Almost like the big boys.

Here we are disconnecting from the barge Massachusetts, after delivering 111,000 barrels on board. As mentioned in the past post, I worked for 5 weeks on that barge, so I know her layout and the crew well. I had to zoom the hell out of my camera to tak this picture through a window... flash photography ain't so good for oil tankers. You can see here that much of the cargo deck area is freshly painted and rust free. Believe me, this is a drastic change from this time last year, when the ship looked pretty damn you-glee.

















The Paul T. Moran is a big damn tug. You're looking at 60 feet of her in the barge's notch. It was great to catch up with my former co-workers.













Here's the rest of the tug, minus the upper wheelhouse, which wouldn't fit in the picture.














Side view. Still can't get the whole thing in one frame.














We did very well in our vetting yesterday. No obvious boo-boos, and some helpful-sounding suggestions were on the beef list, according to inside sources who were pretty scanty with the details. In addition, I saw the company's marine superintendent, a former chief mate I had worked with, and he didn't give me shit about my blog, which is a relief. I think that it finally sunk in at the home office that I wouldn't write anything that would a) shoot myself in the foot jobwise or b) make them look bad unfairly.

I am, in the end, all about making people look bad fairly, but mostly I do that with my own self more so than anyone else.


On a Far More Serious Note

Just under 1/2 of the unlicensed crew on board has asked me for the number for the HR department of the owners of the ATB we just lightered into. This I find depressing, if understandable. I am discouraging all but a couple of guys, and the only reason I'm doing this is because some of the guys here are passing through. If they don't want to stop here, I understand. It takes a certain type to tolerate the negatives here, regardless of the many good points of this ship and company.

Therefore, I am going to carry out an older threat and publish my first manifesto of the Autumn, entitled, "5 Things shipowners can do to improve crew retention without breaking the bank." Stay tuned.

A Little Lightering

Quite a day today. We started off by preddying (think prettying) the deck prior to a Vetting. In addition to this, we also took alongside the Tug Paul T. Moran and barge Massachusetts, pretty much exactly as planned and mentioned in yesterday's blog. I got to say hi to some people I liked quite a lot, and point out some of the glaring differences between our two vessels to the guys here. All in all, a nice trip down memory lane, and the Chief Mate, who was busy readying for the vetting, let me run the show more or less while he got his paperwork in order. Granted, this isn't anything like two ships lightering, which is a delicate ballet. This was more along the lines of them getting alongside, and us getting hooked together for the cargo transfer. Still, it's good to be given a long leash. In my job, micromanagement is a hassle. There are some officers who see their Able Seamen as trained apes able to follow directions given in 30-second increments. Luckily, my own ship doesn't have that issue. We are mostly staffed by permanent crew (8 of the 9 officers are either permanent or frequent flyers, and about 2/3 of the unlicensed, as well), so in many cases, we are able to work to our strengths; mine being a burning desire to be left the hell alone to do my job, this forces me to do my job very well and build trust and a team spirit on deck. I figure that this will hold me in good stead when I can jump the hurdle of the 3rd mate's exam next year.

Speaking of which, I am now getting an occiasional passing grade on my Deck General practice tests! This is one of a whole battery of exams that will take 3-5 days to complete when I have the exam. Nothing makes me less confident in my knowledge base than taking these practice exams.
The combined US Coast Guard 3rd/2nd mate of Unlimited Tonnage exam carefully assesses one's knowledge of test-taking skills. Note that I did NOT say that it tests one's knowledge of seafaring skills. It does, a little, to be sure, but by learning how to take the test, one can boost one's grade up despite being a trained shoemaker versus an experienced sailor. Unfortunately, this is another government-issued standardized test, which is to say, the GRE it ain't. I spent my first 26 years in education. Private schools, college, grad school, all reliant on standardized tests of one for or another. Bullshit and rote learning will pass the test, but I prefer to think that I can master the material.
That being said, I'm buying the Capt. Murphy books just as soon as I can free up a couple of hundred beans this trip.

Oh, and the Vetting? If you don't know what it is, you don't want to experience one. Everyone's excitable, and everyone's organizing their paperwork. A Vetting is an inspection of the ship's organization, , safety systems and compliance with guides, policies and conventions that dictate how things get done. Basically, someone is getting paid to see that we're doing our jobs properly. This is a good thing, as it keeps the little guys (i.e., me) safe and our managers in compliance with rules that are designed to keep us alive. In theory. Now, after several years of this BS, and with the number of annual vettings on a steeply-curved rise, this ship takes pains to keep things to standard, which is to say that we don't run around and get in compliance 3 days before the vetting. If the vetter's can't do a surprise inspection and find the ship safe and compliant, then the ship is in a bad way. The vetters don't do surprise inspections, as, thankfully, there's paperwork to compile, and we've still got cargo to handle- pulling key people off the job requires planning and logistical arrangments so the staff can meet with the vetter. This is a pain in the ass but very necessary, as the division of labor makes specialists of us all.

For the unlicensed crew, it's a bit of a scam. We don't get asked about the things that are job-specific and for which we are responsible. We get drilled on our knowledge of people in the company who we will never know or meet, and the jobs they do. "Who is the Company Security officer?" "Who is the Designated Person?" Folks, if I need to call someone in the company, things are bad. There's 5 deck officers I will have to go through first in the chain of command. If there isn't an officer to punt to, than oh shit...I'm gonna be talking to the Coast Guard, FBI and/or Jesus first if we get to that state.

These are the questions we get asked, not "What are the positive and negative limits in PSI for a properly working PV valve to open up for?" That's the kind of shit that the deck gang should know. Our lives and livelihood depend on that, and our superiors can't be everywhere at once. We're not going to die if we don't know who to call in the office to report an oil spill. We don't call the office. We call an officer. This is spelled out quite clearly on virtually everything ever written about the subject. On the other hand, if, say, a PV valve starts vibrating and gasping, we know that there's a vacuum building in the cargo tank, and that if the valve was stuck, we could have had issues. Bingo, damage averted. Unfortunately, sometimes the people on shore do what they do for reasons never explained to the lowly sailor, and thus, an environment of mild and mutual contempt is fostered as a result. Fighting that inclination to believe that the people who are able to kiss their kids goodnight every night actually enjoy occasionally shoving square pegs down our round holes is a challenge.

when the chickens come home to roost

At home, this is called a "Baage." We eschew the letter "Ah." It's wicked queeah.


Baage+Tug (*coupling at bow)= ATB
Rumor is that we'll be lightering into the ATB (Articulated Tug/Barge) that I worked on this past summer. Should be interesting. Somehow or other I'm the onboard ATB expert. Personally, I think that 5 weeks isn't enough to master a whole class of vessels. My memories of the ATB are mostly limited to excellent food, sunburn, hot weather and catching fish... pretty much the average summer for yours truly 15 years ago as a college student, with the exception of the fat paycheck.
I am facetious, I suppose. I did learn a lot on the ATB, mostly limited to codifying the skill sets learned here on this tanker. My time as a fisherman prepared me to be an AB tankerman; a hard day on the tanker is easier than an easy day as a lobsterman. Thusly, being on a barge with no Inert Gas system and a bubble instead of a digital readout of pitch/trim made for a nice day relatively speaking. Being appreciated for a certain amount of raw ability helped, too.

Tomorrow, however, I have to explain why I buggered off the ATB. It wasn't 100% by choice. I just got tired of waiting to get called back to work! I can't sit still. I've got itchy feet.

ahhh...

Nice to be back up north again. Cool weather, sunny... it's all good.
The ride up north was uncomplicated; exactly what I needed. I worked 4 hours of overtime every day, stood navigation watches at night, and slept when I wasn't working. Kinda dull, in all reality, but the unofficial motto of the US merchant marine is "Boring is Good," so I'm down with that, just now.

First off, a big shout out to my newest readers at the Pentagon! I’m flattered to be read in a place where people are doing things more important that driving a floating gas station.

Having said that, our floating gas station has just completed a voyage from Houston to New York, which was (finally!) my first opportunity to get to sea in something other than Hurricane Ike conditions. The ride across the Gulf of Mexico could be characterized thusly: sun, humid, calm=diaper rash. Not good times, sort of. It was nice to stand navigation watches where I wasn’t getting launched off my feet.

We encountered small gales when crossing Cape Hatteras, and I was sucking fabric halfway up my large intestine every time we took a roll for the first few hours. I guess I needed to see some seas to get my groove back, ‘cus I feel appropriately salty again… for the first hour there, despite the fact that we were barely rolling, I was contemplating the positives of growing corn for a living in one of the square states. Good to know I’m not a total pussy, anyhow. I calmed down. I think that I can finally put the chapter of my career that included Hurricane Ike behind me.

On the ride north, I’ve been working a lot of overtime, which leaves almost no time for the finer things, such as blog writing. Meal times have been my only time to relax. I’m making some pocket money, but it’s getting old, this being on the go from 0730 to 0000, with just an hour to nap in there after dinner. I’ll be glad in a way, to see us hit NY harbor, ‘cus I’ll have time for more critical practices: video games, reading and such.

Anyway, this is a boring entry: my muse was murdered after looking over my checking account when I first got into cell phone range.

What's in a name?

OK, so, in all seriousness, couple of things before I sign off and we head to New York.

1- check out Velu's blog and see things from a Captain's perspective. Very cool, and the man has a gift for language that far exceeds my dry style.

2. You know I picked Paul The Pirate for my screen name, but after four years of sweat and fear, modern piracy finally made the news when the Somalian pirates went pro and ripped off a ro-ro full of tanks and munitions off of Africa. The industry has been complaining for some time about this issue, 'bout time someone else took notice. Kennebeccaptain himself talks about his own experiences as master of a ship that regularly passes through the Malacca Straits, ground zero for piracy in the modern world.

3. One of the guys on board actually pooped his pants when he sneezed while carrying a 70-lb chunk of steel up a ladder today. This ranks up with 'man getting hit in crotch by football' for tasteless humor.

Hey, I'm not here to be tasteful and refined. I do enough of that stuff when I'm home with my family.


Talk to you next week. You stay classy.
p

get thee gone!

Finally! After 18 days at anchor in the Mississippi, we set sail on Thursday for Houston, where we are loading up for a voyage to the northeast. I can’t tell you how happy I am to be 1) getting underway again, and 2) heading out of the hot Gulf of Mexico. Good times.

So, as some of you know from before I pulled the plug on my last 3 years of blog entries, this will also be our first real outing after Hurricane Ike beat our balls in last month. We made our hay while we were at anchor, for certain. The ship looks better than she has in a few years, It’s hard keeping up the exterior without resorting to blasting in a shipyard, but we’re busting rust like madmen, and I anticipate a couple more days of the same.

Yesterday marked the 30-day point for me. I’ve been here for a month. In New York, our next port, I will be switching watches to pair up with Thaddeus Maximus, 3^rd mate and practitioner of the dark art of Celestial Navigation.

Celestial Navigation, or navigating by the sun and stars, is a big glaring hole in my resume. I am as yet ignorant of it, to be blunt. I can take an azimuth, or work out the amplitude formula to find gyrocompass error, which is the most common form of celestial mathematics that we do on ship, but the old school skill of taking star fixes is as yet beyond me. Hopefully this will change. I have been beefing up my astronomy knowledge in preparation. Luckily, I am a geek, and therefore, I’ve already got a journeyman’s working knowledge of the constellations in our hemisphere, which should help a little.

To make the step from Able Seaman to 3^rd mate, there is a shit ton (1 shit ton=6 months of lost vacation, thousands of dollars and weeks of study time) of classes to be taken, plus exam prep and assorted paperwork. The details are excruciating. I am about 60% done already with classes, although I have yet to take the Celestial Nav, Search and Rescue/Emergency Procedures, Watchkeeping, Cargo Handling&Stowage and Weather sections. This will be happening starting next February. In the meanwhile, I have 70 competency exercises to do this voyage. These range from mundane (adjust a sextant) to extensive (plan a voyage of at least 1200 miles). This is, of course, in between working 8, 12 or 16 hours a day. Not so easy. Working with the Captain or chief mate, I have to perform these evaluations under scrutiny, and, along with the classes and the evaluations, there is still an incredibly stressful and intensive exam series to get out of the way. Long row to hoe.

Anyhow, I’m excited about getting to sea. This marked the first time EVER I was glad to go to Texas. Usually that’s a bad thing! Now, however, it’s almost time to button up the ship and head to sea, and hopefully be reminded of why I do this job in the first place.

Stir not-so-crazy

And thus we have this morning, the first one in a while where I have almost no desire to get out of bed. Today is day... let me think, 17, I guess, at anchor? 17 days in the Mighty Mississippi.
My personal record for consecutive days at anchor is 19. That was on The Monseigneur, another tanker, a couple of years ago. There were fights breaking out on that ship.
For us, well, we've got our secret weapon. You see, I spend more time with some of these guys than I do with anyone else here on God's gray earth, and I count them among my friends. So we abide, together. When one of us has a wicked case of the Fuck-It's, the others cover it. We put the disaffected guy on the best job we can find, and the next day it'll be fine, and one of us can have a non-shit job to do for the day. That's how we roll. The fact that we have cell phone service and fresh groceries from the other day helps. Fresh veggies help us maintain sanity.
...I'm just saying, it's 50-50 that today might be my day.
It's the sun, you see. My pale ass is wilting fast. The last few days have been unbelievably hot and sunny. This is no shit, but it was 110 degrees where I was working the last 2 days. That's awful, and not just for me. Orlando The Commando was hanging in the air on a Bosun's chair, (a plank of wood suspended in a rope sling, used to let someone work aloft) and I was tending him. Try as I might, I couldn't stop it from raining on Orlando. My sweat poured down on him. 2 drips a second. Poor guy. I mean, that's just nasty.