Channel fever

 Well, I finally am starting to disengage here on the HQ I guess, and thoughts of home are kicking in intrusively in my mind during the day. 

'Channel Fever' is the distemper that causes unrest when a sailor becomes absolutely with child to get ashore.

       I've almost doubled my record for time spent at work since leaving blue water work. The shorter much more intense days of working in-harbor and coastwise don't lend themselves to long hitches... and yet here I am somewhere past 110 days on here. I've lost count. 

     It was done purposefully for more than one reason, which may be why it hasn't been a slog. We're still throwing every spare penny at construction and outfitting now at the house in Brazil. 2 of the 4 buildings are structurally done and at the tail end of the cosmetic finishing stages. 2 to go, then landscaping and furniture. 

Fuck. 

Still, progress. And I can't do more OT this year as the War Department says so. She wants me home, and as I will have been gone for 10 months in 2025, I damn well need to listen. The house will wait. In the meanwhile, home in 9 days. Single digits. Feels good. 

 I find it hard to focus on plans while I am at home. While I need to cater to my wife's well deserved need to go out and be social as a couple, I also will need some days to putter around. 

In 2 days I switch to working nights, to let B get into the practice of being the swinging dick with Kick Me signs written on his forehead and ass.  The night guy is the 40 in the 60/40 leadership we run under as HMF'sIC. 

Say hello to the bad guy

 I caused some serious traffic snarls in Brooklyn the other day and I would hereby like to apologize FOR NOTHING. 

            The other day we took on a half-load of VLSFO (Very Low Sulfur Fuel Oil, a blend of #6 heavy fuel oil and ULS-MGO,  Ultra Low Sulfur Marine Gasoil, basically an ultraclean burning diesel-esque type fuel.  Thick goopy stuff, but the good stuff. 

   We took a half-load because we went waaaaayyy up a navigable but shallow creek near Brooklyn , Manhattan AND Queens. All told between us and our tug we squeaked in with 1 foot of UKC (Under-Keel Clearance) at low tide -we went in at high tide so we had 8 feet of UKC, but we also got to pumping off just 2 hours after tying up, so 12 1/2 hours later we left again at high tide, this time riding high and empty. 

   I'd never been there before, just knew it by name and that the creek is famously narrow, shallow and tricky, our equipment being larger than the tugboats and  oil, rock and scrap steel scows that work the canals and creeks. 

         Getting to the little storage tank farm we were going to, we had to pass under a drawbridge. We went through at night, so it wasn't too disruptive. 

     BUT, to leave, we had to sail, go under a different drawbridge

make a couple of twists and turns through narrow passages, old shitty pleasureboats rafted up, and rock and steel scrap barges rafted up against docks on either side, at times having to pass with just 10-15 feet on a side OR LESS to squeeze through... and after that, finally, a turning basin, a wide area, where we could do a 180, and 30 mins later, go under the SAME drawbridge but heading downstream and make a bunch of turns in narrow spots until the creek widened out where a bunch of derelict boats were stacked

Bro we could do SO MUCH METH on those

        And then go under yet another drawbridge, this one with a lovely view of the mile-long traffic jam we made, it being 10am, ON BOTH SIDES. 

    This bridge connects Brooklyn and Queens. And we fucked traffic all up. 

           Tight squeeze.  The HQ got them birthin' hips. 

      Still, it wasn't but another mile or twomand we were entering the Hudson river.  We passed summat' close abeam of the UN

 and a seaplane took off right next to us, which was something I don't see every day. 

  So,  cool little run. It's been a while since I saw something new here, for which I'm grateful.  We left Manhattan in our wake and went straight  to our usual loading terminal for the next cargo. 

Next

We wrapped up the last cargo the other night. 2 nights ago? 3? Time has lost much of its meaning here for me, but I know I've been aboard for over 100 days and go home pretty soon.  

   On completion at the ship, having transferred the oil successfully, the charterer sent us back to the terminal where we loaded the standard black oil portion of the blend we concocted, and there they filled us up with good normal VLSFO, Very Low Sulfur Fuel Oil, which we then pumped off overnight, right back into the tank we just loaded from, to dilute any residual blended fuel trapped in our pipelines, pumps and the sumps, the low points in each tank.   We flushed them right out.

 Then we did it again. Loaded up again, pumped it all off again. 

            Yesterday I got us all fast at a lay berth in Elizabeth NJ close to Newark airport, fairly early, maybe 11am? I then spent the next few hours on the phone and up to my buttcheeks (is buttcheeks one word or two? I'm a grammar nazi) in paperwork.  Our cargo management software, which is half logbook, half tallybook and half ledger (equaling 150%, yes. Because why not?), didn't like the way the office set up the recordkeeping portion of it, and decided to make up its' own rules, like deleting some pages, or transferring load calculations to discharge records and overwriting the existing discharge records, things like that.  So I got to spend a couple of hours correcting things, chasing numbers, and occasionally having it happen again until I had enough data input for the People Who Wear Ties To Work to work with. 

 

I'm sure I'll get 30 phone calls on Monday, which, I just looked, is tomorrow. No wonder breakfast was so peaceful today.  I only got 1 phone call inturrupting my meal. That's pretty good and the dude on the phone is a bro, we got on and off the phone in under 45 seconds, and that includes pleasantries... and that's because he was a tankerman like me, though younger, and his heart gave out, literally, so he had to go ashore. No BS, dude's got a good heart now, but it's not an OEM. He had to get a reemie. 

       There is one deep truism here I have to share, and everyone who works on boats knows this.   You can't take a crap, eat, or cook without a phone call or an alarm going off.  I don't make the rules, I just live by them.   Every one of these moments, cook, eat, poop, has an intermission where business gets done. 

       Knowing this, if I am waiting on an important phone call, I'll go to the head whether or not I really need to, just to speed things up. 

           Strangely, this doesn't work at home, although it IS true that I can't take a dump without someone, usually my wife, needing something or wanting to talk.  I'm not one of those guys who sits on the can playing with his phone until his legs go numb, either. I grew up in a larger household with one bathroom. I'm programmed to be quick. 

 I'm not sure how that's related but I'm sure it is. 

        

      So we passed a quiet night last night and a tug made all fast to us earlier this morning after breakfast.  In a few minutes we'll cast off for the next cargo... a load of VLSFO  destined for a power plant I think... but a dock-to-dock cargo, not a bunker job. Kind of a treat, no ship to deal with. 

The New Hotness

 Well, today we're taking part in a trial run of a new product being floated by one of the bunker suppliers thst feeds the US East Coast.  A new, more environmentally friendly component is being blended into the fuel.  Big E loaded the base fuel componant last night in 4 of our cargo tanks, leaving them slack, which is to say, partially loaded.

     At the moment we're under way to go load the fancy foofoo cutter stock into the same tanks, at a different terminal, and I will meter and blend the new product into each individual cargo tank, mixing it well, thereby creating magic a blended fuel with pleasing qualities for the delicate and fragile, and also Europeans I suppose.

     It's performative nonsense, a better, more sustainable and socially responsible way to pander to a bunch of screeching scientifically illiterate IMO Luddite autists   be good stewards of the earth, yo. Namaste and shit.  

I could go on but I am after all, the goof they chose to deliver this baby. I'm like a big, hairy, kinda otherwise retarded  savant in this one job... doula. 

Yes.  I am now the bunker doula. You may admire me now

 *scratches testicles*. 

     Ok, semi-serious now.  I'm not flattered that I was chosen to oversee this job but I absolutely am gratified. After all,  we're experienced, competent and really do take the process seriously on here. even when I'm cynical when I play games and assign meanings (that probably aren't there) to the people who actually matter in these things. Also, the HQ was available, and we really are the seniormost bunker crew in my employer's NY fleet now in terms of experience. In that respect I really am aware that I am here to represent the owner's interest in doing a job correctly, safely and efficently. My blog, online sarcasm, that's just my id taking a crap, in the exact same meaning and for the same reason a body does so.  

      As I am fond of saying, I don't give or expect credit for plans, just actions. Best I go be on about it then.

    

Please don't make me give a shit.

 I'd been finding it very peaceful not to engage in soapbox speeches or the online culture war, especially given the horrors of this past week. But I've dipped my toes in this week, which has left me with that same feeling I get when my hands are dirty and covered with grease, and I don't use enough soap to wash them off.  That feeling almost exactly, but the thin dirty grease layer is soul deep. 

    The young deckhands at work are circumspect about it, but want to talk. Many of them weren't alive for the September 11 attacks and this is one of their first encounters with humanity at our worst with a resultant cultural upheaval. 

Zoomers who choose to work on boats are politically tending to be conservative. These are kids who are afraid to speak their minds for fear of getting ostracised. They seem to be in need of fellowship more than anything. Kids who I've already taken the time to break the ice with, to get them talking about themselves so they'll listen if I can say or show them something to make them better seamen. 

Quiet at first. And underneath... so hurt and angry. 

 It's already happened 3 times.  A kid starts to talk topical, and trails off, leaving me to either pass on the elephant in the room or engage.

     Best I can figure, these kids, who live online in a way I do not, saw a mask slip on some people they liked, showing a lot of hate towards a dead guy they agreed with on some things... and then realizing how much the same people of course hate them too. It's not a stretch to see someone blood dancing online over a murder, and to realize that you'reseeing them for once, for who they truly are. Once that mask slipped off, some have not yet put it back on, either... and in a very clear way, a pussy apathetic disclaimer, which is even more common and less respectable, has widened the gap. They saw psychos and the enablers of psychos. 'Murder is wrong but...' 

       Murdering someone over words and ideas. If that's OK, when does it become ok to do so over politics and religion? 

    I've made peace with not speaking my mind. Rule 1 of good seamanship: One hand for you, and one for the boat. Rule 2: No politics and no religion in the galley. 

 I know the benefits of finding and focusing on things other than politics and religion. As a result I have several friends, some quite close, who don't share my politics OR my religion... all are people whom I care about deeply.

No buts are coming here. My point is these young guys have gotten a masterclass on the power of hate this week... and whether they're more scared or hurt? I dunno.  It sucks, to feel a sense of betrayal. It did for me when I realized I really didn't share some of the most important values, ideas and principles with nearly as many people as I thought I did. 

 I have my nuclear family, and my blood family. I have my extended family. I am deeply fortunate to be loved, even beloved. I have my faith, and I have friends, who I love as well, because we know each other, and despite that, they still like me anyways. 

   The hate?  I have hope they'll see they've put up an umbrella that's a hell of a lot bigger than what they maybe thought they were putting up. I'm certainly catching shade from surprising places... despite not being targeted, how can you not be, when realizing the same person would say the same if it was you dead, and they didn't know you? 

     'Murder is bad but I'm not sad he died.' 

     'Murder is bad, but my definition of what a nazi is is anyone who doesn't support the things I support.' 

      Translation: 'Murder is not bad, but I'm not saying it out loud so don't @me.' 

 

        I already retreated as far as I can, to be friendly, to keep friendships without being false. I'm ok with it, but I have a line I won't cross, and my heels are on it. No further, not one step. Not because of this week, but because I have everything in the world already, wouldn't gain by refusing to judge, and I already got enough shit to think about. 

       Not being a dick is a relative matter. I work with some real assholes, and I don't think anyone I work with who I dislike remains unaware of it... and I'm ok with that. I'm ok too with people who dislike me making it known provided we can still all go home at the end of the tour with a paycheck safely.  

     

    I've been sitting on this post all day, and have gone to delete it a few times but stopped. NOBODY comes here to listen to my thoughts. It's the dick and fart jokes and the job, and for some reason I've been picking up some extra hits daily lately. Wonder if I just kilt that off. I broke Rule #2 after all. 

   

I still don't know what to do with the young guys. We've been chosen to be the inaugural guinea pig in a new trial of cargo blend later this week.  I'll have extra tugs, and extra bodies, coming and going all week. You can only talk about the weather for so long. 

Better

 With all the horror this week, and America going mad, a light in the darkness got lit here on the HQ. Big E's home.  

      The HQ is unique in that we have no master aboard, no senior tankerman assigned as being The Big Cheese. We have 3 VERY senior tankermen, instead. B, 27 years in, Big E, 17, and me, 25, 17 of those here. 

   As to the why of that, having a fairly large talent sink, we get odd jobs, and the HQ, while small, can carry more grades of oil simultaneously than most while maintaining cargo segregation.  As such, redundency, utility and maintaining flexibility is one of those 'you can only have 2 of these' exceptions, as the HQ has been heavily modified several times. She's a good girl. 

...and E was out recovering from surgery for a lomg time. More than half a year.  Part of the reason I've been here for over 3 months now, and also why I can go home next month, finally.

 B and I hosted a couple of fill-in guys. It wasn't great. One of them was cool, but only there very briefly. The others? Either much too green or just some absolute short-bus seat warmers. 

But E is back and we're all right here.  Aside from being great shipmates working together, we're also all very good friends.  One of those things, and we all know it's almost impossible to make friends as an adult male... and yet here we are. So the company keeps us together because we keep our shit together. It's not like we're irreplaceable, after all, but why mess up a vessel that gets shit done right? The HQ was already Big E's when B and I arrived 6 years ago.  B and I have worked together for 15+ years, as we got matched originally when my company first established a remote operation in NY and they wanted 2 good guys to work overlapping, so one of us was always on board...and that's been our M.O. since. 

  I'm really happy to have my friend back. The OT was nice but we need rest, and it's good to ve able to sleep soundly, knowing the other guy 100% has your back and knows the job just as well as you. 

I don't need a soapbox

 Sure I have opinions on topical things. 

...and nobody who doesn't share blood or a bathroom with me cares. It took me much too long to figure that out.

     Now, having said that, a wonderful thing tangentially related to the savage and poisonous events that have happened recently has popped up. 

 Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife started shooting with me a couple of years ago. It started basically with her wanting to tweak the noses of her family back in Brazil, some of whom are far, far left and horrified at the thought of her with a gun like some American cowboy, and others who enjoyed the idea, her going full American Stereotype. 

      She's become a decent shot and range days have become fun days for us... plus she knows I'm more likely after to not wail and gnash my teeth if she wants to make a stop 'too queek' to look at a dress or ridiculously priced heels somewhere. 

        So this week my wife asked me to enroll her in a concealed carry class for when I'm home, and I'm just as proud as a hen with a new egg to hear it. 

        Only downside is I gotta find a nice set of Louis Vuitton grips for her Christmas present this year.