A short but ugly thing

Illegal commercial fishing is a thing.

 You ever eat Orange Roughy? Patagonian Toothfish? Chilean Sea Bass? You've probably been eating illegally caught fish. Most of the fish marketed in the US of those species is landed illegally. No big deal; I mean, the entire EU fishes illegally. They set a quota in conference with the US to regulate the catch of expensive fish like sword and tuna. When the US catches their quota, these Highly Migratory fish are no longer fished by the US fleet under a treaty sharing that same name. Well, except where the EU member states fudge the books and drop zeros in their records wink wink nudge nudge. Funny thing. Pulling shit like that also is partially responsible for the piracy problem in the Horn of Africa. The Europeans sign treaties, but maintain the moral flexibility to ignore them when no one's looking. Take away a nation's livelihood by catching all their fish and then using their coast to dispose of your toxic waste, well then the entrepreneurs branch out.

 Asian and European distant water vessels have been supplying illegally caught fish for the world ever since fishing was regulated. Unfortunately, the big money items like Patagonian Toothfish are found in butt-ass cold places south of Tierra Del Fuego and in Antarctic waters.

 Well, apparently a few days ago a 250-footer's EPIRB (Emergency Position Indicting Radio Beacon) went off, indicating trouble. Nearest vessel was over 1000 miles away. No one is exactly sure who the owner is or what or where the boat is, because of 'confusion' over ownership.  Worst thing that could happen to the owner is that the boat and crew were found safe, but that's not bloody likely with the Antarctic winter approaching. They've already called off the search.  The poor pricks who signed on to fish, 3rd world nationals, chances are, are long dead.

 Eat up, folks.

Best name EVAH!

Click to embiggen.

Boston Humor

Early one frigid Sunday morning, two young boys are playing ice hockey on Frog Pond  when a rabid Rottweiler charges one of them. Thinking quickly, the other boy jams the blade of his hockey stick under the dogs collar and twists it, snapping the dog's neck instantly.

 A reporter from the Boston Herald runs up. "Young man, I saw the brave thing you did. I'm going to take your picture and put it up in tomorrow's page 1! "Young Bruins fan saves friend from rabid beast."

 The boy looks right at him. "But I'm not a Bruins fan."

 "Oh, well... 'sox fan protects park visitors, saves friend."

 Again, the boy shakes his head. "I don't like the Red Sox, either. I'm a Yankees fan."


 The headline on Monday's paper: "Little bastard kills beloved family pet."

bad habits

Whoops.

 Just lost my shit at a tugboat operator, and cussed him out on the VHF radio.
 Never a good idea to do one's laundry in public.

 He had it coming though. We're issued personal VHF radios, and I've got another one mounted above my desk... so when the dude in question  toots the horn rather than use the radio while drifting, not doing anything at all, I got heated. I have people trying to sleep, and that big-ass horn is pointed right at 'em, 30 feet away.

 One, two toots? Sure. Sometimes deckhands turn down the volume on their radio. Passing arrangements have to be made, I guess. Safety reasons, you use the horn, no problem. But just to avoid using a VHF? No. After a short while wen we're doing fuck all, I got all fussy on the radio myself.

 He hasn't blown the horn since, though.

 In my days on oil tankers, I was known once or twice to stand in the passageway outside someone's stateroom (bunk room), line up right next to where their bed was on the other side of the bulkhead, and swing a 5lb sledgehammer at the wall and ring their bell. Or, if we were rolling in a swell, to tie a bolt on a string and hang it from their doorknob and let the tick-tick-tick ruin their sleep enough until they got out of bed and opened the door. Do this every hour for 2-3 hours and your point is made.

EDIT:  All's well that ends well. This is a good example of how bad communication leads to butthurt, butthurt leads to frustration, and frustration leads to hissy fits. Had I been home and rested, I'd have certainly handled that better. Still, later on there was an explanation, a mutual apology, and all involved walked away satisfied. At this point I feel slightly sheepish, but loyalty trumps decorum.

 Waiting until someone emails or calls me and tells me to get back in my place, peasant. I'm a firm believer in the chain of command, and respect it. I don't, however, bow to any man, period.

Presented in glorious technicolor!

Week  is well underway here at the Afloat Global HQ.  Working hard, not much free time. I'm burning hard, though.  10 days to go, and thank God. Much more and I'll be in danger pulling a Bartleby.
I would prefer not to. How's that for irony?

in which things go a little left-handed

We're having scheduling issues lately here on board HAWSEPIPER's Afloat Global HQ/House of Corrections. Little things that add up over time- nothing I want to address specifically, as it's no big deal, but molehills become mountains when your own ability to deal with logistical issues gets unbalanced. Little boo-boos on the part of shoreside staff become Big Fucking Deals afloat when they don't have to when you've been away from home for too long.

        When I started the "Blue Water" blog back in 2003, I was sailing for American Heavy Lift on 120-day tours on a rusty tanker. When I became a permanent employee a few years later, I worked 120 days on/75 off. Granted, I was single then.

 Life gets unbalanced- I mistakenly thought that marriage and starting a family would automatically bring work:life balance into a favorable state. Now, fast forward to today, I'm on day 1 of week 9 away from my wife and kid, and the checking account is bulging nicely from the extra time away... and my wife and I are both ill-tempered and struggling with moodiness, both very aware that I'll only be home for 14 days before I come back here for 28 more.

      I'm getting older. I'll turn 40 on my next tour. I can't do 120 days. I can't comfortably 'work over' and stay extra, it seems. working 70 days and going home for 14 is becoming toxic. I pray this is the last time.  Joy is scarce on the ground when you work too much and don't wake up next to your wife enough. The little moments out here that I love- seeing new and unusual things, meeting cool new people- it's bland right now.

 Goddamn I need to get home. I'm friggin' maudlin.  It's so bloody busy, we're getting hit by gales twice a week, all the fucking snow, and a shit tank on board that is moody like a WASP on her period. It's getting to me.

 I volunteered to forego my time home in an effort to prepare for big changes coming up- moving from the 'burbs of Boston to the 'burbs of Miami, specifically.

 I hope it's worth it. 2 weeks from now I guess I'll find out. We're leaving to go house-hunting 12 hours after I get home.

Presented without comment