Monday, April 15, 2024

Disconnected

 During swim time yesterday, I was talking with my wife about things going on in the world.  I do follow events, not as closely as some, but closer than others, and like looking at things that happen and are happening, not things being talked about. 

           While I was writing my last post, which was all fluff and nonsense, the internet was abuzz with the events in the assorted war zones around the world. 

      During many world events that have happened in my lifetime, I was on a boat working. Granted, I've been on boats for 8 months out of the year at a minimum for about 25 years nonstop. College and what passed for grad school were an exception to that, although I still got about 180 days at sea credited on my sea time calculator each year I was getting edumacated. 


            The plain truth is that none of it affected me much. World news is mostly other people's business. My eyes were in the boat at the time, where my eyes reached the entire breadth of my world. Even today I still have the mentality that the great sage Manny James, my last bosun, used to say in his deep Caribbean accent "En if it don' add inches to my dick or money to my wallet, it ain't for me to worry on. We gots a job to do. Best we do it." When it comes to world events, Manny had a point. 


  For the most part, the way I've built my life, I've had to trust other people to mind the shop while I'm on the water. If they do a bad job, I'll find out about it eventually.  When I do track the news, I find it wholly depressing, as the news is presented as drama porn and conflict, which gathers more clicks and views than rational reporting. 

  I've got drama porn fatigue.  Sure, I might get 1 hour less warning if the world ends or the Rapture hits, but the most important thing about yesterday wasn't the air battle over Israel... it was the way my wife laughed when we were swimming and she got water in her nose, like we were the only two people in the world. On my deathbed I probably won't reflect on Israel. I wouldn't mind remembering yesterday at all when there are no more tomorrows for me. 


Sunday, April 14, 2024

Time Flies

 The days are racing by already. I've been home 4 days already, and they've been busy days. What has been nice here is that Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife, who has been working 80-90 hours a week while I am at sea, is home with me, and we're more or less joined at the hip while I'm here. This morning in fact was the first time we split up to work on individual tasks- her with housecleaning, me with rehabbing my big gas grill. Putting new burners, igniters and diffusers in, swapping out the grating, etc.  We're going a  barbecue for 20, mostly Brazilian style, next weekend before I go back to work, and having 2 grills going at 90 degrees to each other so I can work like a keyboard player at a concert keeps things efficient. I laid in a couple of picanhas, the Brazilian beef cut that is, in my opinion, the crown of the cow, the best cut. God's steak. We also have a couple of liters of Cachaca, the ultrapure white rum used to make caiperinhas, the national drink of Brazil.  

     Should be fun, but this being a maritime blog, and me not being at sea, I'm going far afield. Plus, the pool is open and my first sunburn of the season is easing off already, so we're headed back in today. Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife somehow bakes to a lovely honey brown in just 15 mins in the sun, and doesn't burn despite wearing a 'conservative' Brazilian bikini, which is pretty much 3 eyepatches artfully arranged.  Meanwhile, me, with SPF 9000 slathered a 1/4in deep, will get a sunburn walking at night, let alone out in the sun. 



Her, 15 minutes after going in the pool: 





Me:



Tuesday, April 9, 2024

New Post: Now with 77% less whining!

 The busyness continued for several more days, and then... silence. 


 I bunkered an American ship last night. Well, registered and crewed in America, which is about as good as it gets these days. Anyhow, it was nice to get to speak the lingua franca for once when calling back and forth to the ship during the course of the discharge.  And we got all fast and things shut down around 0230, which left me a couple of hours to myself, catch up on end-of-tour things. 


     And it IS the end of tour. I'm going home tomorrow, if God is good to me.  It's been a busy one, but things went much smoother than earlier in the winter, so I'm going home, if not rested, than in a better headspace, certainly. 


   Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife has some family coming to visit next week, so I'll have just one week to do whatever I want to do before having to be host.  Her cousin Boobzilla is coming with her family. 


     Boobzilla is rather curvy and shapely. Hence the nickname. She too, married an American from Boston, and praise God, he's a down to earth and normal dude, someone you can sit down with and have a drink and some laughs with. They have a lovely family, to be honest. Good people, which is why I'm not having a temper tantrum about sharing half of my precious free time. Between my wife, Boobzilla and her mom, who is also coming to visit, they'll be rattling away 12 to the dozen in foreign 90% of the time, which means the husband, my kid, me and their kids (who didn't learn Portagee for some reason) will be left to our own devices much of the time. My kid's dreading having to be chief translator, as of all the Brazilians and half-Brazilians, he is perfectly 100% bilingual, and nobody else is. My wife and Boobzilla both think in and speak English primarily, if endearingly imperfectly, but Boobzilla's mom is a monoglot, and they're all three of them accomplished gossipers. 

    But of course, I think I have mentioned before that my portagee has improved significantly,  which makes it more difficult to discuss me while I'm still in the room, as Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife's cousins and friends learned this past summer. when I caught enough of a conversation to realize that given my exotic coloring, there was a general interest in the particular color of my wedding tackle. Ye Olde  Pink Torpedo being something of a wonder, apparently for not being a more familiar shade of brown. The hilarity and embarrased laughter when they realized I knew what was being said made the whole thing funny. Brazilians are earthy people and love to laugh as a rule. 

    Anyhow, I'm headed home tomorrow, and it looks like it will be a nice time, which I need I think. While this wasn't a bad tour by any means, 'not bad' is not the same thing as a good time. I already told my wife I plan to drink beer in my underwear on the couch at least once. There will be scratching and belching involved. 

               

Friday, April 5, 2024

This job would be great if it wasn't for the work involved

 Damn it got busy again. We're working hard here on the HQ, and pretty steady. Now, I was SUPPOSED to have tonight off. I had to settle for a half-watch off. My employer shoehorned a little job on us to give  some diesel fuel and a couple hundred tons of heavy fuel oil to an old rusty bulk carrier. And like many small jobs, the smaller it is, the bigger a pain in the ass it ends up being. 

         Usual M.O. 'Krainian engineer has his Filipino black gang so scared of him that they won't take a shit without written permission and constant radio contact the whole while.  

 "Shithouse 5, Engine Control Room."

 Engine Control Room, this is Shithouse 5, go ahead." 

"Manuel, reduce your pushing. Do not exceed one bar of sphincter pressure. There must be NO splash. Repeat, No Splash... and I can't find a copy of the Job Hazard analysis sheet for your wiping. You must not wipe until I have your JHA signed and stamped. Come to my office, but remember, no wiping."


 Anyhow, you get the idea. So NOTHING got done without the direct orders of the chief engineer. That included lowering me a bucket to pass paperwork back and forth. I was told "wait, wait my friend. The engineer has not tole' me eef I can lower you da bucket or no." 


 A chief engineer in port is a BUSY guy. So a job that should haver been 4 hours tops, was 9.  6 of those 9 hours being the time we had hoped to be at anchor between this job and our next load. 


 BUT, we finished the work, and the engineer being a bohunk, naturally he accused us of trying to short him on fuel and basically accusing us of stealing it. And I, having been exposed to the dishonesty of bohunk engineers weekly for the last 15 years, God help us, gave my usual unemotional reply. "Chief this is not Singapore. We don't steal fuel, and we don't negotiate the volume or cost.  Here, accusing us of being thieves is aserious thing." 

    Suddenly the problem of the missing fuel disappears. Every. Time. With. The. Fucking Bohunks. 

   Still, I haven't taken it personally for about 14 1/2 years. I just light my little candle, attempting to correct engineers, one at a time. 

     Unfortunately, I still haven't written part 2 of the post I was writing last week or the week before. I haven't been in the zone. No time. 



      

Saturday, March 30, 2024

Some maritime memes about the Baltimore incident

  It's been painful as hell to watch the internet reaction to the Francis Scott Key bridge collapse. 


 I'm not sure which is more awful; the pleasureboaters' hot takes based on their vast experiences with 21 foot plastic toy boats used about 50 hours a year,  or the conspiracy theorists' insistence that it was all a big, carefully orchestrated plan. 


 In between are the poor SOB's who just don't know what is reasonable and what isn't, given the absolute awful state of the world at the present moment and the retard circus that is the internet. 


    So a little gallows humor is due.  I stole all these memes from smarter and funnier people. None are mine. I ain't that clever. 














Friday, March 29, 2024

Whew!

 Man, I went and loaded that delayed job a week ago, and that was the last time I had a moment to myself, with the exception of 45 minutes yesterday, when I called a quick time out at the company pier and ran to the store to get food, as we were between jobs but had a cargo hose that was reaching its replacement date and the bunker gods (Long may they sow confusion; long may they shit light on the heads of the tankermen) with much wailing and gnashing of teeth overestimated the time it would take to swap out a measly 60-foot steel-belted 6-inch diesel hose by a fat guy who was running out of food and was within just a mile of a grocery store. 


    So, yeah, we swapped hoses, I jumped ashore still in my foul weather gear (it  being day 2 of a gentle soaking rain), leaving the hydraulics on and the deck crane sticking up vertically, and got my grub, before putting the deck away, admitting that I was finished, and getting bumped by a tug to go to the next job, with just 10 minutes in between. 

    This morning we had a nice small job to do, pumping off the oil that we loaded yesterday, on a Hapag-Lloyd chartered ship. Hapag-Lloyd uses the same cargo surveyor for almost every job, and he and I work really well together. A mutual appreciation club I guess. 

         I was done by noon and at anchor here at the foot of the Statue of Liberty about 2 hours later. And now... we rest. 

  Lordy, busy time. I haven't had a meal sitting down in 4 days I think. The sun came out and although there was a biting wind, the air temp was moderate. Not a bad day. 

         I'll pick up where I left off the other day, shortly. 


Friday, March 22, 2024

New Blood, and New Bloodletting (Part 1)

 Good morning, 

          Well, when I went to bed, I had planned on us being nudged and nosed over to a tank farm in Bayonne NJ to load up 4 grades of fuel (two of which would be partially combined together and also partially segregated from each other) in some proportion, for 3 ships over the next few days. 

    When I woke up at 0430, having slept 9 solid hours (I was pretty damn tired), we had been ordered to remain at anchor for the night. So here we are, swinging our dicks in the breeze at 0630, and my ass has already weighed in (I'm trying to lose weight again, and succeeding, 25lbs gone since New Years) and breakfasted (today being 2 slices of bacon and 2 eggs, which makes today a VERY good day so far).   


    We had a gale comes through the last day and a half, which brought some mild cold with it, somewhere 30's and low 40's, but with the breeze I couldn't get warm yesterday despite it being a mostly indoor day for me. I mean 40's used to be long-sleeved t shirt and a flannel shirt weather for me, all day outside. What the hell happened? Florida and anno domini, I guess. Sucks though. I'm a fatass, I shouldn't be getting cold. Not too many years ago, it took single digits and a gale before the cold bothered me. Getting soft and silly in my old age. 


      Some stuff is going on in the background. I have picked up some side work as a scientist, doing, may the good Lord help us, some analysis of testing methods and project planning for a for-once well budgeted study... I'm unfortunately being tapped for the planning stages, not the execution stages which would be fun AF, but what the hell, my services as a quarter-assed (not even halfassed) biologist haven't been in demand for some time, so I'm happy to have a couple of bucks thrown my way in exchange for a little algebra and some redneck CAD. plus the money is more than welcome.

 While my munificent Tankerman pay is adequate, construction in Brazil of my new batcave there is, while on budget for overall target, the money up front parts are coming faster than expected. Materials costs are rising rapidly there, as spendthrift econimic illiterates  are in power there, just as they are here, with similar results, so I'm being pushed hard to cough up the reals to buy stone, mortar and tile, lock in concrete deliveries, and secure rebar and consumables.  Same as 3 months ago, the house looks like present-day Gaza, only moreso. Construction on the 3 meter tall wall surrounding the house and yard came to a halt with the change order from Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife, who wants piers sunk in the ground to support expanding the wall to 5 meters in the future and to add a 2nd floor to the annex to the big house, where we're going to reside. 

    What I love about Brazil is that if you want to build, and you own the land, you can build. Construction is  all stone and concrete, with no water table to deal with and stable ground down to 100-130 feet that will always pass a perc test in the arid region where we're building. So adding, say, a second floor is a matter of either prior planning to sink piers and columns now, or adding them later and being more disruptive, either way it's cool. 

    Still, it looks like hell right now, and my savings account is on a diet just like me, but showing much more rapid progress, if you get me. oof. 

_____________________________________________________________________________


 The breakneck pace that we've been setting the past few months here on the HQ hasn't been confined to just us. The other guys who are also working the Spot market (as in on-the-spot job charters, rather than long-term charters) in my company are also running around like a cat trying to bury a turd under a marble floor.  Perhaps as a result of the uptick in work locally without a commensurate increase in tonnage to perform the work, some of the major players in the oil trade have increased the number of vessels they are chartering on longer-term contracts. What this means is that, if, for example, an oil major picks up another tug and barge unit on charter, there is one less tug and one less barge available locally to work for companies other than that oil major. End result, each time this happens, the workload on moi and guys like moi, increases... and we're running low on tugboats. 

      Thing about a tugboat is that in the oil trade, they're an expense, not a generator of revenue. You spend money on a tug. You don't make money on a tug. And they're not cheap to fuel, man up or maintain... but a barge isn't getting from A to B without one.  Still, barges generate oil money in a more direct fashion, though both tugs and barges are needed as part of the process. The tug crew isn't going to carry oil in their pockets, and the bargemen aren't going to put a tow line between their teeth and start swimming, either. 

            What is happening is that companies often have more barges than tugs. A tug can drop a barge off at a terminal, and go move another barge or three before the barge at the terminal is loaded or discharged. It makes sense to have plenty of barges to work, and enough tugs to move them. But oil companies are fickle. They'll tell you they need oil moved on such a date and at such a time, but they're competing for berths with each other at tank farms and refineries, and the best laid plans etc etc... there are times when tugs and barges are all loafing, and times when everyone gets orders to move at the same time. Like a frigging anthill. 

       What ends up happening is that at times there might be 8-9 barges scattered across 15 miles of harbor and rivers, and at any one time between zero and all barges might get movement orders with no prior warning.   I'll give a more likely scenario, however. 

     Lets say one tugboat has orders to put a barge alongeside a ship at  0600, and also has orders to put another barge at a terminal at 0900, then return to the first barge at 1000, and move that barge to yet another ship.  The two barges are only 30 minutes apart from each other. At 0600, the tug has the barge alongside the ship, but the ship for some reason isn't sending men on deck to catch mooring lines, and so after blowing the whistle, cursing and hammering on the side of the ship with a 20lb sledgehammer, the barge is all fast and the tug breaks down... at 0700. It took an hour to get all fast, instead of the ideal, which is 10 minutes. So the Tug leaves the ship at 0700, steams the 30 minutes to the second barge, and arrives at 0730. Between making up (lashing the tug and barge together) and sailing, the tug leaves the berth at 0800, and arrives on time at the terminal, putting the second barge in on time, and on budget. 

    The expectation is that the first barge will be done at the ship in just 4 hours, so somewhere around 1100 with the delay, as it was a very small 350 ton splash of fuel oil the barge was transferring, which only should take 1 hour... but the ship is old, and the engineer on the ship is afraid that 60psi which is their normal loading max pressure, is too much for the piping, and wanted the barge to pump the fuel slowly. Instead of one hour, it takes 3. Plus the engineer is eastern European, and that means that no matter how much fuel the barge delivers, the engineer will accuse the barge of attempting to shortchange the ship by 40 tons of fuel (It's always 40 tons with the bohunk engineers. Don't know why). The engineer will spend an extra 30 minutes atttempting to browbeat the tankerman to give him 40 more tons of fuel, for free.  The engineer sent a crewman down earlier to measure the volume of fuel in the barge's tanks before they even got started, so he knows exactly what the barge has on board. But the tankerman actually gave him every drop of that grade of fuel on board that he asked for, and it was the correct amount of course, since the barge can not leave the tank farm unless the amount in the barge on loading agrees very closely with the amount that was pumped out of the shore tank.  So the tankerman tells the engineer too get his dishonest ass on the barge and stick his head in the barge's empty cargo tank. But the engineer never does. Instead, he says he will issue a Letter of Protest because the barge is a bunch of filthy liars and children of filthy liars who also practice usury and buggary at the selfsame time.   Now, a Letter of Protest is an official document, which can be used to start a legal process when disputes arise, so once a Letter is issued, it's a punctuation mark on the job. But the letter is never issued. Instead a Letter of Protest is issued, but not for the volume, but because of some minor inane thing (The barge refused to take the ship's mail or the like) and the volume is never mentioned. This document is delivered along with the actual bunker paperwork and the handheld VHF radio the barge lent the ship, and is delivered by one of the sailors, not an engineer, who coincidentally has no idea what is going on but who is vaguely hurt that the tankerman wasn't more polite and friendly. The barge is now about 3 hours behind his schedule as it stood at 0600.  And that means that the second ship of the day, who is waiting for his fuel at the anchorage, is also being  held up. 

 So the tugboat moves the barge, and the tugboat's schedule is fucked too, courtesy of the dirtbag engineer. The barge is 3 hours late, and the tugboat  was supposed to pick up the second barge after finishing the second ship with the first barge... so now the company has to find another tug to move either the first or second barge. Turns out, both are ready to sail at the same time. 


      And so, when my employer runs out of available tugboats, they hire a 3rd party tugboat, whether it's for a single job or for a period of time, 7 or 30 or 90 days.  and at any time, in the past few months we have had 3-5 3rd party tugs helping us out in NY harbor. 

      This means, for me, we have tugs that know the area, but don't know the idiosyncrasies of my barge, or other barges, and we don't know each other...strengths and weaknesses, people skills or lack thereof, communications style, needs, habits... which means there's a learning curve, which can be frustrating for all. But it also can mean new friendships or at least cordial affinities forming too. Positives and negatives. 

   And that is how my partner Big E and I got to know and like one very young, very nice but very volatile  deckhand.. 

(To be continued)