECEI/AAAAAAAACCg/5Ai2E7SExc4/s1600/DSC03679.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548001927654279234" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TP52W88ECEI/AAAAAAAACCg/5Ai2E7SExc4/s320/DSC03679.jpg" /></a></div><div>Even in Kuwait with the coal ship spewing dust all over us there wasn't so much as a boom in the water to retain the dust that was turning the harbor completely black. I couldn't even begin to imagine what it must have been like for that crew to live on such a filthy ship. </div><div><br /></div><div>Unfortunately for the oceans in this region of the world, and for the reputation of the industry, many ships still turn a blind eye on pollution. While as a whole the affect of shipping on the seas has improved drastically in the last quarter century due to massive international regulation and enforcement some unscrupulous operators will do anything to save a buck. </div><div><br /></div><div>Relieved by the knowledge that we wouldn't be spending Christmas in a Middle Eastern shipyard having a hull fracture ground out and welded I turned the nimble outboard around at full throttle and stopped just under the bow to check the forward draft mark. As the wake subsided lapping against the bulbous bow the second mate, standing in the front of the fast rescue boat, read the marks.<br /><br />When we both looked up and saw the starry night sky blocked out by the wineglass shaped aspect of a ship head on we were equally impressed. After years of living on these behemoths growing accustomed to their size the sight from the water line was still incredible. I wanted to take a picture but lacked a camera and the skills to capture such a low light photo. The piercing stars and loom from the hundreds of ships in the anchorage would have made it great. </div><div><br /></div><div>Turning around the second mate smiled remarking, "So this is what we look like to little boats." Yup, I thought, little boats that get too close out of their own stupidity. By the time we returned beneath the davit and retrieved the hook for recovery the dolphin had stopped jumping and no more snakes were seen. </div></div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-51400459898444470502010-11-25T21:17:00.026-05:002010-11-26T23:36:34.879-05:00Sand Land<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBzDpMasNI/AAAAAAAACCU/00TYwTO1ae8/s1600/12%2Bsunrise.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBzDpMasNI/AAAAAAAACCU/00TYwTO1ae8/s200/12%2Bsunrise.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544057647727816914" /></a><div>It begins with the sand. Even before the Suez Canal the proximity of the desert can be seen in the hazy sky. Sunsets are clouded by a veil of ultra fine dust light enough to float through the air and settle on the water after a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shamal_(wind)">shamal</a> blows through. It covers every surface of the ship, irritates your eyes, fills your lungs and coats your teeth. It is not pleasant and I'm convinced I have an allergic reaction to all that particulate matter in my chest. I grow tired, have a hard time taking a full breath and can barely breath through my nose. After a few days I become accustomed to my symptoms but they're always there each time I sail to the Middle East.<div><div><br /></div><div><div> The Suez Canal is the first stop on our way to the Arabian Gulf and any ports in between. The canal pilots have earned a reputation here, at least on American ships where baksheesh is taken for granted. Everyone wants cigarettes; the pilot boat, the security inspectors, the agent and the pilots. If they don't get enough there is the honking of horns, waving of hands and incredulous shouts of, "Why!? Why do you do this!!?" The health and quarantine inspectors usually leave the galley with a garbage bag full of instant coffee, syrup, honey, sugar and anything else they might have a harder time getting in Egypt. And you can forget buying them off with Newports or Camels, this here is Marlborough country. </div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>The pilots, whom range from competent to outright negligent are a cast of characters. Most claim to be the "Senior Canal" or "Best" pilot which automatically entitles them to another four cartons of cigarettes. 9 out of 10 pilots take their nicotine ravenously and some will gorge on any sweets or fruit put in front of them. Some of the more shameless pilots will scan every unfastened object on the bridge and politely ask if they may have one "For the kids" or "My wife". Sunglasses, jackets, hats, anything edible, and even soap are up for grabs. These generalizations may sound negative but it's simply the truth from the perspective of our bridge team and not something we look forward to. </div><div><br /></div><div>Interspersed with small military installations, guard shacks and parade grounds there are several conspicuous war memorials commemorating the hostilities with Israel in years past along the banks of the canal. These sometime spur interesting discussions about the fight for the Sinai Peninsula and politics but one thing remains absolute; Israel is not a welcomed neighbor.</div><div><br /></div><div>The first time I heard the adhan, or the Muslim call to prayer, chanted on the loudspeakers of a mosque in Port Said the pilot asked for a room in which he could pray. Other pilots will simply prostrate themselves on the deck at the back of the bridge facing Mecca. This past transit the pilot asked for one of our signal flags to use as a prayer rug. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPByiJFrvuI/AAAAAAAACCM/WbOOVpMuHGA/s1600/11%2Bmosque.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPByiJFrvuI/AAAAAAAACCM/WbOOVpMuHGA/s400/11%2Bmosque.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544057072173956834" /></a></div><div>Once clear of the Suez Canal the weather usually gets hot. The seawater temps in the Red Sea and Arabian Gulf have been logged up to 90 degrees. With seawater temps like that the engineers are hard pressed to keep the main engine cool enough. When the shamal brings with it the dry desert air the humidity is low and the wet bulb thermometer needs constant refilling. When the air is light and the seas calm the ocean seems to vaporize and at night it can create a fog humid and hot like a steam bath. This time of year though we are lucky to have cool weather which compared to the norm actually feels chilly. </div><div><br /></div><div>The ports are easy to get into and out of if it was left up to us, few rivers or long channels, but working with the local pilots can be a challenge. Jordan, Bahrain and the Oman have good pilots, some being expatriates from India or Asia. Kuwait and Saudi Arabia however can be a real pain. There seems to be little liability for pilots in this part of the world and therefore little regard for the safety of our ship. Pilots routinely disembark when the vessel is still within the confines of the harbor and raise holy hell if their command is questioned. But at times it must be questioned because at the end of a bad day it's the old man who would be wearing the bracelets, not a pilot belonging to the royal bloodline. </div><div><br /></div><div>This is one of the reasons keeping it calm, cool and collected is such a necessary skill for interfacing with the locals whether it's on the bridge docking the ship with the Captain or getting cargo on and off. The typical Arabian, in my experience, loves a good argument. The more animated and audible the better. Tantrums are not only for toddlers in this part of the world and if you rebut with like force it will only escalate. </div><div><br /></div><div>The funniest aspect of this charade is that the typical westerner will take it all personally and start cussing and using derogatory statements but the Middle Easterner will get over it in five minutes. I have taken many a pilots down to meet their boat who were infuriated when he stormed off the bridge but completely over it by the time they were climbing down the ladder. This has led me to believe that this is just their way of communicating and conducting business and has nothing to do with showing dislike for us as American seamen. It's unfortunate that not all Americans working in their waters understand this. Too many assume that freedom of speech and religion is something you pack in your seabag which it most certainly is not. </div><div><br /></div><div>The abrasive yell talking used by Arabs in authority can also be constantly heard on the VHF radio. Exasperation is easily expressed in Arabic and again if you don't keep it cool things can get testy quick. I try to remain as polite and docile as I can no matter how ridiculous port control or the pilot boat are being. Politeness though won't make the barn yard noises, horrible singing or keying of the mic next to a Mosque at prayer time go away. When there is no more sanctity for channel 16 and you hear these things all night long you know you've entered the Arabian Gulf. </div><div><br /></div><div>Because I work on a Roll On / Roll Off where the cargo is wheeled rather quickly up and down our stern ramp time in port is limited. Bahrain, Dubai, Aqaba and Salalah would probably be the best liberty ports if we had time to go ashore. The first two being hotspots for Muslims who live in the more culturally restrictive countries like Saudi Arabia and Kuwait and appreciate cold beer and real nightclubs. </div><div><br /></div><div>The first time I went to Dubai and saw the indoor ski resort, gold suk and luxury island residences in the shape of palm trees being dredged out of the sandy bottom of the gulf the economy was booming. A group of Irish businessmen had just bought the island shaped like their homeland in the "World" residence project and were busy investing their easily gotten money into scale replications of the emerald isle's iconic features. Today the project has slowed and Dubai no longer is growing as fast as it once was but the money is still here. The regions' mineral wealth continues to bring sufficient revenue for all the opulence money can buy in the Gulf States, most of them at least. </div><div><br /></div><div>That massive wealth, the kind which ensures imported labor to take care of constructing cities and running ports, creates a sharp contrast between the oil rich countries and all the other nations in the middle east. Somalia, Sudan, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Iraq come to mind as places that provide the labor for building the mega malls and palaces of the Arabian Peninsula. They are also the source of some of the most interesting boats I have ever seen. </div><div><br /></div><div>The common sight in port or in the shipping lanes of wooden cargo vessels big enough to carry a crew of ten but small enough to tuck into the marshes and rivers of Iran would be straight out of the bible had they sails instead of diesels. The hulls are shaped and most likely constructed as they have been for thousands of years. I drove by a fleet just waking up in the port of Salalah a few days ago and watched as the groggy crews brushed teeth and washed faces. On the quarter of one boat was a boxed in outcropping in which sat a sailor taking a dump right through the perforated seat and into the harbor. That is some medieval shit if you ask me. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBvWwmxmrI/AAAAAAAACCA/wrGtUP9QIhY/s1600/10%2Bdhow.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBvWwmxmrI/AAAAAAAACCA/wrGtUP9QIhY/s320/10%2Bdhow.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544053578088422066" /></a></div><div>These boats still call on ports all over the Arabian and Indian oceans carrying cargo from big ports to small. They also constitute the fishing fleet, though not so big but similarly shaped. The only fishing boats that don't look like traditional dhows are the fiberglass skiffs used by Somali fishermen but I hear fishing isn't the business of choice in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Puntland">Puntland</a> these days.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pilots, port state control inspectors and the shipping agents are the only local Muslims I meet and work with in the wealthier gulf states. Everyone else involved in the cargo operation is from another less wealthy country. Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus from Bangladesh, India and Pakistan are prevalent. The differences between nationalities are obvious once you get to know the familiar faces in each port and they get to know you. Some things are common such as the need to meet and greet the higher ups every time the ramp goes down fostering a good relationship and air of cooperativeness. Hand holding is also important for Muslim stevedores with something important to say to you. I've held many a hands for minutes on end in front of large groups of men. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBub19Xn0I/AAAAAAAACB0/V_GTR2LSHvE/s1600/9%2Bkc.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBub19Xn0I/AAAAAAAACB0/V_GTR2LSHvE/s400/9%2Bkc.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544052565913083714" /></a></div><div>As with all wealth there is a massive contrast between places such as Kuwait City replete with modern skyscrapers and shoreside palaces and somewhere such as Umm Qasr only an hour away by car. Iraq's only deepwater port for dry cargoes, Umm Qasr is every part the opposite of the glitzy air conditioned cities to the south. 60 miles up the Shatt al Arab, a chocolate milk colored river full of silt and poorly buoyed, Umm Qasr is a dusty, trash strewn town with unsecured ports and lots of unemployed men milling about the dock yards. </div><div><br /></div><div><div>See the New York Times Slideshow: <i><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2010/09/26/world/middleeast/20100926-IRAQ.html">At Iraqi Port, Chaos and Corruption reign supreme.</a> </i></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBqFVv1kgI/AAAAAAAACBM/qJQkVm6_p0Q/s1600/2%2Bsunkship2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBqFVv1kgI/AAAAAAAACBM/qJQkVm6_p0Q/s200/2%2Bsunkship2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544047781262758402" /></a></div><div>I have never been to a country torn by internal ethnic war. While the south of the country has been more or less stable for some time, the British withdrew from this Sunni majority region in 2007, it still is a risky spot for an American flagged vessel for obvious reasons. The 60 mile pilotage up the river was a sobering reminder that not all has been well in this country for many many years. In two spots of the river the sunken hulks of wartime casualties could be seen along the river banks. Much of the munitions, wrecks and mines that had filled the river have been removed by coalition forces but several of the ships were too large to bother. It was a ghostly sight to see the burnt out superstructures and buckled hulls, results of air to surface missiles no doubt and according to our river pilot, fired by the Kuwaitis. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBpf1j6NQI/AAAAAAAACBE/qyQNtA0IFHA/s1600/3%2Bsunkship1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBpf1j6NQI/AAAAAAAACBE/qyQNtA0IFHA/s400/3%2Bsunkship1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544047136967636226" /></a><br /><div>Today the port is filled with stacks of haphazardly placed containers and hundreds of yellow dust covered taxis like a logisticians worst nightmare. Bagged grain was being hand loaded into nets and craned out of two vessel's holds into awaiting dump trucks. A small Iraqi flagged oil tanker was fueling the floating power station, the one and only source for electricity in town which shuts down at night. Despite the bustle it still didn't feel like a secure place and I was happy to have the stern ramp up at the end of the day.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBtPHHEb8I/AAAAAAAACBo/nk0z8Jm9w0I/s1600/7%2Bfoodaid.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBtPHHEb8I/AAAAAAAACBo/nk0z8Jm9w0I/s320/7%2Bfoodaid.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544051247667244994" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Bagged grain cargoes require ships to remain in port for up to a week</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div>Also unlike other middle eastern ports the labor here was 100% local. The longshoremen were better than expected and didn't steal or ask for anything besides water and a little diesel for the trailer tug. This was a comical event coming at the tail end of the cargo operation as their tug was pulling the last trailer of cargo up and out of the ship. It died from lack of fuel 20 meters from the down hill slope of the stern ramp. Inching it's way on fumes the driver managed to pull up to my fuel hose. I handed the nozzle over to the driver who took one look at the quality of red diesel going into his tank and squeezed the lever as hard as he could. The agent looked at me and in broken English said, "If you leave that with him he will fill the entire tank up. He knows this is good diesel."</div><div><br /></div><div>I laughed and watched him gleefully top off his rig and jump back in knowing he had scored. He fired up and after a few sputters revved up the engine which promptly died. Scowling he looked down at me and asked "Bad diesel? No good!" He thought he had been tricked. Convinced that he now had a tank full of bad gas he stomped on the pedal and turned the ignition for almost a minute. The engine finally turned over and the pinging of his engine could heard as the old fuel cleared out and he roared off the ship, down the dock on what was the best fuel that tug would likely ever burn.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBraa14Y3I/AAAAAAAACBc/IF0fWOB0mv4/s400/5%2Bpilotboatclose.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544049242919166834" /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Iraqi Pilot Boat at the mouth of the Shatt al Arab</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Unfortunately for the longshoremen and entire country the port is mired with corruption. A modern, well run port with professional stevedoring and good conditioned cargo handling equipment, such as Salalah or Bahrain, might charge up to $10,000 US dollars in port fees to dock a ship. Here in Iraq the fee was around $70,000 US dollars cash which had to be couriered over the border for payment. I guarantee that virtually none of this money was being reinvested in the Iraq's only two dry cargo terminals. Warehouses, gantry cranes, evacuators and the docks themselves had all seen better days, specifically the one after which they were built. It was told to me that everything in Iraq requires a bribe. Everyone is making something off everyone below them on the social ladder and at the bottom were the group of men with nothing better to do than sit around the bottom of the stern ramp looking up at the American ship. </div><div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBqwl2JxkI/AAAAAAAACBU/x9oSZt1yXy8/s320/4%2Bport.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544048524318590530" /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Port of Umm Qasr</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div>The Middle East is an extreme place. The sandstorms, 120 degree days, frigid desert nights, barren treeless landscapes, jagged towering mountains, wealth, poverty, corruption and religious conservatism. It is also where the cargo is booked for and therefore this ship will be calling here for the foreseeable future. Despite the differences between where my work takes me and where I choose to live my return visits bring with them a familiarity that surprises me.</div><div><br /></div><div>The smell of curry stuck to the longshoremen's clothes, the sound of "Salaam Aleikum" repeated every time two Muslims meet, the feel of sand in the back of your throat or the parching sun on your neck are all familiar sensations. By choice I might have opted for somewhere with a little greenery or the availability of beer at the airport but for now its my job. </div><div><br /></div><div>When we first docked our security team called me on the radio saying there was a mate from another ship asking to speak with the Chief Officer. I met the officer, a young man from Bangledesh not much older than myself, who was standing on the stern ramp with his watch partner, an AB from Ghana who I exchanged handshakes with for a solid three minutes while he gushed about the US vs. Ghana game. They were crew off one of the bulkers discharging bagged grain and had been docked for nearly a week. The ship was about to sail but had no antibiotics in their medicine chest. A crew member was very ill with a bacterial throat infection and he wanted to know if we could provided enough medicine to stave it off. </div><div><br /></div><div>I asked the old man and he agreed to help them out. The second mate was appreciative and happy that he'd be signing off in a few days and seeing his family for the first time in 8 months. When I returned to the holds I felt happy to have lent a hand to another mariner, a sacred tradition exercised for millennia, and thankful to sail under an American flag where antibiotics were kept in sufficient quantity. </div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBnyObsHGI/AAAAAAAACA4/sX43CgB6-lU/s1600/1%2Bpilotboat.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TPBnyObsHGI/AAAAAAAACA4/sX43CgB6-lU/s400/1%2Bpilotboat.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544045253858434146" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Iraqi Pilot Boat</span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://deepwaterwriter.tumblr.com/">More photographs at my tumblr page Deep Water Writer </a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://deepwaterwriter.tumblr.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">(http://deepwaterwriter.tumblr.com/)</span></a></div><div></div></div></div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-11064855122461261502010-11-24T11:24:00.014-05:002010-11-25T11:30:29.985-05:00Thanksgiving in the Gulf<div>Thanksgiving is the best of holidays. Less commercialized and more principled than the rest. There is no pressure besides eating what you've cooked and, save for orphans and sailors, spending the day with family. </div><div><br /></div><div>The deck department has it good today. I told the Boatswain to have the guys write in four hours of overtime. They're all good workers and turn to nearly everyday so only standing their eight hours of watch and getting paid for twelve is the next best thing to a weekend. The engine department though doesn't have it so good on this November 25th. </div><div><br /></div><div>Diesel engines are difficult to work on when a ship is underway. Time in port for engineers, which has been in short order this trip, is packed with preventive maintenance and repairs. We're sitting on the hook (At anchor) for two days awaiting cargo so what is an easy anchor watch for the mates and A.B.s is a hectic couple of work days for the engineers. </div><div><br /></div><div>Swinging around the anchor five miles off Kuwait isn't the ideal way to spend Thanksgiving but the Stewards Department took the edge off the homesickness this afternoon with a holiday feast. The Stewards Assistant set the tables with white linen and candles. The appetizer spread consisted of crab dip, shrimp cocktails, deviled eggs and bacon wrapped scallops. Hams, seafood casserole, and three stuffed turkeys were baked. Candied yams, twice baked potatoes, wild rice and cornbread stuffing filled the edge of my plate. For desert a tiramisu and napoleons were made fresh plus cheese and chocolate cakes. As I made my way past the steward after supper rubbing my stomach he jabbed me with "I see you had the Stow Plan all worked out for that one mate."</div><div><br /></div><div>Afterwards crew could be seen stumbling down the passageways to their rooms in hopes that sleep would alleviate swollen abdomens and light headedness. It was bar none the finest meal I have had at sea and all hands were extremely grateful for the massive efforts of our smallest department. The only things missing were my grandmother's creamed onions and rum in the eggnog. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even in the Arabian Gulf, a place I have long held as having no redeeming aspects, there is much to be thankful for. The health of my friends and family, employment in a profession I enjoy day after day and support from home when I'm away. Having now spent three of the last six years sailing to this part of the world I am also very thankful that there are no sand storms where I live, only snow storms, and that the hills are covered in trees and the valleys fertile. It's a long way from home but once that cargo is loaded and lashed in the holds the second mate can plug in the waypoints for our return voyage and we'll be back on the coast before New Years. </div><div><br /></div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6830234788257848988.post-62141114169551952752010-11-15T04:14:00.016-05:002010-11-15T10:42:17.111-05:00The Strait is Clear<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TOFUitcz5XI/AAAAAAAACAs/6cq4numOqL4/s1600/DSC03600.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TOFUitcz5XI/AAAAAAAACAs/6cq4numOqL4/s200/DSC03600.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539801971935143282" /></a><div>Movement has always mesmerized me. I adore the moment on an aircraft when the wheels leave the earth and the plane lifts into the air rapidly climbing from the end of the runway. I love the feeling of a sailboat heeled over, lee rail dragging in the water, as the tiller pulls at your hands straining to balance the unequal force of water over it's sides.</div><div><br /></div><div>Shipping, unless you're holding station on a <a href="http://adeeplife.blogspot.com/2010/01/sea-snow.html">dynamically positioned</a> vessel, is all about movement. Cargoes are booked months in advance for ports half way around the world. The ship is crewed, fueled and provisioned and then loaded all in anticipation of moving a long distance over the sea. We calculate our Estimated Times of Arrival for destinations thousands of miles away and know down to the minute when we expect to make the sea buoy if our speed stays the same. </div><div><br /></div><div>And for me, two of my favorite aspects of seafaring are born of the need to constantly be on the move. Travel, the first, is a direct result of moving a ship over oceans. Second is piloting, or the control of a ship's "Conduct". This is the means by which mariners achieve the first. The entirety of yesterday served as a personal reminder that both of these facets to my work continue fascinating me as much as they did the first time I went to sea. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Travel has been a mainstay in my life since I was thirteen and ventured to the Mayan Ruins on the Yucatan in Mexico. The first time I participated in the navigation of a boat to an unknown destination was during the fall semester of my freshman year of college. That trip only took a Friday afternoon and a moderate breeze on Penobscot bay but I was hooked. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Unfortunately for my wanderlust the vessel on which I now toil is on a liner service which means regularly scheduled ports and non of the tramp shipping on account of which sailors have romanticized their professions for centuries. It is safe to say that Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and the U.A.E. have lost their appeal, if they ever had any. </div><div><br /></div><div>Luckily every now and then a port off the beaten path is thrown into the mix and we get to order a new chart and see a new dock. This time around we called on Aqaba Jordan, the kingdom's solitary seaport located in the Gulf of the same name. Nestled in between Israel's Eilat and Saudi Arabia's more scenic coastline Aqaba is at the far northern end of an almost fjord like gulf. Several commercial terminals consisting of container, bulk ore and petroleum docks lie south of the city. The berth to which we were assigned was just a short drive from the palm lined beaches of downtown. </div><div><br /></div><div>Finding Aqaba by way of water is simple. Leave the Suez Canal astern, transit the Gulf of Suez passing through the Strait of Gubal, turn to port passing the Egyptian resort of Sharm el Sheik and then make another turn to port lining up for the Strait of Tiran. Once past the reef fringed channel and large shipwreck head north-northeast up the narrow Gulf of Aqaba until the radar looks something like this:</div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TOE2AcM4e-I/AAAAAAAACAg/dCQvSq4szDw/s1600/DSC03585.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TOE2AcM4e-I/AAAAAAAACAg/dCQvSq4szDw/s400/DSC03585.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539768397840546786" /></a>Once you see the the absolutely massive flag pole flying the Jordanian flag you're there but don't anchor off the beaches in Israel, one of their fast boats might take offense. It would have been nice to have had a chance to get off the ship, rummage around the Bazaar for a box of perfumes and some incense, maybe hit up a curry vendor and smoke the tobacco Hookah but with only four hours of cargo no one made it past the stern ramp. </div><div><br /></div><div>A wise java pushing sandwich selling woman recently reminded me on the satellite phone that it's not about the destination but getting there and nothing could be more true on a day like yesterday. Two and a half weeks at sea and our first port call lasts less than five hours. A new country steeped in history with shops surely filled with all the Lebanese Coffee and silk carpets one could haggle for and no one even gets to walk up town. </div><div><br /></div><div>For a crew of modern mariners it didn't really bother anyone as this is pretty standard for today's merchant marine. Just knowing that we could go ashore had we the time without much hassle was at least refreshing. Besides, for me it really was the lure of the journey that made my day. Transiting down one side and up the other of the Sinai Peninsula, watching brown barren mountains pass down both sides of the ship, seeing down 10 meters in some of the clearest water in the world, dissecting a historic city set in an ancient valley with binoculars. I'll take what I can get. </div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The second part of the day that again reminded me what an exceptional vocation I chose was when we passed through the southern end of the Gulf. As mentioned before, the Strait of Tiran separates the Gulf of Aqaba from the Red Sea. It is a narrow strip of water in between Egypt and Saudi Arabia fringed with reefs. In the middle of the strait there is another large and very shallow reef complete with a recently shipwrecked cargo vessel high and dry listed over to port 35 degrees. On either side of this treacherous reef there is an essentially pointless vessel traffic separation scheme, the reef does a much better job than magenta lines on the chart, and a Vessel Traffic Service system which monitors the movement of ships through the area. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On the west or Egyptian side of the strait lies a rather large city north of the resort at Sharm el Sheik with a busy airport and impressive nightlife evidenced by a shoreside concert and bustling streets. The southbound route leaves Egypt to starboard and Gordon reef to port. The lane is very narrow and over 200 meters deep but no more than 0.3 nautical miles on either side of the ship lies reef shallow enough to stand on. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The passage is marked with only two lighted beacons, something the Chief Engineer was incredulous about. He was on the bridge offering his opinion and advice on the maneuver since the Captain's attendance for the transit interrupted their nightly movie time. Normally when ships proceed through tight channels they do so at a slower "Maneuvering Speed" which would be half of the full sea speed we were making. Since the channel was short, only about six miles, and deep plus not nearly as narrow as a buoyed ship channel in port our speed was maintained throughout. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There was also only one insignificant course change to line up for and the cut as the VTS informed us was clear of traffic in the area. With a parallel electronic bearing line or EBL on the radar ranged out to the distance I wanted to stay off the marker light, I could watch the transit with comfort that we were staying in the middle of the channel. The passage itself was simple but knowing that if anything was to go wrong, such as an engine or steering failure, than the beaches of Al Fawz would have a new tourist attraction in about twenty seconds kept me on my toes. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Lining up and then watching the city lights zip by at twenty knots was impressive for everyone, Chief and Captain included. It's rare we pass so close to shore going that fast. The Chief couldn't believe that the still water just off the starboard beam was reef and was only marked by one light. I explained to him that the reef was too shallow and the channel too deep for an effective buoy. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The thrill of conning 70,000 deadweight tons of ship through a treacherous piece of water is unlike anything I have ever experienced. The tools are simple; paper chart and radar, rudder and single propeller, but the consequences of failure are severe. Despite the responsibility planning and then executing successful pilotages for me is one of the most rewarding parts of working at sea. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_8wM9sRYOgVs/TOEDDDGWSBI/AAAAAAAACAU/gDB6EM-EeHw/s400/DSC03608.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539712367548844050" /><div>For more pictures from the Gulf of Aqaba visit my tumbler page at <a href="http://www.deepwaterwriter.tumblr.com/">DeepWaterWriter</a></div><div><br /></div></div>Deep Water Sailorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04943571114538589308noreply@blogger.com0