Hot Jelly Flies

Hot dry heat, jelly fish and flies were the first three things I noticed arriving at the Suez Canal. The anchorages north of Port Suez were just beginning to fill up with ships waiting to enter one of two south bound convoys. The air was no longer reminiscent of milder days spent crossing the mid Atlantic and the ketchup bottle at dinner was now attracting a persistent Egyptian housefly, the likes of which had been absent for the last 18 days.

Jelly fish surrounded the ship numbering in the thousands. A large white or blue bowling ball sized species, they drifted beneath the waves aimlessly pulsating, most likely an invasive jelly living off the saltier and warmer effluent coming out of the canal from the Red Sea which slowly flows into the Mediterranean. They were so thick you couldn't jump in the water without hitting one.

While we waited for the convoy to begin very early the next morning a stores boat pulled along side so we could receive fresh fruit and vegetables which included some of the best strawberries I've ever had. Whether they were from Egypt or Israel or Jordan I couldn't be sure but they were tiny and sweeter than the G.M. one's we get in the states.

The pilots came on one by one throughout the morning and afternoon. The first pilot amazed the bridge team by eating more cookies in one transit than had ever been seen before. One by one the pilot would take a cookie from the coffee station, return to the gyro repeater to enjoy while conning the vessel, and then for another slowly decimating the entire box . The last pilot came aboard in a white linen suit complete with a vintage Suez Canal cover with scrambled eggs and all declaring that it was he whom held the oft contested title of senior pilot.

Before entering the Great Bitter Lake to anchor and await the passage of the single north bound convoy we passed close by the third largest super yacht in the world. As informed by the pilot, the vessel is owned by the Sultan of Oman and was headed back to the Emirate. While the Sultan and his family were not likely to have been aboard the yacht was still impressive measuring in at over 500 feet. We followed her all the way out and into the Gulf of Suez later in the afternoon.

Anchoring for a few hours gave the Captain and Chief Engineer just enough time for a quick nap, both had been up all night and the previous day. To keep the helmsman fresh I put them on a rotating schedule spending only an hour at a time on the wheel. Even though it's a straight shot most of the way one misinterpreted or incorrect rudder movement and the ship could suck herself across the bank blocking a line of ships extending for miles through the desert from their destinations.

While passing through one of the larger towns along the canal we boarded one oncoming crew member, a new third assistant from my Alma Mater who had graduated only four weeks ago and who's luggage hadn't made the connecting flight. I felt sincere pity for him knowing that when you pack for sea for the first time you really do try and fit your life into a bag and showing up to work for the next three months without that duffel is truly a bummer.

Also boarding in the starlit brilliance of the desert night was our contracted security team who will ride the vessel for the duration of our time in the middle east. Due to the extreme piratical activity in the India Ocean the company made a proactive decision to deter hijackings. By making each vessels as hard of targets as possible the pirates would be insane not to choose a softer or more vulnerable target. And while there are a great number of coalition war ships now patrolling the Indian Ocean the hijackings continue with ships being probed, attacked and boarded daily by Somalians. Piracy has always been an inherent risk to marine commerce and unfortunately today it is no different.

We all feel confident that the presence of several very well trained, professional and experienced security personnel on board the ship will deter any attempts at taking the ship for a ransom. While it is not a solution to the piracy issue it does make everyone sleep better at night and from my perspective, not providing ships in this region with properly equipped security teams is a huge threat to the well being of the crew. The ICC's Piracy Report shows that the threat persists and just yesterday a chemical tanker was attacked ten miles north of the Strait of Bab El Mandeb. More on the BAM later.

While encounters with Somali thugs in the Gulf of Aden can be deterred the heat is inescapable on deck. I reminded the crew this afternoon under a paint peeling sun that drinking lots of water, not coffee and soda, but water and taking breaks when needed is imperative. Heat stress becomes life threatening much faster than most tough, macho and hard working sailors think. That last thing I need is to go short a man on an all ready tiny crew.

The third mate looked up the forecast for our next port of call and it didn't even bother stating the temperature centigrade. "Extremely Hot" was all it said. Today is the hottest day of my nearly three months on board and it's only going to get worse. With a sea water temp of 86 degrees not even filling the pool will do any good on a day like this. And while I whine about the sea temp the engineers are really concerned. A hotter ocean means a hotter engine and when the diesel engine gets too hot it's a big problem. Another thing we could do without is going Dead In the Water to replace an exhaust valve while in the Gulf of Aden. Security would definitely have their hands full then.

Politics

One of my first Captains would always tell passengers "I never get religious or political when I'm on the water" when asked about her opinion on something regarding either religion or politics.

Sometimes the passengers would begrudge my wise, mysterious and beautiful boss having hoped to stoke the fires of contention instigating a debate with a strong and fearless schooner captain. The less confrontational passengers understood that a schooner is just too small of a place for one to expound their political or philosophical dogma.

But sometimes it just can't be helped, especially when every morning my Captain comes up on the bridge and changes National Public Radio to Fox and Friends on the XM radio. It's not that I am unwilling to listen to Glen Beck or Bill O'Reilly, I just can't take the old man's incessant categorizing of Fascist Obama Liberals.

I feel compelled to pipe up and remind him that the political landscape of America, despite what television networks would like us to believe, is not black and white. It's not just a bunch of freeloading liberal communists waiting for food stamps and one world government while hard working, gun loving, freedom fighting patriots who are sick and tired of big government try to right the political spectrum by chanting Sarah Palin's name at Tea Parties.

He would disagree but at this point it's a non issue, the XM radio signal fizzled out five days before Gibraltar. Unfortunately due to these early morning encounters I have now been pegged the ship's liberal and am often subjected to verbal ridicule.

Anyway, my whole point here is every time I mention something really good that I read in the New York Times it just reaffirms that I'm another Harvard educated Yankee liberal espousing the redistribution of wealth and big Federal government. While I do believe in a flat income tax, if you call that redistribution, and in increased autonomy for our united STATES to limit the Federal government's interference in our lives, the New York Times has been doing a really good job of covering the Gulf of Mexico Oil Spill.

As highlighted by another Ro/Ro enthusiast, Kennebec Captain, the New York Times posted an article on June 5th entitled "In Gulf, It Was Unclear Who Was In Charge of Rig." This article, to my knowledge, has so far been the best reporting on the real issues that led to the worst environmental disaster in the history of the United States and will undoubtedly be the focus of the investigation for months to come.

Looking at it from a commercial perspective it seems unbelievable that the Deepwater Horizon's Vessel Response Plan for an oil leak explained how the pollution would be mitigated but didn't require the material necessary to stop a leak to be readily available. Nor did the response plan realistically estimate the impact a leak would have and the resources required to deal with it.

Procedures, equipment, safety tests and all sorts of other "regulated" aspects of deep water drilling were approved by regulatory bodies who were in the habit of granting exemptions to keep things manageable and the rig drilling in deeper and deeper water.

Furthermore, unlike a cargo ship, drilling platforms have multiple contractors on board in addition to the charterer, in this case BP. Each company is looking out for their best interests while the Captain is supposed to be looking out for the interests of the crew and vessel.

As explained in the article, "In testimony to government investigators, rig workers repeatedly described a “natural conflict” between BP, which can make more money by completing drilling jobs quickly, and Transocean, which receives a leasing fee from BP every day that it continues drilling."

It would be as if my ship carried a representative for each cargo on board. The cars would have a supercargo, the tractors, the project cargo, and each would surely weigh in on which port we should call first. Ultimately the primary concern would be the bottom line for their company, not the safety of the vessel and success of the voyage beyond their cargo's final destination.

As warning signs were ignored on board the Deepwater Horizon it illustrates that a breakdown in the management of a very sophisticated vessel had begun well before the actual explosion. The oil and gas industry is a very different animal from where I work in deep sea ocean transportation and I couldn't imagine the politics of dealing with multiple companies on board a production rig. Yet the Master's overall responsibility and command of a vessel does not change.

If there is any good that can come out of this disaster I hope it includes increased oversight on part of the master, who is ultimately responsible, in the critical decisions that affect the safety of the rig. A rig manager may have more expertise in aspects of drilling but that doesn't mean they should have the final say when it's pitting dollars against safety. This event could and should have long term ramifications in the O&G industry well beyond the 6 month moratorium on drilling.

Human Resources

For the life of me I can't remember what it was I screwed up on my first noon slip. Observed distance? Speed made good? Engine slip? But I do remember the Chief Engineer calling the bridge at a quarter past noon, I had the 12 to 4, and asking me "What the fack is wrong with you? Didn't they teach you how to do a freakin noonslip at that academy?"

I was mortified. I had just gotten my ass chewed out by the old man for having two charts on the chart table at once and now a surly hick from Maine was yelling at me over the phone for being an idiot third mate. I didn't even bother defending myself against the daily heckling I received at coffee time and at meals. I might have been a green mate but I was ripe fruit for a seasoned crew's picking entertainment.

Crews come in all shapes and sizes and they are always changing. Since those first days at sea I have now worked with hundreds of different mariners. Some bosons, chief mates, chief engineers and captains I've spent years with, but the majority of co-workers, especially in the unlicensed department are never the same. When I left my first ship I crossed my fingers that my next old man and Chief Engineer would take it a little easier on me.

The cast of characters for this voyage is more colorful than ever. First there is my watch partner, A Yemeni my own age whose sweeping skills have improved. He is now my star cleaner mainly because putting a pneumatic chipping hammer in his hands is a dangerous affair. I'm pleased to have a Muslim on board for a voyage to the Middle East. Each day I ask him questions about Islam and receive spirited lectures in Muslim culture, values, faith and Arabic. In return I answer his unending questions which ever since lending him Knight's seamanship have become impressively relevant to standing a watch. He's figured out how the ARPAs provide range, bearing and closest point of approach for other ships on the screen and has a clear idea of what information can be gleaned off charts.

I had assumed that Mo's parents immigrated to Dearborn Michigan when he was a kid based on his thick accent and having children in the Gulf region but I was wrong. He's a third generation American with a lot of family who has served in the Armed Forces. It was unconventional to stray from the Navy or Air Force when he decided to join the Merchant Marine on Great Lake bulkers. This is Mo's first ocean crossing and his enthusiasm for learning about deep-sea sailing is an encouraging sign for tomorrow's mariners.

We do have one first generation immigrant on board, the Third Mate. Naturalized in his teens our medical officer is a young hawesepiper from Ireland making his first trip as a mate. He lucked out getting his license and then a job in short order and I lucked out getting a hawespiper on my rotation.

I am continually impressed by the younger mates I have worked with that began sailing as apprentice seaman and took the initiative to study and test for a third mate's license. Their education at sea brings a set of skills unattainable at maritime academies into the workplace. Any lacking knowledge in the theory of nautical sciences is amply made up for by a zeal to learn that theory while being able to run circles around academy grads on deck.

When I first joined the ship the Boson was in his early seventies. This made me wonder how many occupations in the world involving such brutal work as picking up chain lashings in a 90 degree cargo hold and anchoring ships in freezing gales retain employees into their golden years?

The first Boson began his working career in a carnival troupe decorating staging and props as a boy on his native Island of Trinidad. At sixteen he shipped on a Norwegian freighter where he learned the values of a good Boson at an early age. All I had to do was ask him one time at six in the morning and by seven at night everything on my to do list, plus his own, was finished, cleaned, stowed and secured with no oversight and zero bitching. He remained on Norwegian ships for many years before moving to Queens and becoming a United States citizen 30 years ago.

With more time astern than I have at sea he was one of the wisest, wittiest old school seaman I have met. "Nothing is impossible for God or a seaman" he would often say in his thick island accent when confronted with a difficult task. A saying he had learned from Norwegian officers in the fifties was as obvious as ever when working with him.

My new boson is not much younger with 35 years at sea, fifteen of those supervising the deck gang. While almost as self sufficient as his predecessor I heard some scuttlebutt the other evening that he had been told the officers were displeased with his performance. Showing an uncommon egotistical fragility he apparently broke down in tears in the Boson locker.

I was surprised this story made it all the way from the foc'sle to my ears and it made me yearn for my old boson that never showed a sign of weakness or emotion when dealing with officers. To do so would have gone against every fiber of his steel nerves. On the other hand this was a rare display of insecurity brought on most likely by a disgruntled and manipulative AB as no officer has reported anything negative about "Bobo". Nonetheless the episode required, without letting on I had heard anything, that I show my sensitive side shoring up his bruised ego, however unfounded, with a couple of sincere compliments.

The first Captain on board was preceded by a confrontational hard ass reputation. I was relieved to learn that he had grown up on Munjoy Hill, a neighborhood I frequent often in one of my favorite towns. He was no more than another loud mouthed Portlander with a massive ego, bigger than life laugh and a penchant for good times. The hill provided a common topic of discussion as I could name all the new restaurants and bars on Congress Avenue as he reminisced about his days of delinquency. Ironically his cousins ran the local convenience store and had contributed to my own delinquency selling me PBR tallboys on cold winter nights for years.

Since we had both grown up in Maine, the Captain and I had something in common with the First and Chief Engineers as well. I don't believe I've sat around a more entertaining dinner table than here listening to three mariners lambaste one another with the acidic sarcasm perfected by a lifetime in Maine. That lobster-pound sense of humor, which to the uninitiated must seem awfully abrasive and childish, more than once had me howling with laughter as the Chief Engineer abused the English language unnecessarily contracting words or adding syllables where they don't belong. Mainers just don't hold back, at all. I myself have been called out on my lack of an inner monologue once or twice.

Ironically that same Chief Engineer is the one who verbally stove my ego in over a noon slip long ago. Now that I've rose up the ranks a touch we sit across the table chiding one another, him for owning a Shetland pony nicknamed Rockstar (For his daughters) and me for driving a Jetta with New Hampshire plates. The same Chief who once reminded me so much of abusive upper classmen my freshman year is now helping me brush up on my welding and cutting skills in the machine shop.

Not everyone's hue is a rosy one. I have one AB who turned out to be one of the most trying and displeasing shipmate's ever. His tactics are based on a stern belief that he is the best merchant mariner in the world and involve doing anything to get the officers wound up. Since he's just biding his time as a watch stander studying for a license of his own instead of working overtime we don't see too much of him beyond watch.

Still he has managed to irk the officers one time or another and so far he's gotten two good ones over on me. The first was when he began asking for a pair of cow hide gloves. I told him that there were plenty of gloves in the Boson's locker which I had set out for the guys but no, he wanted the nice one's, the officer grade, and he knew I had them. Trying not to make him feel any more special I denied him the nicer gloves so he went right to the top on a coffee break telling the captain that I was "Screwing" with him. The Captain, having little patience for such trivial matters, gave him a pair of his own cowhide gloves. The smile on his face for the next two days really did get my goat but I did my best to hide it.

The second time I told him to pick up a piece of trash he threw into my utility truck when coming back from shore. He grabbed it and chucked it into a trash can as I had ordered and then went straight back to the Captain demanding an hour of over time for the job because he was off duty and taking orders from the mate. The captain, after telling him no, told me about it and I was doubly pissed.

Since then he's been quite the sociopath towards the officers and crew (He elects to stand his watch on the bridge wing) but is slowly opening up to the Boson. Hopefully I can get him to come out of his shell and see that he doesn't know everything even if he did spend 20 years fishing on the Bearing Sea. Soon enough I'll have a couple days of mandatory overtime in those 90-degree cargo holds. That should provide a good vantage of his own limits.