times a' passin.

In two more weeks I'm going to head for home. This is a good thing.
One of the day trips I've got planned is to take my wife and boy down to Woods Hole, MA, for the day. I used to live and work there, 12 years and a lifetime ago.

For those of you not in the know, Woods Hole is the Mecca of marine biology in the world. The Oceanographic Institute, owned by MIT, is the most prestigious center of marine sciences in the world. My dad worked for WHOI (Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute) for years before relocating to the Boston area, and I worked at the Marine Biological Laboratory as a marine biologist... well, as a basement troll, really, I guess. Technically, I guess I am still a marine biologist, when the money's right and all. Dreams of running away to sea aside, I'm still paying $700 a month for 6 years of a rather expensive lesson on what I ended up not doing when I grew up.
My career as a scientist was exactly like my career as a mariner; I am a generalist- a subject matter expert on nothing, but able to perform in a workmanlike fashion on many levels.

When I first started flying solo as a scientist, I performed research on the reproductive habits of the lowly green sea urchin Strongylocentrotus droebachiensis (I can still type that name fast!), an animal that suffered the most rapid decline from overfishing ever recorded, after becoming a popular item in sushi restaurants. I created a simple and fast way to measure the ability of sea urchins to repopulate in heavily fished areas, which could also be used by fishermen to help them target more lucrative fishing grounds themselves. I got to take my show on the road and talk at scientific conferences, and basically dined out on the popularity of uni, urchin eggs served over rice.

Much like the urchin population, there wasn't much of a future for me in the sushi-support industry, and I ended up spending 6 months living on beer and being rained on in Scotland, shortly thereafter, before writing a tortuous volume on the environmental impact of market globalization in Salmon farming. Unlike the sea urchin paper, my salmon study gathered dust rapidly- to date, I don't think even I have ever read the report cover-to-cover. When all was said and done, I ended up coming home from Scotland jobless, to catch some lobster with my old high school teacher, Mr. D.

God was good to me that summer, and I received a job offer almost immediately after gettting home. I was offered a position at a lab in Woods Hole's Marine Biological Laboratory...I suspect mostly for my incredible skill of being able to procure large quantities of lobster at below-market prices, but fuck it, I had a job. I continued to fish with D a couple of times a month, but I was working on something more cutting edge. Woods' Hole is only a little over an hour from my home, and I was able to find a place to stay by renting an incredibly expensive beach house along with a bunch of other junior scientists. More beer science, and fun followed, and it was a wonderful time.

My background as a lobsterman allowed me to get into a research study on lobsters' nervous systems. I had to have a crash course on neuroscience in general, and had to carry out a study without being an expert on the matter. I had a good academic advisor, who chained me to a basement laboratory, and made me spend the next 3 months studying and researching, whilst also living as the social coordinator of a bunch of brilliant (and mostly female) science geeks like myself. At the end of that time, my part of the research grant was broke, my study was complete, and I was able to go to conferences again, and get to know people. I was already getting tired of travelling so much with no job stability in sight. Really, it set the stage for me; I knew I wanted to catch lobster, but I also wanted to do something extraordinary, like being a marine biologist, or being a merchant mariner, like my dad. Being a biologist was just easier for me, so that was the route I took.

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So, with all that baggage, I'm going to bring my family to see the public face of Marine Biology in the US. My old lab relocated to Boston a few years ago, so I can't bring my boy through the dank basements full of odd sea creatures, but there are still plenty of other labs that I can sneak a peek into. I figure with all the fuss of the past month, I could use a trip down memory lane.

'taint that a lovely shade of blue!

Today was hot. I worked outside. There was fresh paint.

You might see where this is going. I sat down on a very heavily painted length of pipeline. International Paint's InterLac 665 Ocean Blue, to be exact. I didn't notice right away, which gave the paint time to soak through my pants and my underdrawers, as well. Now that the backside of my unmentionables is such a lovely shade of blue (and my backside, as well), I'm wondering if the Blue Man Group is hiring. I'm already part-way there, anyhow, might as well go all in.

Pacem ('pach-em,' for you non-latin speakers)

One adventure ends, and the next begins: my wife called me about 20 minutes ago... from home. My family is back home safe. Thank God.

clenchin' fabric

Today's an important day for yours truly. At 4am this morning, Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife and The Boy began their 2nd attempt at returning home to 'Assachusetts. As I write, the first leg of the trip is finished. My wife's cousin drove them 6 hours from Vitoria Da Conquista, a pretty little city on a mountain plateau, to Salvador, the capital of Bahia, Brazil's resort area, and also the closest major city. In this fashion they cut out the first plane ride, which was the proximal cause of their stranding last month. So, last I heard, they were all checked in. Now, it will take two more layovers and 18 hours of flight time for them to arrive in Boston. I am hoping for the best. In the meanwhile, if I had a lump of coal, I could probably clench it between my butt cheeks, and in the time between now and when they land in Boston, I could have a diamond.

Sorry for the imagery.

old school

1- Tug Chesapeake, hanging on.



When we were in a modest chop crossing the entrance to Chesapeake Bay, this tub looked and felt every day of her 38 years. Do all single-skin tank vessels feel so wobbly? This is the only one I've ever been on. Aside from having a very visible flex in a seaway, she had a really odd heave to her, as well. The energy from the waves of motion traveling from bow to stern as she flexed felt very disconcerting... it felt just like it sounds- like we were standing on a waterbed, and someone was jumping up and down on the far side.
Double-hull tank vessels, for all their obvious shortcomings (impossible-to-maintain void spaces, brittle rigidity, etc.), at least feel sort of solid, or solid enough, anyhow. If I'm going to get thrown off my feet, so be it, but I don't want to get launched straight in the air like a watermelon seed between two wet fingers.

2) The galley. Very old school.
3) This is as close to being tan as I get. Dull red.















Short tow.















This is where I am living for this two-week hitch. On the left side is the quarters, where three of us reside. On the right is the generator room/laundry. It's not as noisy as you might think.

Under a bridge...

I just want to note for posterity, as I pass under the Chesapeake bridge for the first time ever in daylight...

Single-hulled tank barges flex waaaaaaaaaaaaayyyy too much. I feel like I'm on a trampoline, and I can SEE the hull torquing. Feels... well, it feels kinda unnerving.

That is all. Pictures, maybe, another time.

City of Brotherly Love? My ass.

Thought you should know. Many thanks to Bitter End for the chart.
























This is my new home away from home. Packed inside this little box is a bedroom, bathroom, office/living room and kitchen...And two human beings in constant battle to prevent mildew.









Abandoned collier dock... that's a coal-loading chute in the background.











At the same site. This skyscraper-sized monster is a coal loading derrick. When we dock under this rusty and rotten-looking bugger, I always wonder about the condition of the cables that hold the loading arm upright. I don't think anyone inspects abandoned collier rigs. For some reason, our bunkhouse is always directly under the loading arm. Kind of feels like I'm sleeping under a fire ax that's been duct-taped to the ceiling.











First off, this last week has seen some great traffic to my blog. Big thanks to everyone who posted a link, commented, and offered their support, prayers and well wishes.
See, this is why I believe in God. Now, an unusual number of people have been telling me that they're praying for me, for my family, or, barring that, they're being supportive with all the BS that happened. Now, I believe that God knows that I am not a man who wants charity or any sort of freebie. Here's how my own little wish list got granted.
Normally, in this new nearshore job of mine, I would be working 2 weeks on/2 weeks off. When I approached the crewing manager and asked for a little extra work, I knew that I was asking for some punishing hours. So it goes. The economy being what it is, there isn't a lot of extra work to be had in my company's fleet, and my position as the brandiest-newiest Tankerman PIC is a millstone. No seniority. BUT, I got lucky. My stars got aligned. God was looking out for me. My heart Chakra was aligned with... well, you get the idea. Anyhow, rather than going home and spenging money on beer and sundries, I'm working on an elderly barge for the next 2 weeks, until my regular rotation comes up again... my total time at work will be 6 weeks total. That's some long-ass work hours, and I'm sure that I'll be a little buggy when its' done, but it will allow me to close the door completely on the recent disasterous Bank of America debacle. The bad news is that I'm going to miss 3 MORE weeks with my family, and, as I haven't seen them in over a month already, that's a long friggin' time to be away.





Anyhow, my family is still stuck in Brazil, so I'd be home alone for a full week even if I did go home on time. Last time that happened, look at what was in my fridge! I am a total caveman.









Oh, and the title, if you're wondering? I discovered today that in Philadelpia, men's antiperspirant/deodorant comes with an extra sanitary seal. That is to say, there wasn't enough plastic wrap on regular new deodorant to prevent people from cracking open a new stick in the store, using it, and putting it back on the shelf. Ew. What the hell, man?