Time Pieces Are Oppressive.

PREVIOUSLY

Today's seas south of Turkey saw every color gradient laid out in spokes,
radiating out from the ship to the horizon like a cut pie made up of
different flavored pieces- slate, cobalt, navy, sky blue, silver- with a
dark bold stroke where the lighter colored seas met the horizon, and a
bright stroke where the dark seas did. The water itself was squid ink that
churned Tiffany's blue. The sky was layered with cirrus, cirrostratus, and
cumulous- only thin patches of blue peaked out from behind.

When I first went up to relieve the watch I thought there was a serious
problem with the electronics. It claimed we were churning 89 RPM for 22
knots! But with the following seas and the smooth water it appeared we were
moving less than a quarter of that- a bizarre effect that felt like slow
motion.

Soon, however, hi temp alarms ("high-liners") started going off. That giant
12 cylinder engine has temperature sensors on the port and starboard sides
of each cylinder wall. A computer screen on the bridge displays each
temperature on a digital log. When the temperature of just one of those 24
sensors reaches 200 degrees, the alarms from hell go off. The Old Man comes
up, the Chief Engineer comes up and berates him, all while these insistent
alarm claxons are foretelling total melt-down.

I would assume the correct response would be to increase the rate of flow of
oil to that spot, thereby cooling it down. Or perhaps do that while
reducing RPM and when things stabilize, bump it back up. Nope. That isn't
what's done. You fill up either the starboard or port ballast tanks and
heel the ship away from the hot spots. No shit. If it's hot on #12 port,
initiate a starboard list. #5 starboard, initiate a port list.

The piston crowns are 36 inches across. The crank arms are 8 feet. They
travel about 12 feet with each stroke. Each piston crown has 3 rings which
seal it to the cylinder wall, but these rings rotate around the crowns at
will. When they all three line up just right, the spaces where they break
align and hot spots form... Each trip to NYC and Singapore a crown gets
replaced, so the new piston crowns run at about 175 - 180 degrees. The old
ones, however, hang out above 193. It doesn't take long for one to heat up
and set off the alarm. They will hang out at one temperature all day, then,
suddenly and inextricably, spike up to over 200.

Should that temp remain above 200 for 10 minutes- a mandatory and automatic
slow down occurs. 35 RPM and 7 knots. And somewhere, in Singapore and on
this ship, heads roll.

TODAY

Today was a gray day, shades of gray as far as the eye could see. Gray
water, gray sky, gray mood. I whipped out my Seattle sun-glasses... they
have yellow lenses which "brighten" everything and increase the contrast,
very useful in the PNW's autumns, winters, springs, and summers. They did
little for the mood.

We retard clocks again today- third day in a row. We're now on Greenwich
Time (or as it's now known, UTD, Universal Time and Date- I think). I gain
40 minutes of sleep, but my watch is 20 minutes longer... and how does this
ship keep up with time when it keeps on changing, day after day, retard
after retard or advance after advance? Or rather, how does the crew keep
up? The watchkeepers are their reliefs' alarm clocks.

To Illustrate: at 0715 my phone rings. When I answer it, someone say's
"0715 for 0745," and then unceremoniously hangs up. The same thing happens
at 2315. You really don't need an alarm clock on a ship- in theory. I set
about 10 alarms- several for wake-ups (just in case), and several for
call-outs (when I call other people to wake them up). In port I get calls
to do crane lifts at all hours. I get calls to do gang watch, security
watch, anchor watch, rig the pilot ladder, or steer the ship. But I also
have to make the calls to my watch's reliefs. So I call my relief and say
"1515 for 1545" and then unceremoniously hang up. I'll do the same for the
mate (who wants a call-out at a different time). You do NOT want to screw
this up... there is, as I have learned, either a "time penalty," or "an
embarrassment penalty" coming to you (I opted for the time penalty, but got
both instead- yay!).

When I'm sleep deprived, this entire process gets a little more complicated,
because since I have been on this ship I have been dreaming that I am
working, or I have made a callout, or my phone is ringing... it's like when
my friend Paul taught me AutoCAD- I was dreaming keystrokes and geometry for
months. I am dreaming the mundane crap you just have no way of knowing, and
therefore preparing for, about life on a ship. So I set alarm clocks. So I
can verify. Like in that movie, "Memento."

Every day the Great Dane practices his stoically delivered Danish witticisms
when I make my callouts. If you can't tell the difference between Danish
and Scandinavian wit, consider yourself lucky. I find the guy hysterical,
personally, and not just because he almost passed out laughing at my
favorite not-funny-joke (Q: Why do seagulls live by the sea? A: Because if
they lived by the bay they'd be bay gulls) but because each day he practices
his one-liners. My favorites so far: Why do you keep bothering me? Good
morning, déjà vu! You can't make me...

Speaking of the Great Dane- he was on watch when our vessel met another that
had "Target" written on the side of the hull. Due to the traffic situation
we went to starboard and into the path of a ship named "Haarm..." He's been
laughing about putting us into harm's way ever since.

Anyway- in today's trifecta of imperfection, I am opting to have a shower
and sleep, therefore I am skipping dinner (clean, fed, or rested- pick two).
Which is to say that this blog post is now finished for today...

Tomorrow- Straits of Gibraltar, again... hopefully I get to see them this
time.