Big oof. Poor guy.

 So the cargo surveyor mafia in NY/NJ is run by Egyptians. 

   These are 3rd party contractors that go and double check all of our cargo volumes and calculations, as well as those of the shoreside tsnks or ships we load from or discharge to, to give a 2nd opinion and keep everyone honest. ... and they're 95% Egyptians. They're also almost universally gregarious, honest and hard working. 

   Today I'm loading 2 products from shore tanks in Constsble Hook NJ. The surveyor is one of the younger guys, maybe 28.   Poor kid is named Osama. 

       This must be what it was like to be named Adolf in the 50's. Poor kid. 

      I really REALLY don't want an Osama in my contact list on my phone, though.  No way that doesn't get me on a list somewhere.  

 Best I could do is put his name down as Usama in my phone.  It's enough I got a lot of Mohammads, Habibs, Beshoys and Ashrafs there.  Granted half of them are Copts, pretty much ancient Catholics, but still. 

       

Ordinary Time continues

     Well, I'm still here, and while it's another unexceptional day workwise, it's been a good chance to walk the HQ's decks in the heat of the day, when the metal is expanded, and look for leaks in the many, many connections, valves and fittings. Hydraulic fittings that are nicely sealed at 80 degrees start weeping oil at 95, in two cases here. Along with the expanded metal, I was able to crank down a touch with one of the cartoonishly long pipe wrenches we keep aboard, which should see that fitting truly sealed now, and possibly forever. I think rather than try to disconnect it now it might just be easier to sink the whole fuckin barge. 

        I've been cooking with a carbon steel pan lately. First time I'm aware of, and while I'm not sold on the whole "you can make it nonstick' schtick, as it seems my breakfast laughs at 3-4 rounds of seasoning the pan the day before, I actually like working with the pan. Even when I get stuff sticking, it ain't much and it comes off with an hour's soak in water, mostly.   Where I no longer have a working thyroid, I'm pretty well limited to about 1500 calories a day unless I actually work out or get my ass kicked on deck, so I gotta make the calories count and cook well. And I have been. I made cilantro-lime chicken w/ carrots, broccoli and a touch of rice yesterday. Today is Steak, beets and a caesar salad w/o croutons. Breakfast, well, I eat well too. But that's pretty much it for  the day, foodwise. No snacks, no 3rd meal.    I'm in a careful calorie deficit at work, as I am too old to be too fat now, and seem to be losing about 1.5 lbs a week this year, so... progress. 

             I didn't get a science job I bid on, which is a bit of a bummer, as it looked like a fun project- creation of an artificial wetland in an office atrium space with a footprint that is too small to concentrate enough surface area to do the work intended (water filtration), but with a limited electrical budget allowing for moving things vertically... making a stackable series of artificial wetlands. 

  Anyhow, my 2-page proposal, with cost and energy budgeting listed, was apparently not enough. Truth be told, artificial wetlands are not my forte, but it did look fun, and it was in Texas, where I'd like to visit sometime, just not in Beaumont or Houston, where I always ended up before, and which always wasn't that much fun. 

    Well, next month there's an RFP going out for another gig, a little more up my alley. 

    I have a friend, now retired,  who made a name for himself as a botanist specializing in using plants to pull heavy metals and other toxins out of otherwise arable soil.  He basically seeded fields with weeds that had an affinity for certain contaminants, and then kept goats and let them eat the weeds. Twice a year the goats would come in, then the soil turned over and reseeded, rinse, repeat . Cost is about 5% of carting off the soil for incineration and interring in a sealed landfill but it takes a couple of years to work. And the goats don't live to a ripe old age, lol. 

   I don't know where it's a matter of no longer having the intellectual chops or just having a shorter attention span, but I like limiting myself to ideas that are helpful, that solve problems, but which can be reduced to fundamental concepts and carried out and expanded upon by anyone with a little time and experience, and not at a technician's level. 

         Well, in the meanwhile, I gots to go put the oil in the hole and turn the round things to make the oil go in the hole or not. Sadly, I am not being paid to wax orgasmic about the ideas people didn't want to pay me for this time. 

Ordinary Time

 Well, I'm on days now. Since B and I are staying aboard until Big E, our other partner, comes back from med leave, we decided to rotate watches every 3 weeks. So for the past 3 weeks, which have been damn hot, I've at least been out of the sun and working in the cooler parts of the day... until now. 

       Today we're on standby with no time yet fixed for the upcoming cargo sitting on our books... which means it will either be in 48 hours or a case of 'surprise, losers!' and 30 minutes from now. 

        In the meanwhile, we took on stores this morning and I was able to grub up (get groceries) on Monday so we've got what we need to work.  Among the boxes and the like, the company sent us 2 new mooring lines, as UV, wear and age did for several aboard here. We use synthetic lines, which break down into little fibers over time, and shed like a Portuguese girl in the springtime. Stuff gets EVERYWHERE, including in our eyes, which is a cast-iron whore to get out. 

 In the olden days on the oil tanker I worked on, I could consult with the 1st mate, get some eyeball anesthetic drops, and fish out any crap in my eye. These days, if eyewash and a little probing don't do the job, we gotta go ashore, which means a NY clinic or hospital, so you get to spend 8hrs to get seen while 600 illegal aliens are in line before you, getting everything for free. And nobody wants to go to the NY doc-in-the-box and get cholera or smallpox from some foreign mong in the waiting room. 

     But, at any rate, we're deep in the grind here and the days sure all seem the same. 

Happy Birfday America!

 Got a nice view of the NY  fireworks from the HQ tonight, as we were moored on the edge of Brooklyn Bridge Park. 

 For 25 minutes it didn't suck to be in New York. 

 It being a holiday I celebrated with a steak. I have 3 good picanhas in the deep freezer (sirloin cap, or culotte to the French). My metabolism being disordered, sadly it was only 4oz but on the upside it was delicious.  The new reality is that if I wish to see retirement, I should be eating very lightly, so cooked up broccoli and diced a zucchini. 

 And it's been great to have the night off. Back to it tomorrow. Got a pumpoff of some leftover oil, amd then loading more of two different grades.

balances and compromises

 I had a long couple of days but we're off for the night here at the HQ.  

      When nothing goes right, not a single thing beyond that you didn't fall down or crap your pants? No, I guess it wasn't that bad, but there was an unusual aggregation of shit going south this week. 

          The HQ has been modified several times to change how and what it can load and pump off. Originally it was designed to carry two separate grades of oil that didn't need to come in contact with each other- each with it's own pipelines, manifold and  multiple block valves, so that all the tanks *Can* be made common and can be used to carry just one product, or we can subdivide, and where the pipelines meet, we have multiple block valves so there is never less than 2 block valves keeping for example, gasoline and diesel fuel, so if one fails they still can't shake hands. 

 The HQ had a 3rd manifold and pipeline  added so we can carry 3 grades separately.  Loading or emptying the tanks pushes the hull deeper in the water or more shallow, and which tanks we use, and on which side (every tank has a number and the side designation- the bow tanks, called the #1's. have port and starboard sides, divided at the hull's centerline. So filling one and not the other rolls the hull over some. As we move aft, we pass the number 2's, 3's, 4's, etc.  This is important because we usually load two products at a time and often in unequal volumes... and sometimes we load such small volumes that we have to just use one tank, because we need a minimum volume of fuel in the tank in order for the cargo pumps to catch prime. 

  So we have to load our oil with a mind towards list (port and starboard tipping), trim (forward and aft tipping) and hull stress too.

    Tankships are made of steel, which is quite a bit more flexible than you'd think when you're loading tremendous mass on it. Ships MUST be flexible, as the enormous amount of energy the hull is dealing with- gravity, buoyancy, not to mention that the loads aren't static- they change as the hull bobs around, the metal MUST bend a bit to bleed off the forces involved, or it will shatter like a dry stick. So I also gotta load with a mind to not overstress the hull too. It has a limit on how much it wants to bend. If I load, say the aftmost port tank and the forewardmost starboard tank... have you ever snapped a Kitkat bar in half? 

Same reason trees are made to sway in the wind. Good one, God. 

For maximum versatility,  some of our tanks are dedicated to one type of fuel or another. #1's are for ultra low sulfur, #2's, are for low sulfur, 3's are for diesel, etc... each pair of tanks is reserved for one grade of fuel.  This is done because sulfur content is critically important. Plenty of companies have had 7-figure fines for burning the wrong fuel in the wrong place... yeah, the ocean has emissions control schemes. Some countries have more strict regulations than others, and there's a global limit on how high a sulfur content you can burn at all. Sulfur provides lubricity to the parts of the engine that are exposed to the fuel, but it's also a deeply noxious gas in terms of emissions. There's a balancing act there. We don't lump all the like product tanks together because sometimes we load just one product, and we have to distribute that weight evenly for trim, list and stress, too, especially because the other tanks that carry other products will stay empty.  There are plenty of times I will, for example, load tanks towards the midships and fill just one tank on each side- for example, I will fill #2 starboard and #5 port.    Ballast is often used to even out hull stresses, tankers being double hulled, the space between the outer hull and the cargo tanks can be flooded with water to weigh the ship down or even out stress... but the HQ is the right combination of built heavy and built for non-oceangoing service, so we don't need water ballast while bunkering in protected bays, lakes or sounds.  Keeps things simple. 

 Now, next thing is ensuring I can empty the tanks. Each tank has a sump, a low point, where the suction pipe is.  The sumps are located in an aft corner of the tanks, and closest to the centerline. The tanks have a flat bottom, so the higher the difference between bow and stern draft of the hull, the more that the oil flows 'downhill' so the dregs come off faster... but it's black oil, thick stuff, and it clings to surfaces, so it's impossible to get rid of the last little bit. In winter, when the hull is cold, the cold steel makes the oil solidify, so any sort of downhill difference becomes even more important so as not to end up with 'heavy bottoms,' or a deep sludge of solidified fuel.  By end of February, this is almost inevitable to greater or lesser degrees. 

    Now, we have loading programs that help us calculate hull stress and predict trim and list to help us load and discharge safely... It can also be done by hand using a calculator, pen and paper and some charts the builder gave us when the hull was new, but the truth is that the programs are a backstop against experience and understanding. Now, we MUST use all tools in our toolbox to do our job right- that is, if you have two ways of measuring something, two is one and one is none- that is, you are obligated to use every tool appropriate to the situation... and the present HQ is almost an identical hull to my last HQ, so I have 15 years of experience with this hull and its' idiosyncrasies. I know what load plans work well and what doesn't, off the top of my head... but more important, I know that when I am NOT dealing with a gimme of a cargo load, which is about 15-20% of the time,  I know the process and the parameters that keep things bulletproof in terms of safety...There's still an experience factor though, a point where the computer can tell you stress levels on the hull but it can't tell you if you'll be able to do a job if the volumes change and a ship decides they don't want all the fuel they ordered and now you have, say, 400 more tons of fuel than you had expected, causing a port list, when you had loaded based on the presumption that you'd have an even keel and that tank empty when you started pumping off another tank. 

   Just an example.    Just like my post from last week, my poo writing skills make this sound much more interesting than it is. Ever try to cook in a skillet but you went a little light on the oil and you have to tilt the pan to get some more from the edge of the pan?   Same same. 

      

  

Father, the Sleeper Has Awakened!

 

Double standards

 Well, the ride across NY harbor to go pick up tonight's cargo was done with one of our real A-squad tugs. It was a good chance to catch up a bit with people I really like and the captain absolutely greased the docking. Like buttah. 

       We have some tug captains and mates who I like, who range from the best of the best to... not really very good, lol. 

      Today's move was... no notes. Ideal.  When it's someone who's not a good boathandler, but whom I genuinely like at the wheel and they've absolutely fucked the dog on a job, well, we laugh about it and wait. 

    When it's someone I don't care for, OTOH, I am just with child, waiting to be displeased, lol, even if they're slicker'n goose shit and a pro, I'll give respect readily but grudgingly. If they're hsving a bad day, though, I'll admit to being on stamdby ready with foul language and a show of patience... you know, like an asshole. 

 If it weren't for double standards, after all, I'd have no standards at all. 

Ladies and Gents, just so you know, I'm packin.'

 Well, I'm working nights here on HAWSEPIPER's Afloat Global HQ/ Center for Involuntary Abstinence. Has anything new been going on in the world? 

Crazy days. 

 I was unhappy that while I was at home the first week, we had a completely scratch crew aboard- I did a good handover, taking the time to walk through with the ride over crew, go over the books and my copious notes on what they needed to know. 

    I mean, nobody drives the car like the owner, of course some things aren't going to go smoothly, and I assume there'd be a learning curve and some sequelae I'd deal with on coming back to work, but we're professionals, sorta, and the senior of the fill-in guys is no spring chicken, and jumps around a lot working over on his time off. Guy would know a few things about a few things, and did. But not everything, and of course he's got no vessel-specific experience, which is a very valuable thing. No matter, he arrived behind the 8 ball at some level, which is what happens on your first time on a new vessel. You do your best and your past experience gets you through. I knew the guy wasn't going to  sink my HQ. Still, one of my biggest concerns was that no matter how experienced a tankerman is, many guys lack the experience and patience to properly 'run in' a new deepwell cargo pump, at least to what my standard (and that of the guys who taught me) is. 

 So we have 3 different cargo pumps on the HQ, segregated within 3 separate piping systems so that we can carry 3 different grades of noncompatible fuel at the same time without the need to flush and wash the tanks and piping when we change products. specific tanks on board ONLY carry specific types of fuel. 

For our cargo pumps, essentially we have large diesel engines mounted on a platform, with a transmission and reduction gear bolted to it, that is connected by a 6' stub shaft to a right-angle drive, which is bolted to the top of a pump shaft that runs deep in the tanks. 

  I'm not showing you pictures of my setup, because I didn't ask my employer if I could. It's a respect thing, even though they'd probably be cool with it. 

Similar to this, just much bigger. 

The pump shaft is a steel cylinder that runs from deck level to the bottom of the cargo tank piping. The piping sits about 2 1/2 feet above the bottom of the tanks and runs through all the tanks with t-connections to sumps in the individual tanks- We have two pipelines that run fore and aft down the whole hull, and each branches to each tank, and one set of tanks midships that have their own pump sitting on deck above them.  At the base of the pump shaft is a 3-stage impeller that forces oil upwards, where it hits the top of the pump shaft and exits into the above-deck pipelines. 

close enough. This actually shows a mechanically-sealed pump, whereas I have a stuffing-box seal, seen below.

     The shaft seal at the top of the pump shaft is a packing gland, AKA a stuffing box.  I work with diesel and heavy fuel oil, which thankfully have not-so-explosive vapors compared to gasoline or naptha or other nastiness.  Those fuels use mechanical shaft seals with similar pump setups. very different animal. 

The packing is fine-woven teflon-impregnated synthetic material (used to be greased cotton), cut into ring shapes, and compressed by a bronze collar down to the bottom of the stuffing box by bolts. The tighter you compress the packing down, the more it expands outward.  This generates heat by friction. Now, working with oil, heat is bad when there is a lot of it, of course. My big concern is that not all tankermen have experience in running-in or repacking worn out packing in a stuffing box. Many just call and ask for an engineer to take care of it.  On the HQ we only get an engineer on-scene if we make a phone call, and being handy guys, can do many tasks ourselves (which used to be required), and like many old-school tankermen, we've all fucked around with stuffing boxes much much more than we'd like... but we weren't there. The riding-over guys were there. 

    Now, 'running in' a stuffing box isn't rocket science. When the pump is first used (and not run dry, actually pumping fluid), at low pressure you have the collar that pushes down the packing set fairly loose, and wait for the fluid to work it's way up through the packing material as pressure rises inside the pump. when it starts dripping (if it starts dripping. It might not until the pressure gets higher), you tighten down on the bolts that force the collar deeper to slow the seep, 1/8 or 1/4 turn at a time on the nuts. When the seep slows, you sit back and wait. After a few minutes, as friction builds, the packing material now has oil soaking in it too, and the oil is getting hot, along with the teflon-impregnated fibers and the heat will transfer to the stuffing box and shaft too. After a few minutes it will start to smoke a bit, at which point you shut down the pump, and let it cool for 20 or so minutes. 

     Now, you want the collar that compresses the packing to be made of bronze, because it's more ductile and wears easier than steel. Going back and forth tightening and loosening the nuts that force the collar down  isn't' a precise process and the collar is fitted closely to the drive shaft. It WILL rub against the shaft at some point, and being made of bronze, the bronze will heat up and start to wear away a bit (and there being oil seeping out, will smoke too. It will melt if you let the heat build, but in my experience it's not unusual to see some fine powdered bronze around the collar after it's worn in. 

  The takeaway here is that the heat has to be managed, and it's necessary. I WANT to see the heat build, as everything wears in. I'm hanging out with an infrared thermometer or a Mark 1 Index Finger, and when it gets hot and smokes or just starts feeling hot hot, the pump is stopped and it's time to let it cool. 

     When the pump is stopped, the oil in the shaft falls down to the same height as the oil in the cargo tanks, and the heat dissapates rapidly, as the heat was limited to a very small area. Before the heat dissapates, though, the friction actually bakes the shaft packing material, hardening it at its' surfaces, and making it less permeable. After the whole works cools to the point that it's merely warm to the touch, the pump can be restarted, and the  oil will usually seep at a much lower rate or not at all... if it still seeps at a high rate, the nuts on the collar can be tightened down a bit more, and then if all is well, I watch the heat again. Ideally, the heat will not rise to anywhere near what it did the first time. If it does, the pump must be shut down again and the box allowed to cool, rinse and repeat until satisfied. 

       Now, that was a lot of typing to describe, badly, a VERY simple process...which the fill-in-guys emphatically didn't do. They didn't blow up my barge, thankfully, the system is more retard-proof than that, but the fill-in guys sure  made a mess, which they should have known how to avoid. Without airing laindry publicly, knowing what I know about the people involved, I guess I shouldn't be surprised... but in a stroke of good luck, my partner B arrived a week before I came back to work, and found that the engineers had been called to unfuck things and the fill-in guys tidied up halfassedly at least... and B is a guy who abhors disorder. I arrived to find everything suspiciously as good as new, which is odd in a not-so-clean process, and got the 411, and all is well without my having had to do squat. Which I like very much. 

   Anyhow, that took way longer to write about than the download I got from B over what happened. 

"What happened here?" 

"That shithead _________ guy fucked up and killed the packing on the port pump.. He had the engineers unfuck it 'n repacked 'afore I got here." 

"Well I told the guy the pump ain't been run-in yet, before I went home. How bad was it?"

"Bad enough."

"Damn."

"Damn." 

We're coming up on 15 years of working together, B and I. We don't have to talk much to understand each other on multiple levels. Benefits of working with a good guy for a long time. 

Big Box Race Relations and other deep things.

'Tis the day before crew change and so I have arrived to NY and as always it's a gray, foggy, shitty day. Appropriate. I feel... funereal.   Had a great 2 weeks and other than still having a second asshole on the back of my hand courtesy of the cancer fairy and my dermatologist, it was a good 2 weeks. Restful. 

Tomorrow early I retun to the HQ to see how bad the fill-in-crew fucked it up. I heard bad things. 

 But that isn't why I am writing. 

 So I changed my big box store membership from Cosco to BJ's about 5 years ago. Both have stores in Brooklyn, where sadly the HQ is homeported.

 Cosco has more of what I want and is much closer to the office and lay beths... but Cosco Brooklyn is a hell on earth.  Overrun by ultrarude elderly asians, the women especially, as they love to stare at you and yell when you're, God Forbid, eyeing the same selections as them. Waiting politely is not a thing.  To be fair, to a lesser extent the Jewish grandmothers also can be a handful, and they shop in groups, taking great joy in harassing the register clerks and causing delays. 

   BJ's while not as matched to my interest, is further out, close to JFK Airport, and going there means stacking up butts-to-nuts with surly and kinda rude assorted Slavs who also don't jive with waiting politely but do so in a more passive-aggressive manner than the Wrinkled Yellow Menace, and who yell a whole lot less, sharing the Use-Your-Indoor-Voice values I enjoy. 

 Today something was off at the BJ's. Not one shopping cart to be found in the parking garage... and an unusual number of very short very dried up-looking ladies loading things into minivans while slightly less short old men smoked and made gestures and pointed at where the old ladies were to put their bulky shit in the minivan, all without helping.  

 Asia has invaded my Bohunk BJ's. Inside?  Thunderdome Rules. 

 Well, I've been here before. My Cosco days taught me a lot. Male eye contact. Do not slow down and try never to let the cart roll to a full stop or gridlock happens and 5 old prunes will start throwing gang signs and caterwauling a mile a minute in foreign, while staring out from under little hats with unusually long brims. 

The day after the perfect day

 I feel great this morning. 

    The sun's out, I slept in (for me. 7am) late, and I appear to have suffered no negative consequences for having spent an entire day dedicated to flirting with overindulgence of many sorts. 

      Yesterday was a gorgeous hot Florida summer day. I knocked out chores and errands by 10am yesterday, and so just before noon Inappropriately Hot foreign Wife and I loaded up a half-bushel tin with beer, ice, water and soda, opened up the umbrellas that keep me from dying of sun exposure in my own back yard, and jumped in the pool, where we stayed for the next 7 hours. We mostly didn't tune out the world, but conscious that this is my last weekend before what will of necessity be be a big push at work for the remainder of the summer, we avoided serious business, and proceeded to drink, eat (I ordered a big mess of Korean BBQ wings), and swim and be... languid? No, wrong word. We alternated between swimming, floating around and generally enjoying each other's company while maintaining a moderate buzz with the beer. 

   My wife would occasionally come out of the pool to load up on coconut oil and sit out in the sun, and toasted to the gorgeous bronze color, the one that Brazilian morenas (brunettes) are famous for. I mostly managed to stay in the shade, as I already have had skin cancer twice (more on that later) and am a believer now that the horse is well and away out through that barn door.  Still, I got pinked up pretty good, even with sunscreen, because short of wearing a burka, I am going to burn when I'm outside between spring and fall, and I have worked outside pretty much since I was 8. 

      Thing is, we drank a lot of water (and diet soda too, for me) and after the pool day was done, we drank more water and spent the evening mostly on the couch before going to bed around 2300... and so, today, armed with plenty of vitamin D, I'm well rested, and while not sore from the exercise of swimming all day, I'm also not hung over or dehydrated... in fact, I feel pretty good, and yesterday was the first day my hamburgered hand felt ok too, and it's still OK today. 

      The morning after I got home from my last trip, I had an appointment with my dermatologist to get the back of my left hand chewed up and burnt to shit, as I had skin cancer starting in one spot but caught early enough that they didn't need to cut on me, but rather scraped my hand raw and then burn the shit out of a quarter-sized area with a cautery to kill any leftover cancer cells that might have escaped being scraped off. Turns out, if you remove about a sixteenth of an inch of depth of skin and then light it on fire, it hurts more and for longer than simply slicing it and stitching it shut. Who knew?   For the last week my hand has been blown up like a cartoon character and hurt like balls any time that my hand was positioned below my heart. Hydrostatic pressure hurts burns. I've mostly been letting the area dry out and scab over, but cover it when I go out, because it looks like I have a second asshole growing out of the back of my hand and who wants to see that? 

 But, it's healed enough and yesterday it felt ok, finally... and spending the day in the water washed away the scabbing, and there's already mostly nice smooth pink skin underneath. I have a little scabbed area, maybe 20% of the scar, today, but the other 80% appears to be healing well, so when I do go back to work, maybe I won't look like I've been chosen to bear the stigmata. 

 I'm hoping it will look like a bullet wound, and not like someone put out their cigar on my hand. 

______________________________________________

 Now, we got a nice surprise in the form of news from Brazil, too. Construction is  showing some real progress, and the city where our house is located finally approved all the paperwork that wasn't filed as required by the original contractor who embezzled from us, and yesterday the title of the property arrived at our lawyer's office, only 18 months late, so there's a little city at a crossroads in Brazil that has a globetrotting local girl who lives abroad, and her participation trophy husband, with a residence now on the tax rolls there. 

   So, yeah, holy shit I own a house in Brazil. 

The breeze feels good, gravity does not

 Fridays at home are for day drinking and swimming. We've been in the pool for 3 hours and a rack of beers. 

     I got out of the pool a few minutes ago for the first time. Gravity was a stone cold bitch after 3 hours without it. In the pool I am a more buoyant version of my 20-something self; outside? Joint aches, hard stone decking... it was awful. 

 I have a 12-foot umbrella over one corner of the pool to rest under while I scorch in the sun and Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife bronzes herself into Brazilian tan perfection.  

A huge day happened in Brazil for us while we were slapping on sunscreen this afternoon too; more on that later. 

Everyone's being an asshole...

 I missed the last 3 days in the pool on account of a sunburn... what kind of dumbshit with skin cancer gets a sunburn? 

 The kind who lives in Florida in June I guess. Whatever, I swam 3/4 of a mile after 4 shots of whisky and 4 beers and getting the back of my hand hamburgered w/my latest skin cancer removal. 

 Not bad .

Don't Make Me Be The Adult In The Room

I'll admit that I looked the gift horse in the mouth. 

        Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife started her new job yesterday. Losing her last job a few months ago shortly after hsving committed to spending a whole shitpot of money on construction of our house in Brazil, we've been running redlined for some time, and the new job was very welcome. 

    Sadly, many months ago I had rented a little cabin in the Blue Ridge mountains, set for next week. This was to be our only little vacation for 2025, and with the new job, we won't be going. I feel worse for her, really.

 I mean, I'm as pleased as a hen with a new egg simply for being able to go home for 2 weeks straight. It's a bummer we won't get to travel, but I'll be at home and there's whisky there and a pool and my wife and kid. And for some reason, my wife, who is attractive where I am not, seems to enjoy my company. Cry me a river, right?  

We're in our 50's.  She doesn't age much, whereas I am apparently Dorian Gray's picture, aging for both of us. 

Plus, last week my sister, who hasn't been in good health for some time, slipped and fell in the kitchen and broke 2 vertebrae, had a spinal fusion done 2 days later.  So I'll be able to visit her in the rehab as she's hobbling about with her walker. Between her and my wife's last job, April and May were the only 2 months in the past 6-8 months or so where I didn't spend a couple of days in a hospital. I will have time to visit now, be the giant ray of sunshine that I am. 

      Now, my company tacked a cargo on us last minute that will fuck with crew change (as is tradition), which kilt my sleep last night what with the wailing and gnashing of teeth and all, so I was up at 0200, but regardless, in 7-8 hours I should be set ashore, I hope, to make my way to the airport for my complementary bag search and handjob. 

    

We're now 4 days into the high holy month of Gay Ramadan. Working on boats means I don't get bombarded by it. We'll see what happens when I get ashore.  I don't really get into it. I'm holding out for July, which is Sloth month. 

        

Disappointing but not unexpected

 Some crappy news from Brazil.

    The prosecutor's office reported Friday that they decline to indict the builder who ripped me off during construction of our house in Brazil. 

         Persuing criminal charges against the guy was always going to be an uphill battle. As the builder was married to a 3rd cousin (who was also my wife's childhood best friend) much of the rehab work on the house was done without a contract and without a set salary being paid to the builder. 

 And sonufabitch we got suckered. You know that motherfucker picked me up in a Toyota Hilux to bring me to my mother in law's funeral. I paid for that fucking truck, I realize now.  The balls on him.

      The prosecutor's report said that proof of intent to defraud was unlikely to be proven, as the issues at hand could be more easily explained by incompetence, negligence and gross mismanagement of construction, and with no contract to provide a framework for payment and construction milestones, the builder could cite subjective difficulties in construction with minimal evidence. 

 Other countries have weird legal standards. IMO.  

   The upside here is that the report also said that there is ample evidence of mismanagement, negligence, misrepresentstion of credentials and failure to abide by existing agreements and required construction standards to justify a civil suit for damages.  

      Well, it would have been nice to see the shitheel get knocked in the dirt, but more importantly, as we're out over 6 figures worth of cash we worked (and work, as in present tense) insane hours to send, I want some of my money back, and we have good odds of getting it... though whether it can be collected from the SOB is a nother matter. 

         I'm saddened but not surprised by all this. Brazil is not famed as a shining beacon of justice in the world... and by not operating under a contract, I put my dick on the chopping block and can't be too self-righteous that I didn't look whether or not I was being made guest of honor at a very aggressive bris. 

           I did my wailing and gnashing of teeth already and I'm tired of mourning. 

        Now, the NEW project manager is co-organizing with the new architect and does have a contract. The house is enclosed, and waiting on finishing touches- tiling, installation of sinks, cabinets, toilets, counters, lamps and the like. Done in 1/3 of the time that the dickhead original builder took to get half done. 

 The facade is under reconstruction now. The facade looks a lot like a storefront to me, but it's just a visual block. Going through the door just puts you in an enclosed foyer. There is also a gate that opens to the driveway. It looks nothing like a house to me.  As of a few weeks ago it looked like present-day Gaza. 

The yard, outbuildings, pool, outdoor kitchen and mother-in-law apartment (which will be where my wife and I stay, as it's built to be airy and sunny for my claustrophobic ass) are still all in states of  suspended construction. I hope to resume there this fall if I can scrape the money up. 

Pictures eventually.

 Anyhow, 2 more days and a wake-up and I can sit in the pool at home and marinate over it. 

 

Break-in period part 1

 Friday. 

    After today it's 4 days and a wake-up until I can go home. 

   First some pictures from the shipyard last week. 

 The shipyard sits in a small valley along a river. I knew upper state NY was nice in theory, but the pictures don't do justice to the area. It's a lovely region. 

 Just uphill from the dock where the HQ was launched, a section of a new barge was being built upside down. Here it is being turned right side up so the yardbirds can weld the deck on. This section when done will be welded to other sections until the desired size is acheived. 

Other barges of assorted sizes under repairs. 

    My employer's project manager, who works with the shipyard, lent me his personal truck, an F350 diesel Super Duty, to get groceries, fetch parts and supplies, etc. Great dude. 

 The night before we sailed, my employer sent a fill-in guy as my 2nd man. He was there to provide... well, I don't know, moral support? Nice dude, anyhow. He didn't have to actually do anything, and I hadn't asked for or needed him, but I'm not the owner either. 

I had to use a little fish-eye filter to get this shot, but the river the yard is built on is small enough that the HQ is tricky to navigate out to the Hudson River, a few miles away.  I sat midships to snap the photo. 

Walking further forward along the starboard side main deck. 

Our assist tug had also been in the yard, and sailed at the same time. Our assigned tug, not seen here, was pushing us. The company wisely sent a senior tug captain, one of our pool of stand-out great boathandlers. Our assist tug, also operated by an expert, is also the tug my son spent a year on as deckhand. Time pasdes quickly, though. My kid just finished his freshman year of college. 

 The lighthouse marks the junction of the local river with the much larger Hudson river.

 About 15 minutes after we got into the Hudson, it's a matter of just going downriver for 10 hours at speed to get to NY harbor, so I turned the watch over to the fill-in guy, showered and went to bed. 

     I've been sleeping great since I got back to the HQ. But I've also been working hard at doing physical things I don't normally do- crawling and climbing, heaving on shit, turning wrenches while on ladders, team lifting really heavy things with gangs of guys, whatever. After a week of this I was SORE. But good sore, the kind that doesn't feel good but you know is coming from hard work and not a pulled muscle or pinched nerve. 

      We arrived in Brooklyn during the overnight and I slept in (for me at work) until 0530. Didn't feel a thing, dead to the world until my middle-aged bladder said I had about a minute's grace to get to the head.

Anyhow, about a gallon later, I was treated to a lovely sunrise... over the garbage transfer station.  Sigh.  I was in NY city again. 

   The word wasn't done. Alone again after my fill-in guy went elsewhere, I had 5 days to get the HQ ready to get ready for the Coast Guard's 5 year inspection, so we'd be issued a Certificate Of Inspection, the big one all commercial vessels need to go back into service, so the pace couldn't be slacked off. 

Ass: Kicked. State: Happy

 I had a good week.

       I mean, it's still going but it's been a good week. We don't have days off here at HAWSEPIPER's Afloat Global HQ. 

        The HQ sailed from the shipyard on Thursday. We were working right up until sailing. When our assist tugs arrived to pull us out, we still had a half dozen shipyard workers aboard grinding and welding the last project, modifying the cradles for our deck cranes. 

  After I got done with the interior work on the house, I worked outside with the shipyard project manager and the yardbirds. What followed were some days of climbing and crawling, turning wrenches and making and checking off lists. I'm going to bed sore and tired every single day, but you know, I've been enjoying it. 

      Bunkering near enough to nonstop has been bad for me mentally. I'm not good at repetitive mindless work and I didn't choose to work on the water to do the same bullshit every day with no pleasure to be had in the process. I think the last 2 months have been very good for me in that regard. I'm doing different things and seeing different places. 

       ...So we're back in Brooklyn now, but the work's not done yet. Before we go back into service next week, the Coast Guard has to come inspect us and give us their blessing for what we've done. And I have to finish putting the HQ back into service, which is mostly a matter of stenciling objects, inspecting safety gear and overseeing a thousand little things.  

    As an example, I had to spend 2 hours yesterday dealing with scupper plugs. All oil tank vessels have deck containment- that is, the perimeter of the decks are ringed with a short steel wall, so that any spilled oil can't go over the side. On the HQ the deck containment is a 10-inch tall steel plate welded to the deck that runs the entire cargo deck.  Rainwater and oil pool if left to accumulate. In theory the  containment should hold thousands and thousands of gallons of oil, keeping it out of the water... but we're damn good at keeping oil in the tanks, so instead the deck containment mostly traps rainwater. We have big rubber plugs to block off about 20 scuppers, drain holes around the perimeter, and they stay in at all times when we're working, being removed to drain water only when needed and only under direct supervision. We're funny about that. 

 Well, yesterday I had to find them all, (they were removed for shipyard) inspect them, replace any with damage or dry rot, and hammer them back in. While doing that I had to make lists of supplies I need, answer phone calls, talk to anf work with our shoreside support, managers, the big boss, give tours to show off the work done, etc. 

      It being a holiday weekend, the staff all bailed out in the afternoon, and I had a couple of blissful quiet hours, stenciling pipelines, running down papers, and dodging the on and off rain. 

     Oh. And my partner B came aboard. His temporary assigned barge is still ongoing, but he was moored down the street and had time to inspect the work done and move some of his things back in. It was mostly just good to see my friend. For the past 15 years we've spent 6 months out of the year together at work 24/7, so not seeing him for 2 months, it took some time to catch up. 

   Today being Saturday on a holiday weekend I have work to do. More stenciling, more inspecting, more log-keeping and today, oil changes on a generator and at some point we'll take on fuel for my own needs too. Since we burn low-sulfur MGO (marine gasoil, a type of very clean diesel oil) same as our tugs, one of my company's tugs will come alongside and we'll take on a chunk of their fuel. Generally the tugs carry 50,000 to 70,000 gallons of fuel so they can spare me some of that. 

      I do plan to wrap up early today, not quite banker's hours but a 9 hour day, and get some hardtack, rum and salt beef (by which I,sadly, mean salad, diet pepsi and chicken breast) as well as some sundry office supplies for work. 

 Back to it. 

 

Man at work

 A couple of busy days later...

      Ok, wow, so there's been a lot going on here in the shipyard. I've been working with my employer's project engineer, the guy in charge of shipyard stuff, and he's one hard working dude. Good guy, too. He's mostly left me to do whst I want to do, which is to get the HQ ready to go back to work, and it being a zoo outside with workers everywhere, I've mostly been inside, painting, scrubbing and the like. 

      I had a good talk with the project manager about how influential living conditions and ergonomics aboard are on attitude and productivity. My company has newer vessels and barges- the HQ just had her 20th birthday and had a 30 year life expectancy when built I believe... the ergonomics of the living quarters are good- better than the newer tank barges, which have larger quarters but terrible ergonomics which make them far less pleasant. For some reason my employer builds tugoats with beautiful accomodations, fine finished wood, plenty of stainless steel, and durable surfaces... it certainly wows new hires and guys who have worked elsewhere... the tankermen, OTOH, get formica, linoleum, OSB plywood and ABS plastic. BUT, as a good sailor knows, a little putty and paint makes a finish what it ain't... and the shipyard manager even let me borrow his gorgeous F350 diesel pickup to hit the hsrdware store for putty and paint. 

  I'm working 7am to 6pm. Taking it easy, lol. Just 11 hours. It's been great to be mostly let to do what I want, since what I want is for my barge to be productive and pleasant to work on, and the shipyard is putting a lot of new pump parts and hydraulics in. Things are looking well. 

 

The Half-Assed Frabjous Day

 It was a good moment, walking onto the HQ for the first time in 2 months yesterday. I have been waiting for the day. 

   Every 5 years, my company (and pretty much everyone else too) pulls all their tugs and barges out of the water for major maintenance. Yesterday morning while I was on my way here, the HQ was launched back in the water and moved to a berth at the shipyard, where work on her internals continues. 

     Yesterday was messy. As I wrote in my last post, I effed the dog and left some stuff at the office by mistske, which I realized an hour after my taxi left New York. We had to turn around, and got into the city during peak rush hour. Fun stuff. My driver, whom I know well, normally looks like a short, chubby and jolly Osama Bin Laden... I'm definitely on his 'bomb him twice' list this week. 

    I got to the shipyard after 2pm.  The yardbirds had already connected shore power, and there were electricians and mechanics up the wazoo in the gen house. The old and underpowered generators are in pieces... but sadly weren't upgraded it seems. 

    The house?   It was bad. Guys had been working on the alarms and upgrading the tank monitoring system in the office, so it was a mess, but also they were uding the head, the toilet, as an outhouse.   Without power and running water, a marine toilet is just a fancy hole to piss and crap in. Which they were doing.  So the entire house smells like a side street in Mumbai. 

    I spent 5 hours cleaning, and they gave me a yard worker to help, which was nice. Jesus, who's a little Mexican bro, and myself, dug in and got the quarters livable. He went home at 4, and by 8pm I had my bunk made and made a BLT for myself.  Most of my cleaning supplies everything not bolted down is gone, stolen by the yardbirds, which is called Cappebar, a nasty but historically traditional practice, but I found a bottle of bleach, a bottle of dish soap and also some sort of cleaning fluid and a box of rags, as well. I tried mixing the bleach and cleaner, as it wasn't a very good cleaner, outside of course in case it turned into foofoo gas, a variant of phosgene, which is good for killing Englishmen in trench warfare but not great at cleaning counters. 

       Today is more of the same. I'm focusing on the house, and unfucking it for my own sake. I've got to hike to town today to hit up the local grocery for more cleaning supplies. Tomorrow and this weekend I will be outside putting stencils on things and getting us compliant with Uncle Sugar's rulebook.   We should be back in service in about 10 days. In the meanwhile, I'm enjoying working alone when the yardbirds aren't here.

    I will say that this area, the Hudson Valley about 100 miles north of NY, is really, really pretty. 

    

I am old and also an idiot

 

Well, today is going like a fart in a car. 

    I'm about an hour north of NY city in a taxi, which I have had to have turned around to bring us back to NY, because amidst the 3 caches of my stuff scattered around the office  that needed to go with me, I forgot about one of them... the one containing my laptop bag and medication, which, sadly I need to stay among the vertical people. 

 So now my 2 1/2 hr drive is going to about double. 

     Fuck. I am slightly more absent-minded than average, I admit, but this is a recent high. 

 Also I'm 51 today. How the hell did I get old? 

   Today started off with promise. I slept like crap, but today's the day I go to the shipyard to rejoin the HQ, which I've been looking forward to. I ruck-humped a bunch of stuff over to the office last night (cache 2) and stowed it in a discreet spot. I already had some supplies and seasonal clothes there (cache 1). This morning I brought the rest of it (cache 3) and plans changed a bit, so I sat around, talked to a few people, unfucked my plans and got in the taxi when he showed up, after packing cache 1 and 2. 

 Headed back to the city now. I'm a bit ashamed of myself but at least I'm not causing cascade effects and fucking things up more. 

Economics is a cruel bitch

 Is 'Ironic Disappointment' a thing?  If it wasn't, it is now. 

       So I have finished my latest side quest, (contract job) which was a short and interesting shallow dive into a form of chaos math that was both cool in that the figgarin' part could be done with a couple of keystrokes, while the part that required me was using the results to apply to a biological question.  

    You know the classic drawing of an atom? 

The orbital paths around the nucleus can be called Probability Fields, because superficially,  we have no idea where the protons and electrons are, precisely, at a given instant relative to each other... we just know where they're more likely to be and less likely to be.

 I know, I know, it's possible to know the subatomic particles' exact positioning, now. It wasn't always thus, and it still isn't unless you got the good gear. So bear with me, I'm being colloquial. 

  So you can use math to find probability fields, when you can't find something or don't know it, but can find out where it's more or less likely to be, which is useful information. 

       So, I got paid to take this math, and build  probability fields of the pathways a neural signal might take to go from A to B in a brain across a series of tracts, pathways and individual neurons.  I did this using a simple computer model made by a collegue, of a clump of nerve cells, as my testing arena.  

   Think of this: an individual neuron dies or one of the connections between it and neighboring neurons is damaged. How does the signal reroute?  What if one good path has been working hard and some neurons are starting to flag, metabolically, attenuating the signal? (This would change it).  Why is the path taken used vs another? 

        My little brainstorming session was one of a dozen or so being contributed... all using tgeir own models, for which I was paid the princely sum of $21/hr, pre-tax, which will translate realistically to about $10/hr.  The primary investigator, a non-tenured part time lecturer in physiology, makes about 50k/ year, working full time. 

   Fuck. Good thing I work on boats.

  Anyhow, I'm back to having one job again. 

    

Happy Mother's Day!

 Well, I can't be there, but my kid took Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife to lunch for Mother's Day, to a nice waterfront cafe that we like. 

     This makes me doubly happy in that this is the first year my wife's dealt with the loss of her own mom on this day and my kid's keeping her occupied.  

I took this pic in Brazil a few months before my MIL passed away.  She was already ill but fighting hard, but on the day I took this pic we hosted over 300 cousins, aunts and uncles for a 3 day party and it was a perfect success of a long weekend. 

   

I'm old (part LV of III)

 Yesterday turned into a bit of a shit show. It was the watch that never ended. 

 So I'm not 100% familiar with this week's barge but I know it a bit now, having been here a week.  My 2nd man left yesterday, and a new one was en route.  I got up at 0430, started my watch at 0530. 

      Got off watch at midnight. Long damn day.  The Shell terminal we were at is in violation of US law, and requires American shipowners to pay a bribe in order for crew to pass through the terminal.

    They disguise it by saying it's a hiring fee for a security contractor to escort crew through the terminal... but there is a specific law that forbids this. 

 My company, rightly, will not pay a bribe, as doing so is, after all, also illegal. 

 And thst's how I had an 18 hour watch. And so, a few hours later, here I am. 

   This is why I carry a case of white Monster energy drinks in my grub bags. 

 Today I'm motivated AF to stsrt the day, as the weather will deteriorate this afternoon. Soonest started, soonest done. 

The week that was

 It's been mellow here.   

    Seriously, the weekend was quiet here aboard my temporarily-assigned berth. They don't work near as much as we do in the bunker fleet. It's been good for my mind and soul. 

 I was almost bored for a time, yesterday. It's been rainy for a few days, so not being able to go outside is a bit tough. I'm trying to start to lift weights regularly in a routine, and, well, yesterday was a rest day I guess, as I didn't want it enough to have a wet ass and the bench and weights are outside.

          Sadly I got word that the skin cancer fairy has visited again and I have to go have a funny spot on the back of my hand blowtorched when I go home in a month. Caught it early, at least, don't even need to be cut on. And that's ok. The biopsy they did last week makes it look like I got an asshole on my hand anyhow. Maybe it will heal less anus-y if she goes to town with a cautery instead of a razor next time. 

    I have another week to go here, for which I am grateful. As of right now, it looks as though I will be on a tugboat next week, as there's no demand for a cranky middle-aged tankerman in NY and the HQ is still in the shipyard for at least the next 3 weeks. 

       So... the house in Brazil is coming along. Construction on the main house is starting to ramp down. Windows and doors are in, tiling, even some paint... done right this time. This week the facade on the front of the property is getting tackled, as it looks straight out of downtown Gaza, present day.

     It's an urban house- that is, it's a walled mini- compound in the business district in the 'old city,' the original part of the city built after the conquistadores rolled in, subdued the indios (my wife's ancestors), introduced Christianity and set up a market at a trade roads crossroad.

 The house is about a 10-12 minute walk from the market, which still stands today, on a residential side street, and most importantly of all, also a 12-minute walk (I checked) from the only pub in Brazil where the owners know me by name. 

       The budget, well, it's out the window courtesy of the trashbag original builder, who, I'm told, will be under indictment later this month. The new construction manager has been proving to be a real gem. She's tight-fisted, has enormous attention to detail, and has been up every vendor and tradesman's ass, sideways, daily. 

     After this latest phase is done, in about 2 weeks, we're between projects, and can take a minute to rebuild the Brazil kitty, which is doing better than expected but which will still be nearly empty next month w/the bodies we've got on retainer. Construction won't restart until June/July I hope, which will be focused on finishing the interior- furnishings, cabinetry, fixtures, appliances, etc. Basically things I don't give a shit about... I want to get moving on the pool, outbuildings and landscaping.  I also want the money to do all that; but if wishes were fishes, etc etc.. Gonna be a bit, lol. 

 Every year I seem to say 'next year I'll slow down.' 

 Maybe next year I'll slow down.  Probably not. 

 

   

 

 

 

Did anything happen while I was away?

 When I am not at work, I don't read the news or engage in shitposting and doomscrolling online. And so only big things make it through my filter of  utter indifference to all things not related to friends and family. It's datin' time with Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife, time with our kid, B family members, my friends, and to do chores and relax too. 

 I guess the pope died. Best not to speak ill of the dead. 

  it's been an amazing 2 weeks. We flew to Boston, I got to see one of my neices get hitched, saw family, reconnected, and then mostly tuned the world out and spent 90%+ of my time with my wife. She's not working right now- after almost a year of 80-90 hour weeks, she finally can rest and so we've been welded at the hip since I got off work. 

 Sadly, I returned to work this morning. On the upside I am again not bunkering for the next 2 weeks. I'm on a straight diesel run and in fact ai am at anchor right now, spending the night hopefully quiet tonight. 

 Monday I was hard at it all day- chores and preps, packing my bag, etc. We finally got freed up about 4pm, and spent 3 hours drinking caiperinhas and swimming in the pool. I got just the rught amount of sun exposure to not be dead-body white anymore...but also didn't burn. 

    Yesterday was travel day. It was unexceptional.  

 This morning was the single longest and most arduous bad drag I've ever done, carrying all my clothes, bedding, food, water and soda about 1/4 mile- 5 trips back and forth, between shore and the dock. Got it done, though. Mighta burnt off my blood pressure meds, lol, but it got done. 

     Anyhow, back at it. 

     

Reports from home

 Goddamn, I've lived. 

       I'm at home, doing home things. I attended mh neice's wedding in New Hampshire; it was beautiful and perfect and emotional. How many times can a guy who is NOT comfortable with crying stave off a whole-ass jag? 

 At least 7-8. I absolutely overflowed during the ceremony. But fuck, so did the groom, a 6'6" gorilla of a guy who got outmatched by his wife, who just sandbagged him every time. It was wonderful to see 2 kids deeply in love get hitched. 

 My neice introduced her bf to me before... it was nice to NOT see him at a funeral for once. 

   The wedding was well done. My oldest brother, the family's rock, was absolutely overwhelmed giving away his little girl; but he did so with grace. 

    We flew home a few days ago. Today was my kid's bday. We had a nice day but my sister and nephew, who live 10 mins away, didnt show up. Bit of a fuck you but so be it. I'm glad I flew 1500 miles to be there for my neice and my brother, who both noticed.  

 It's been an emotional time. But a good time. 

Shipping up to Boston

Well It was a good last week to round out a good tour. The Ghetto Sled remains a decidedly uncomfortable vessel and I am happy to see the ass end of it but the light workload made the time pass by well enough. 

 Crew change, though. Fuck. 

 I couldn't find my MMC, my Merchant Mariner's Credential, a passport-type booklet with my master's licence and assorted endorsements. Panic struck. I found it in a jacket pocket I don't ever use while we were in NY rush hour traffic for 2 hours. Weird.  

 The Precheck line at JFK airport security was 45 minutes, so people were extra spicy in the terminal. Not a smile to be found. I had a shot of whisky with powdered eggs and freezer-burnt bacon before going to my gate... which was $55, turns out. Wasn't that a bit of an eff you? 

     After that, though, the sun came out. I had nobody next to me on the plane, my rental car in Boston is a really nice F150, and I drove to the old neighborhood where I grew up. Only a little has changed. My parents' little 900sqft raised ranch house got torn down and a little McMansion put up. All the neighboring houses look the same, but the names on the mailboxes are all different. The old neighbors have all died off. Nobody escapes anno domini. 

 Still, before going back to Boston to pick up Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife, I hung out for a bit with a childhood friend, checked into my hotel, and after fetching the Mrs we had a late dinner with the friends who introduced us. 

   Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife and I met at a wedding. I caught the garter, she caught the bouquet (no shit, 200+ witnesses) and that was that. My wife worked with the bride, who became a close friend, and I grew up with the groom. 

   So it was great to catch up here almost a quarter-century later. We've always stayed in touch but it's not the same when you're not face-to-face. Try telling that to kids today, though. 

      Anyhow, today's a free day before we meet up with my wife's cousin (who is posessed of possibly the most spectacular decolletage on planet earth and very pleasant to look at) and her husband, a fellow American and genuinely good fun dude. 

   There will be high-fives at our mutual good fortune I'm sure. 

 For now though, today is for reminiscing. 

Ummmm....

 I just got called 'big daddy' a few minutes ago by one of our tugboaters.

 I don't know how I feel about that. Damn kids. 

The last of the good times

 Well, it was a good run. 2 weeks of good work at work. But that's over for now. 

        My final week this trip sees me back in NYC, back to bunkering ships aboard a manned bunker barge, in the smallest quarters imaginable.  It's been about 10 years since I've been aboard one of the Ghetto Sleds. 

 The Ghetto Sleds are some elderly trunk deck barges- barges with an elevated maindeck that stands taller (about 5 feet in this case) than the perimeter of the barge, basically leaving a 2 1/2 foot wide walkway around the perimeter. 

   The house on these things is TINY for 2 men. The office/galley is about 8x10, the head is 6ft by 6 feet, and the bunkroom, with 2 beds, is also 6x6.  Luckily I am about 1/8 inch under 6ft tall but anyone taller has to sleep with their knees bent.   

    It's uncomfortable. When you're sleeping, the guy on watch is 3-4 feet away, as is anyone else like deckhands stepping in the house, cargo surveyors, etc.  

     The Ghetto Sleds, there being 4 of them around the east coast, are actually good training platforms.  The cargo pumps, piping and tanks are simply laid out and easy to operate and for some reason, very forgiving if you let a tank run dry and suck a little air into the pumps.  On the HQ you get 3-4 seconds max of sucking air and the pumps lose prime, and repriming can be a bear when it works at all on a near empty tank. On the Ghetto Sleds?  10 seconds. Big difference for a newer guy who is learning the ropes. Plus, the small uncomfortable quarters make one more grateful for the standard somewhat larger quarters found elsewhere in the fleet. 

So here I am.   Next week I get off early, one week early. Innapropriately hot foreign wife is flying up to meet me in Boston to attend a family wedding and do some visiting before we head back home. 

 

A great day makes you think...

 Yesterday was a good day.

   I've been having some of those lately.  I don't think I'd had a nice day at work since last September.  And here I am, several of them now recently. 

     Midway down Long Island Sound, in beautiful calm water, our assist tug broke out of push gear, swung up to the bow and took our tow pennant, and swung us out on a short tow, staying about 600-700 feet ahead of us. 

     It's been YEARS since I was towed. The silence was amazing. I could hear the water running along the hull, with just the drone of our generator in the distance. 

 I must have stayed out there an hour, just communing with the infinite. 

 Today we're in Providence RI, and tonight we'll head back to NY.  Tugboats being built for power not speed it's about a 22hr ride, but it includes a coastal passage with exposure to ocean swells for about 8 hours....and that's where we were last night when I was just falling asleep. Maybe 8 degrees of roll, just perfect. I slept AMAZING and I'm a horrible sleeper.   I never slept well in a heavier swell, but this was perfection. I rose up to being almost awake once or twice, and the swell was comforting AF.

 

 I've really been feeling awful lately. Nonstop work, broken sleep, harassment by shoreside workers wanting my attention at all hours, often repetitive because they don't all talk to each other, not enough time or opportunity to decompress, inability to maintain personal hygeine due to defective, broken or nonfunctional equipment, and increasing demands for work-based minutia that must be addressed in free time. Plus some stresses in my personal life, the fiscal disaster we're trying to unfuck in Brazil... it's adding up.  I'm not depressed or anything, just miserable and I feel like a massive pussy just admitting that. 

 Thank God for my wife. She's keeping me sane, and a good wife makes the unbearable bearable for a little longer.

        

        I've noticed I'm not the only one here. 

        It's not just me. My peers at work are feeling it too, and we're starting to talk about it, because it seems nobody ashore gives a fuck. I've had a young but very capable peer reach out to me twice now, and I don't think he even knew why he was compelled to call me beyond the need to feel unalone.  I'm personally seeing more incidents happening to experienced, senior tankermen, not the low-quality new guys we're being inundated by, but the senior cadre, the guys trying to do the jobs and who can be trusted to do them well. It's distressing to see  mistakes, sometimes severe and even career-ending, made by bewildered men whom I KNOW to not be fuckups. 

      Turns out, there's a name for that.  Situational distress, and while it seems to be common now among peers and shipmates, it was not, up until the workload went through the roof and the work lifestyle went in the toilet. 

      As we work 24/7/365, these things ARE a work-related issue, and something I hope employers will address. My off time while aboard is theoretically NOT my own time. I'm being paid to do a job... but if every day is a sucking hole of misery, something has to give, whether it's me... or me, I guess. 

      There's a great article here on the subject: 

https://gcaptain.com/moving-beyond-mental-health-a-smarter-approach-to-human-risk-in-maritime-operations/

Most maritime incidents don’t happen because of undiagnosed mental health disorders. They occur due to momentary lapses in judgment, exhaustion, and impaired decision-making. The problem isn’t just mental health—it’s the silent accumulation of operational stressors that lead to situational distress: cognitive fatigue, emotional strain, and performance degradation in the moment. These human factors are subtle, dynamic, and often invisible to traditional mental health tools, yet they’re the most common precursors to errors and accidents at sea often resulting in loss of life, environmental impacts, and asset damage or loss.

Situational Distress: The Missing Piece in Maritime Safety

Situational distress is not a clinical condition—it’s a temporary but critical stress response to the working environment. Research suggests that while only a small percentage of seafarers start their careers with clinical depression or anxiety, the demands of life at sea lead to a significant rise in reported psychological distress symptoms over time.

Many cases emerge due to accumulated stressors—like fatigue, unpredictable weather, and high workloads—rather than pre-existing conditions. Unlike depression or anxiety, they don’t require psychiatric treatment, but they do require proactive intervention to prevent it from escalating into chronic fatigue, burnout, or operational errors.

Despite this, most mental health assessments in maritime settings treat distress as an individual issue rather than an operational risk factor. A captain under extreme fatigue might not meet the criteria for clinical depression, but their exhaustion could still impair judgment at a critical moment. A traditional self-reported survey won’t catch this, but behavioral risk assessments can.

Well worth reading.  

Tour de farce continues

 

        Whoo, I am SORE today. 

          I'm back in beautiful Bayonne New Jersey, the French Riviera of New York harbor, this morning. 

     I finished up my last week in Philly yesterday, and it was a damn good week... it reminded me of what my job USED to be like, when I truly liked my job. Interesting jobs, smaller ships, time to do what we needed to do. 

     It was just as busy in Philly as it is here for us, but as there is almost always a slightly longer steam in between load and discharge, it allows you to recharge your batteries in between ops... just 30 minutes more sometimes, and that's enough. And I mean, the weather was fine too, mostly.  I saw bald eagles just 1/2 mile from the company's office.  The most startling thing of all, and it was a minor thing, but the oil terminals are so SILENT there. No scream of pumps, or steam lines hissing, no having to compete with 30+ people on the same radio frequency to talk to the dockman... all good. 

        So, just as the ride last week from NY to Philly was a trial that ended up being ironically humorous, the ride yesterday from Philly to NY was terrible again, but this time not funny in the least. Frightening and infuriating this time. 

     My day started at 4am yesterday, which is close to normal- I got about 3 hours sleep since I was doing an odd watch rotation last week, but so be it.  I got a ride by tug to the company office/HQ, which is a lot larger than the NY office HQ, real estate being what it is in NY.  The philly office has 1/4 mile of dock space, and it was absolutely jammed up for crew change. There was literally no space whatsoever for me to get ashore, but in the middle were 4 tugboats all rafted up side by side, so with my Large Collection of stuff, me being homeless at work with my barge in shipyard, my worldly posessions at work and I did a 4 tugboat bag drag, which is a ballbuster.  Literally. The bulwarks, or gunwales, are 4 feet tall or more, and canted inward, so you end up crushing your nuts as you get a leg over, and with the inward cant, plus the tugs' bumpers (our tugs have a rubber bumper about 12 inches thick surrounding the hull at the waterline), it's 5-6 feet from one bulwark to the other, so passing a heavy seabag, a trash bag of winter clothes, a trashbag of summer clothes, leftover groceries, a bag of frozen meats, my bedroll, my laptop bag... basically 8-9 bags of shit, it's a workout. 

 X4. 

 THEN I climbed up a ladder to get ashore, back and forth with my shit... which I then could drag to the parking lot. 

 If that was tedious to read, I assure you it was tedious to actually do. 

        I got to the Philly office with time to spare, and I got to see some shipmates and had a nice talk. One of them, one of our senior tug captains, was going in the same crew van to NY as me. I even got to see one of my former trainees, now an experienced tankerman down there. It was a good time. 

 But the van ride... there were 5 of us in the van, and our stuff, and it was pretty tight but we fit everything.  The van driver was a tall black guy, hitting his vape pretty hard while we were loading the van. Different company from the one we use in NY. 

   What was in that vape?  I'm guessing the good stuff because the driver was TERRIBLE.   He cut people off, and jerked the wheel, drifted within inches of other vehicles, and got lost repeatedly WITH THE GPS OF HIS PHONE ON!   He kept driving when the GPS told him to turn, missed highway exits, even got off the highway and into an office park before I realized we were fucked up, and when I piped up and said 'Hey, where the fuck are we?' He said 'My bad, I was following the GPS.'   

 No, no you weren't. You were driving while high, and not looking at your phone, and only half-listening to it as well, you fucking retard. 

 Being an idiot AND high is a terrible combimation. 

 After this pretty much all of us yelled out directions, which he sometimes got right.  There was cursing. 

    As we approached NY his high peaked. 

    We were somewhere near Staten Island when the drugs began to truly take hold.  The driver weaved, drove 2mph in traffic with an empty HOV lane next to him (until I gently said 'bro, take that left lane next to you, please'). Then once we got over the Tappan Zee bridge he ran through some red lights until we all chorused 'Red Light!' every time. He then smacked his side mirror off a parked truck's mirror. And missed the turn off to the side street to our office, and was headed for The Battery tunnel entrance until we all got yelling again. 

       I got off that van drained, ennervated and pissed off.

    Oh. And also, the whole ride, rap music and black radio dj's, dissing each other I guess, and saying retsrded shit. He wouldn't turn that off. Imagine 4 hours of those fake court tv shows made a baby with Jerry Springer, plus a bunch of idiots bragging  about themseves in rhyme set to a drum track. For 4 hours. 

    Made me happy to get out of that van.  4 hours for a 2 hour ride.   

     When we were 10 mins from the office, the NY crew scheduler called me and changed my assignment for the week.  I had a pretty good gig lined up, a diesel barge normally left for the fuckups, elderly and lazy, as it has simple jobs and not many of those... but I went instead to the OTHER diesel barge, which works a little more, and better, goes out of town a little. 

   So I had some luck.  I'm on there now. I came aboard at a busy terminal in Bayonne NJ, and 5 seconds after putting my bags down in the house I was at the desk starting the calculations for a 3 part cargo blend, something I'll share at some point... anyhow  I got the figgarin' done and the signoffs signed, put on a poopy suit, (a boilersuit, coveralls, speed suit, whatever you want to call it), and fired up the hydraulics to pick up a cargo hose and swing the crane ashore, got us started and the 1st product loaded before getting relieved by the night guy. 

    By the time I was putting my clothes away, it was after 1800, and I was getting sore AF. I got my stuff stowed, my bunk made up, talked with my wife a little and absolutely DIED to the world for 8 hours. 

     Today? I feel my knees and shoulders. We're waiting on the next tide to sail to a lay berth to sit for the day and let the squally winds die down a bit before we try to catch the tide tonight for the ride through Hell Gate (NY's upper east side and the entrance to  Long Island Sound) and The Race at the other end tomorrow, ultimately  to Providence RI to pump off before riding home to Brooklyn again. 

 Should be fun. But most fun of all I think I can sit my fat aching ass down today for a few hours.