busy!

Damn, we're working right steady this tour.


This has been the longest month of my sea time since I left deep draught shipping last year... it's not that I've been remarkably busy, though we have been busy; it's not that the weather's been rotten, or I'm bored. I just miss my wife really, really badly this tour, for some reason.
Everyone's got their coping mechanisms. One big pleasure for me is that working inland and near coastal as we do, I get to talk to Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife twice a day. Morning and night, which makes me feel like I'm still participating in family activities. We don't talk for long- maybe 10 minutes a day, but those 10 minutes are the high point of my day, for certain, and that's how it should be, of course.
It used to bother me that one officer that I sailed with before would talk to his wife and 4 kids maybe once a month or so when we were in port at least once a week, sometimes more. I was fearful that I'd fall into that sort of living situation when and if the time came that I got married. I'm not a big phone person. I can see the potential in our living situation for a husband and wife to grow apart, with the greater independence required in our living situations. So far, though, I seem to be having a 1-week mini honeymoon every time I come home. I hope that in 10 years this will still be the situation.
In the meanwhile, work continues. We are loading a parcel of black oil destined to fuel up a reefer ship in Philly tomorrow evening, and after that, this tour will be done. Amen.



I can't help but wonder how other sailors handle checking in with the fam... international voyages, of course, change things, but

two things...

One: This is something that won't receive much press, but I've had my suspicions that the global warming bandwgon has been producing bullshit articles for some time by the rectal removal (aka: pulling numbers out of one's ass) method.

Take this much ballyhoo'd study data released about a month ago... and how, after the gloom and doom of the results cited in the press release... well, turns out, there was no study.

There was no publication on the subject matter by the journal cited by the news agencies, and there is no author by that name who has ever published a paper in the field of environmental sciences. So, there was no study.

BUT, that doesn't matter. The news agencies and Green Inc had a resounding success. They've inserted numbers into a debate where the science didn't support claims, and never had to actually study jack shit in the process, saving millions.

Man I'm pissed.


Oh, and point #2. If you're like me, and have to eat a lot of salad sort of against your natural inclination to live on steak and cheeseburgers, buy yourself a can of hearts-of-palm.
Slicing up a couple of these totally changes the texture and flavor of a salad.



Oh, and a little easter egg for you, for having read this far. More Brazilian Carnival dancers:

new blogs!

Well, new to me, anyhow.



Borepatch is wicked smart, wicked good reading, and also echoes my sentiments on many things, which obviously makes him a good person, too.

Bowsprite is an NYC artist who's inspired by all things marine, and works in watercolors, a personal favorite of mine... her blog has been in my bookmarks since I bought this laptop, but as one of my daily hits when I get online, I never transferred the URL to my blog after I changed it early last year.

Coldisthesea is also another smart blog- world events, maritime thoughts, and artwork- all things I am not good at but enjoy looking over.

The steel beach zen garden

The question you might ask is 'why would you paint your deck with a 3-inch (7.5cm) paint roller?"

It's not about the speed at which I paint. Last summer I spent every spare moment painting the cargo deck and working gear. This year, I've just got the bow area and stern to paint.
When I first came to my barge, I went on a painting spree right away- we weren't that busy, and, coming from a ship, anything that wasn't tied down or actively running away while cursing was painted. With acreage to paint, speed was a factor. In the case of my barge, I've got little painting to do, and about 4 months to do it, now.
My belief is that when I came here, being a 'ship AB,' I was probably being eyeballed to see if I could take initiative as a tankerman. I'll admit that there's a certain comfort to being told what to do at work, and having minimal responsibilities, but even a loose collar chafes after a time, so I thrived on being thrown into situations where I had to make decisions on my own.
Painting my barge gave me an opportunity to do simple work that showed results. The fact that I stuck at it and did a nice job, I think, has given me a decent reputation as someone who isn't afraid of work... but, truth is, the familiarity of it is a comfort, too. The mindless nature of the work gives me time to sort out my thoughts and let my mind go adrift. I don't exactly go all Walter Mitty, but it does give me license to turn inward.
I noticed today that I could feel my heart slowing down as I painted the bow. I let my body do the work, and cast my brain loose, and went on autopilot. A few minutes later I started counting heartbeats, and noted that it was far below where I started... I felt good, relaxed in a way that other people get from sitting in front of the TV or in a beach chair, I think. As I worked, moving slowly, I got to stop and enjoy the warm breeze. I had a moment of Zen.
If you've ever read "Zen and the art of Motorcycle Maintenance" (and if you haven't, you should), the author spends a lot of time extolling the need and desire for Quality (his capital Q), in the things we do, and how rare it is to find today. I read a great discussion on this not too long ago, using cell phones as an example. You can't find a cell phone that makes calls with the reliability of the old analog networks. You also can't find phones that last ten years. You can find a phone that reminds you to powder your balls if it senses you sweating, but you're more likely to break the phone than you would with the old style cell phones of 10 years ago.
Anyhow, I had my moment of peace, and it was perfect. I was able to shut out my concerns for my helper, a guy filling in, unfamiliar with our ways, who was killing trees wholesale while filling out the paperwork that goes with a triple cargo load with six cargo parcels to be dealt with. I was trying not to hover over his shoulder as he sweated and scratched out numbers... persistence paid off- he got his numbers to add up, and I quelled the ever-present anxiety that is my constant companion, just for a little while.

Wanted: giant rubber ass

Ugh.


It's been 24 hours since we nudged up alongside this Russian POS breakfulk freighter. There isn't a single engineering officer who speaks English, which has been a nightmare- trying to bunker a ship via the translation efforts of the one English-speaker on board, an Ordinary Seaman with the attention span of a parakeet "Yis yis, you start pump now and we, Look! Something shiny!..."

Anyhow, while under normal circumstances, I can reasonably expect to transfer fuel safely and operate in the safe zone and be protected via due diligence and strict adhesion to the agreement and declarations that we sign before the pumps kick on, in this case, I couldn't help but notice that after I sent up the paperwork to the ship, everyone disappeared.
For an hour I attempted to contact the ship via VHF, hand signals, ships' horn, screaming, throwing nuts and bolts at the wheelhouse, calling the agent and holding a seance. Just as I was pulling out a Ouija board, a plastic bag and a can of ether, the US Coast Guard showed up.

Turns out the CG was out getting subs or something, and noticed the hideous-looking ship. They then proceeded to find a host of problems on board, which explains certainly why I was being ignored- the engineering department was certainly being butthurt yesterday, and on a Flag-Of-Convenience shitheap mostly made of Red Hand and rustcicles, well past its' service life, I can imagine that being a chief is not a fun job.
So we got to wait 10 hours before we started bunkering. By then, I had been relieved, had lunch and a 2 hours' nap, and was ready to start pumping.
Then the fun really started. The deckhand/translator told me that I had to pump 80.83 cubic meters of diesel, stop pumping, then pump the remainder when asked, and then there would be 5 stops for the black oil portion of the job.
I explained, carefully as I could, that we don't use cubic meters as a unit of volume, and that it wasn't a good idea to forego sounding and topping off one's tanks in lieu of passing the buck to a guy on another vessel. I think my exact words were something along the lines of "Jesus, please, let's try to be more professional than that!"
Now, if, for whatever reason, the chief engineer really wanted to just fill one tank at a time and list the ship all around in the process, more power to him- it's his ship, and I don't take topping tanks at all lightly, myself. I'm willing to make stops in the job in order to help the engineer do his job safely... BUT, when someone is making me responsible for doing his job, and compromising safety, and already has a visible streak of ass in his disposition... no.
I was then cussed at in Russian, I believe. We then started pumping cargo with the pump engine at idle. This most certainly gave the engineer time to sound his tanks, as I'm pretty sure I could have filled that tank up faster by drinking a case of beer and peeing into the sounding tube.
Fast forward 6 hours. The engineer has definitely been filling the ships' bunker tanks one at a time, judging by the visible list and trim of the ship, which is leaned over like a drunk at a urinal- and down by the stern quite heavily.
With only 4o tons of oil left in my last tank, the engineer pantomimes for me to shut down. Problem: with only a sloppy calf-height level of oil in the tank, the chances of shutting down and losing the prime on the pump are excellent. I tell my translator this. He tells me that the ship's tanks are full, and we only have 'a little time.' I inform them that if I lose the prime on the pump under these circumstances, that the shipowner is going to be paying for me to return the remaining oil back to the refiner. The engineer actually JUMPS UP AND DOWN while screaming. Dude had a tantrum. He didn't threaten to hold his breath on me, but I could see that happening. He then pointed fingers at the translator and waved about... either cussed him out, too, or told him to steal third, I'm not sure which. The translator held his hands up in the universal 'what can I do?' gesture and told me to shut down.

While I shut down and tried to swing valves to preserve the prime on the pump, the engineer and his boy disappeared. Again. Another hour, I was relieved, again, and made my phone calls to the office, passed the watch, and passed out.
When 5am rolled about, just a little while ago, I wasn't surprised to see that we were still alongside the ship, and that the hose was still connected between my barge and the ship. Apparently the engineer went to bed, as my 2nd man got fussed at for spotting a mate on deck and sending him to wake up the chief for a powwow vis a vis walking the fuck off a job.
At this point, a bright and sunny day is not raising my spirits much. Apparently the engineer believes that he can load the bow down with cargo and that this will make enough of a difference in his tanks to take on the additional cargo. Now, I haven't been invited to take a look at his strapping charts, but I'm pretty sure that a pretty decent list and trim isn't going to make a 40+ ton wedge in the tanks that can be remedied by selectively loading cargo. Not in a 400-foot ship, anyhow. I could be wrong, of course. I certainly would have expected the mates to ballast the ship, rather than load her funny, but that's just me. There's probably either no working ballast pump, or equally likely, the ship could be running on her tank tops, with the ballast spaces breached to the sea. In a shitbox like this, anything is possible. Especially tetanus.
So that's where I am, as day 2 dawns. I'm here for another week, so it's no skin off my ass for me to stay here, but, being fairly diligent, I hope, I hate seeing my barge tied up for a case of assbaggery.

ye olde docke daye

Finally, we had a chance to unload trash and take on stores, fuel, water, grub and spares... being the only non one-trick pony in Philly, we're busy running around like a one legged man in an ass-kicking contest while the other bunker barges in the port seem to be on a sunday Goin' to meetin' schedule... the price we pay for being versatile in ways that others here are not, I guess.

Anyhow, rearmed with fresh vegetables and salad fixin's, we're ready to cast off lines and continue our relentless assault on the septic system while we bunker up the thirsty ships of Philly. In just over a week, I can return home, where Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife and I plan to celebrate our 2nd anniversary. Since, of course, I was at sea for our first Anniversary (and our first Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter), it's on me to pull off a night to remember.

"networking and gaining access"

In my abortive early career as an academic of sorts, I used to teach a class on social networking as a means of accessing hard to get research data, source interviews and industry inside information.
This was before the days of Facebook and rampant online media; as an example, an online metadata search in Biological Abstracts cost $50 a minute. This was before Google and the Pentium computer chip.
As an information junkie and one of those people who get to know people in odd places, I helped prepare young researchers who were preparing to travel to foreign locales to perform cross-cultural studies in diverse fields; it was a lot of fun and a lot of work for the 3 weeks a year that were taken up with conferences.

I certainly don't have my old touch.

I've been trying to help some of the unlicensed mariners who lost their jobs when AHL Shipping Company went under a few weeks ago, by finding new job opportunities for them. One of the tremendous difficulties about this is that AHL was a union-based company, one of the few maritime organizations that were staffed top-down from one single union... unfortunately for the unlicensed crew, the small offshore unlicensed division of the IOMMP was a one-trick pony, with only one company left in the union, and that company now apparently gone the way of the dodo (I keep hoping that there will be a big surprise, where a last-minute infusion of cash will show up and keep so many mariners employed... a pipe dream, maybe, but a good one).

In the meanwhile, there are plenty of career mariners out there now without a union and without a ship.

I've been in contact with Capt. Kelly Sweeney of Maritime Headhunters , who has been one of the few people I know of who can find ship jobs for unlicensed guys in this economy, in the hope that he'll be able to keep some of my friends and former shipmates from languishing on the beach. I'm certainly not having much luck myself. I've helped one guy out, so far... well, one and a half- another guy is now on a commercial fishing boat in New England, which is like being in hell only not so restful what with the communists taking over NOAA and gutting jobs this month under the new pogrom, or program, whichever it is.

If anyone knows of a deep-draught job for Able Bodied Seamen or QMED's, please contact me so I can forward the info. Thanks!
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