...eye had a tough day

 Oof, yesterday.

       Yesterday started strong. With two days of rain and wind forecast, I ran a blitz out on deck in the morning and did my weekly walkthrough. We do a daily walkthrough as well as keeping eyes peeled every moment for things that ain't right, but in the weekly it's official, and once done I had found a few things to do and set out to do them. 

 The rain jadn't arrived but it was blowing pretty decent, a steady 15 and gusting around 25, and stuff was flying. 

     You'd be surprised how much dust and such gathers in a short while on a big steel boat. 'Sweepings' was the old word for it back before auntomation when you'd send 20+ guys out on deck before breakfast to tidy up with brooms. Hawsers chafe and shed flecks and bits of threads made of plastic as UV, use, and weather age them. These bits go where the wind directs them, usually into the lee of a piece of steel stucking up- pipe supports, stanchions, equipment, etc. The HQ has a pretty busy and obstructed deck- not as much open space as you'd think. On top of the sweepings we've been at anchor and the deck is liberally polkadotted with a lot of birdshit- there is an enormous amount of small bait passing out to sea right now from NY's rivers, and the seagulls are feasting. So there was thousands of dried bird shits and fish scales and dander and feathers everywhere, which is why I was wearing my sunglasses (safety sunglasses, too) out on deck despite it being gray. I was being sandblasted as the wind rose. Sweepings, scales, dirt, paint flakes, powdered birdshit. Yum. 

...and something got in my eyes a few times, which I was able to get out... until the last time. Whatever it was, it got under an eyelid and lodged. Good times. We've all been there. Felt like an elephant, not a fleck of whatever, but I finished what I was doing pretty rapidly- I pulled a worn rope out of service, coiling it in one of the low-traffic areas where it will get hoisted ashore for disposal next time we're at the office. By the time I was done the elephant in my eye was roaring moderately well and I went to the head, washed my hands and face, and started looking for the fleck as I could. No dice, it was probably on the back of my eyelid.

 Well, it's not fun but I dropped some artificial tears in, without success beyond my eye watering, and then switched to a full on eyewash. Used a liter of the stuff, ran a wet Q-tip under my eyelid (!), nothing. 

 After about 30 minutes I chanted some curses a and called the office. They had to send me ashore and I went to an opthamologist's office in a ... so-so neighborhood where I sat in a waiting room with a dozen elderly Jamaicans who were all chain smokers by the smell. Luckily there was some sort of rap on the sound system. Also, the doctor's office had a sound system. Which was playing rap. 

 The eye doc was a New York Jewish Doctor right out of central casting. Good guy with a good attitude. He said I was the first mariner he'd ever had as a drop-in patient and his office ladies were in a lather about how the people who got me an appointment were willing to just do anything to get me seen ASAP but in the most professional way possible. 

 Anyways the doc tortured me a while with an eye wash, an anaesthetic, (I really should turn spell check on, btb), then a VERY poky exam, and some flourescing dye to see the surface scratches on my eyeball, which were out into the white thankfully. 

     He swept (again with the q-tip) and flushed the blind area where he couldn't see, high under my eyelid, and said he got 'a little junk' but nothing major, which suggested to him that the elephant had been dislodged some point after my eye was so red and irritated that I couldn't feel the difference for all my nerve endings already saying F you to me at the time.

   Oh, it was pouring, pouring rain when I got ashore, btb. I was cold and damp already and following my appointment, now cold, even more damp and with an eye so red it was glowing in the dark.

  I'm in the Doughnut Hole as I type, the cell phone dead zone in NY harbor, so I can't send a photo. Imagine the cigarette lighter of an old car after you press and hold it for a full minute.

   So, cold, wet and feeling glorious, I got a taxi to a CVS near the office, picked up some vasoline-like goop with antibiotics and antiinflammatories in it, and got back to the office, saturated, freezing, (it was like 53 degrees by then, not cold but cold if you've been huffing old people breath and sitting around getting sticks and fingers jammed in your eyes). 

 I hitched a ride on a tug and got back to the HQ out in the a chorage about 7 hours after I left. 

 Just... not a great day. 

 Today... today my eye's a bit sore but better, and no elephant. It's nasty weather still and we're getting bumped and shoved around a fair bit, as we've got barges rafted up to us and the River Rats aboard don't know how to secure a boat properly in a harbor, so they're clapping my cheeks accordion-style, stretching their lines for their sins, but beating my balls off for mine. Sadly, the river rat tankermen can't be taught to tie up properly, as they already know everything, though I did try, diplomatically. 

Quoting myself, 'Hey, we're getting bashed together pretty hard. Can you pull your bow in so we're lying together snug? We're moving like an accordion now." 

River rat: 'Naw, I ain't gonna tighten my bow and stern lines with hydraulics, they's finna snap.' 

Me: 'They won't- you keep the barges tight, the lines can't surge and strain. They'll hold until the wind is sustained 60knots for 8-12 hours. That's the only way we found it to hold comfortably these last 15 years.' 

 River rat *looks at me dully* 

 I tried. So instead we get to spend today feeling like we're doing the cha cha. 

 So it goes. 

Me being uncool

 I lost my cool last night in a way that left me a bit ashamed for myself. 

       I didn't really blow up, just yelled and got surly, did a bit of 'Old Man Yells At Cloud' and tried to be nice again. 

 We had a somewhat elevated risk move to make, requiring coordination with a couple of tugboats, two tugboat deckhands, and three tankermen from two different barges plus myself and my second man (my partner Big E's son, who's brand new). The tug captains were trying to hurry us and wanted to start before everyone was ready and in position. The tug deckhand who was sort of in charge of the other guys started doing as he was told, which wasn't the right thing to do at the time, but the guy didn't know this,  and the tug captain doing the maneuvering, who I know, is the sort to be offended that his orders not be carried out. 

 I chimped out rather than say 'Whoa, whoa, we're not ready. We aren't in position and it's not safe yet.' Instead, feeling egotistical and offended that my many years of sage experience not naturally make a bunch of strangers defer to me for no reason, I tried to just take charge by virtue of being the loudest and most willing to take a swing at anyone, which is retarded. Luckily, a young punk among the other crews reaponded by not taking me seriously and trying to joke with me, which at first infuriated me but which quickly made me realize that bullying wouldn't work and wouldn't make the job more safe... at which point I calmed my tits and used reason to ASK the others to do the right things.

 Not sure exactly why I was being a dick, but we were doing something requiring managed risks which I know how to do well, but I was a participant, and absolutely not in charge. 

 I have a massive pet peeve about bad seamanship, too, which is rampant in tugboating and getting worse in my own company as we recruit  river rats, freshwater sailors from Mississippi and Texas, not oceangoing sailors, from other regions who are trained to be untrainable. They come from a culture that is not truly compatible with saltwater work, despite the similarities. When a deckhand has been told to do things, but not the why of it, they do not learn to seek perfection and take pride in being masterful in their trade even if its' a humble one. There is something deeply impressive (to us) when you see a deckhand whose a damn good sailor. They become the eyes and hands of the officer at the wheel, sure, but better than that, they become BETTER than the officer, and the boat and operations improve... or, as the river rats do, they simply rise to the very, very low bar set for them. 

 Well, before I rant, my point was that I fucked up and rather than letting my experience and relationship with the more experienced men speak for me, I tried to speak in the language of the river rats, and became just one more dumbass. 

   Not so much a lesson learned, but a good reminder not to be retarded and that I need to relearn to use my acid tongue powers for good. I can be mean. I know that. In the moment I don't struggle for the words when I want to be shitty to someone and, say, question the virtue of their mother. 

 Gotta chill. 

Mini-rant

 I wish like hell that cruise ships would put 'bunker door' or something equivalent on their bunker doors.

    Jockeying two tugboats and a couple of thousand tons of fuel and steel into a narrow berth next to a ship with a half dozen hatches along its' length, and then trying to guess which hatch is the bunker door BECAUSE THE OFFICERS ON THE BRIDGE WHO HAVE A RADIO DON'T KNOW. 

 Instead we get to spend 20 minutes trying to get stable alongside with the tugs revved up burning about $30 a minute in fuel each and pinning us alongside, praying we don't dent or damage anything the whole while... and then playing whac-a-mole and waiting for a hatch to open, praying we chose the right door... and because of course we didn't, coordinating with the two tugs, deck gang and ship crew, fighting the current, we get to slide along the ship, beating the shit out of our $10,000 each fenders, and try to find somewhere to put mooring lines because, oh yeah, cruise ships almost NEVER have sufficient chocks for a bunker operation to work alongside easily and none on deck. Instead they're recessed in the hull, so there's no crewmen to catch lines. We're working self serve.

        Sometimes we have to put out 2 feet of bow line, fall back 200 feet, PAST the spot we want to rest in,  put out a stern line, crawl forward 50, 75 feet maybe, secure the bow and stern lines, and try to wrestle a half dozen hawser-sized spring lines using chocks if we can find them, little coke-can-sized mini-cleats recessed in the hull if available, and probably also an industrial-sized lifting strap for a heavy crane, shackled to a hawser with a 50lb shackle the size of your head, with the strap wrapped around something solid on the ship, like an external frame or something. 

      Oil tankers, container ships, they usually have several nice big chocks. Easy. Crew throws down heaving lines, we tie the end of our hawsers, crew pulls them up and puts them on bitts nearby. 

😡

Intagible rewards

 Well, this week has been fine at work. We had a quiet couple of days before a weird cargo got assigned to us... which is fine, as the HQ is where the weird cargoes often go, us being a sink for experienced talent in my company's fleet (which is part of why I am still here. I have damn good friends who're also damn good mariners here on board). 

     I miss B and Big E, though. B's home for hos scheduled time off, and Big E is out with a bum knee and working hard to get back soon. 

 I got one of our fleet's Nigerians as my fill in guy. 

        Years ago, Seabulk marine (a large American maritime company at the time) had a deal with Nigeria for offshore oilfield services. As a result, Seabulk's Nigerian office was able to finagle US citizenship for some of their locally born supply boat captains. Nigeria wanted a US company to use experienced local mariners, but Seabulk wanted their boats to remain US flagged and Jones Act compliant, I guess, and that means having US citizen crew... so this was a pretty unique compromise. Unusual, from what I gather, and to be honest I'm piecing this together as I can so I may have some of the story wrong. 

    Long story short, I have an experienced Nigerian captain with me this week... we get along well, and he's a decent guy.

       There's no real culture clash except that we're wildly different. He's enormously loud, with a booming voice and no volume control. He enjoys sensory input, often having video chats with large groups of other loud Nigerians on speakerphone while a soccer game is on TV and the VHF radio in the galley is turned up to 11... and the food... he seems to really like boiled salt fish, and boiled Scotch Bonnet peppers and other strong spices... which together are not completely unpleasant but not harmonious to my own preferences, which don't include audio cacophany and a meal of  CS gas-flavored semi-spoiled old fish.

    Thing is, however he does it, when I'm sleeping, and I'm right on the other side of a bulkhead, I can't hear it. The volume is just barely not able to penetrate my room, so I can't bitch... it's just different. And as far as work goes, the guy's competent. He handled loading and blending weird mix of oils just last night for us. Ao no, I'm not really bitching. I'm bemused. And he's here until Wednesday, when my next fill in guy willl be a green tankerman, specifically Big E's kid, which is very cool, as Big E is one of my 3 closest friends, and while I wish he was here to be with his kid, he knows that the kid's in good hands, and I know the kid, and he's quiet, hard working and willing to learn. So I get a week to polish his skillset, as he's already a few weeks out of training, which is a good time to work with someone on moving beyond the basics.

 Overall, pretty decent. 

Groan...

 Headed back. At my local airport, and I'll stay in a modest Brooklyn hotel tonight. 

    It's been an eventful 2 weeks off; not in a dramatic fashion, just lots going on. 

 My first week home I was too beat to get a lot of my projects done. I handled the big stuff, like checking the drywall for moisture and painting the ceiling in my formal living room, which is sort of a great room, I guess, in that it's got like 23' ceilings, which makes painting and running a marlinspike into the drywall looking for soft spots a right pain in the balls. 

 The roof leak we had left some dramatic water stains in the ceiling, so I was happy to find no soft spots and residual moisture was nil, and I just Kilz'd the paint and repainted as I could.

 Turns out, being middle aged on an extension ladder about 20' up and at too shallow of an angle makes the ladder pretty damn unstable, so I was bouncing like a spastic kid... but it got done and my house doesn't look quite so ghetto.

 My second week, Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife spent in a little cabin isolated in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The 800mile drive surprisingly was pretty mellow but we've always road tripped pretty easy. 

 Beautiful country. Lovely place, good people. Romantic AF. 

  The drive back  was good until the last 3 hours. South FL had a flood event, my area having gotten 20 inches of rain in 24 hours. Driving home in the dark for the last 5 hours, 3 of them were a real white-knuckle experience, but we got home safe. Yesterday was spent packing and prepping...and here I am.

   I'm on the plane now. Boarding was chaotic as it always is at Palm Beach airport when you fly to NY. It's deeply unkind but there is always two groups who make the trip unpleasant. The Wheelchair Pilgrims and the New York Jews Behaving Badly. 

     I've mentioned both and also my hesitation for calling out the latter group but good Lord they're pervasive. 

   The Wheelchair Pilgrims are flying to get to NY and receive the miraculous healing that enables 22 of the 25ish people who board in wheelchairs to walk off unassisted. It's impressive to see, like a televangelist from the 80's slapping the devil out of people's foreheads... and I am...blessed... to see it every fucking month when they line up for the Wheelchair Race at the gate, vying for position. The Depends 500 is an exciting thing to experience. Sour, dour Boomers lining up, the sights, the smells, their pit crews- non-english speakers often in headscarves and other garb. Perhaps they're ninjas, trying to do good and maintain a secret identity. 

As for the Jews Behaving Badly, it's Boomer retirees, the men fat and despirited looking, the women with hair like dull brass and the look of someone who just smelled a fart... the physiognamy is wildly accurate.

 Being a frequent traveler, I always get priority seating and boarding, which I pay for and which I have to compete for with the JBB, who frequently don't pay and try to use through yelling, bullying, crying racist about 1/4 of the time, and complaining loudly.

 Today wasn't bad. I didn't have to get someone to get out of my seat (about 1 in 6 flights)  and it only took about 10 minutes to get from the jetway to my seat as the husbands of the JBB have to root through one of the 4 bags their wives have brought aboard and put in the overhead bins.

  The micacles have already started. People who were wheeled aboard, at death's door, now fling their near-full size suitcases around over their heads as they get their sudoku book out from behind the sensible shoes deep in their suitcase.

 If I sound unkind, I am. Reluctantly, though in this case. I don't like poking fun at Jews, Jesus and his mom being among their number. But still... God damn. Every time, lol. 

 

Home!

 I'm back home finally. Happy to be here. Not a lot more to say. No wins were stacked, a couple of losses to people around me though. 

The Real Chinese Fire Drill

 We're moored snug, rafted up at the company mooring ball, a permanent anchor set out of the way here in NY harbor.

 The harbor's getting the remnants of former hurricane Isias today. It's sloppy driving rain and wind, and cool. Nasty day to be outside.

 Happily, I don't need to be outside. After a pleasant bunch of Chinese crew on a cargo ship took the last of our bunkers aboard, we rafted up alongside another bunker barge at the mooring and are riding out the weather in the Donut Hole, an unfortunate dead zone in cellular coverage right in the middle of New York harbor. For the past 15+ years a 1x1 mile area here has only intermittant cell service. Sadly, the donut hole is dead nuts over our heads. 

       But yeah, to the title... 

The cargo ship we were transferring fuel to took two grades of fuel through two of my 100' cargo hoses. Normally, I lift the heavy flexible reinforced rubber hoses using one of our two 60' deck cranes- there's well over a ton of weight on the hose at the choker sling that I use to hoist the hose up.

  I do my best to get the end of the hose (a large steel pipe flange about 10 inch diameter, with a 1' thick steel blank bolted to it with eight 3/4" studs) close to the ship's manifold, guided by the crew. The crew will use a davit (a stubby crane) and also some 1-ton chainfalls to position the hose flange where they can unbolt the steel blank from the hose, then bolt the hose flange to their fueling manifold. Often we will use reducers (steel pipe adapters) to match sizes of the manifold, as the sizes can vary depending on the size of the ship and the size of the piping... figuring out what size the ship's manifold connection is is often a source of challenges because of language barrier and also the Imperial vs Metric system, lol.  Luckily, I am a fluent speaker of Bad English, between experience and also two decades of marriage to a South American.

   Generally there are 2-3 guys working on the ship to connect the hoses. It takes from 15 to 45 minutes for each hose generally.

 This Chinese ship, there were SIX guys working, and it looked like chaos... just Brownian Motion. But it really was the classic Chinese Fire Drill. Within 20 seconds order was being made out of disorder. There was no yelling or pointing, and nobody appeared to be in charge. Just six individuals who only LOOKED to be randomly moving about, because by appearances, each guy just chose a task based on what he thought needed doing, and they all just quickly built off whatever the last guy started doing. Within two minutes the hose was lashed to the ship's heavy rail, the davit was taking the load off my crane and my cargo sling disconnected, and while I was swinging my crane and lifting the 100lb hook/headache ball out of the way, another guy put a chainfall on the hose too, to help with fine positioning, and guys appeared with long wrenches to start loosening the nuts on the flange.

 Less than 10 minutes start to finish. No yelling, no idle hands, no directions given. Seriously impressive stuff.

 The whole job was like that. Sometimes after we finish transferring fuel it'll be 90 minutes of me waiting for the ship to start disconnecting the hose, while the engineer, hems, haws and scratches his balls doing his part before signing the documents and letting us be done. 

 This ship? After I finished transferring fuel oil, secured the pump and swung some valves, an engineer made a face, blowimg air out, to indicate that they wanted me to blast compressed air through the hose to clear the oil in the hose, like blowing a snot rocket- pinching one nostril shut and blowing out through the other one. An air blow only takes 60 seconds. As soon as I was done, guys were swinging wrenches to disconnect the hose. While the engineer was going over the papers and checking his tanks, the crew disconnected the hose. No bullshit, under 15 minutes from when I called out the time and 'Finished with bunkers' to 'Release time is...' over the radio. 

 'Release' in this case means we're all done, all oil is transferred and the ship has custody of it,  papers are all signed, samples are sealed, and the transaction is complete. Only thing left is for us to sail.

 I wish every job I did was that good and professional. Truth is, that was a once-every 3 or 4 year event. Things are usually much less smooth.