Madness and a New Year

Coastwise or Near Coastal- whichever you call it, to a sailor it means sleep
deprivation and overtime. That 200 mile delineation between what is
considered Coastwise and Ocean really doesn't mean anything when you look at
the sea itself, but to the licensing officials at the US Coast Guard...
well, they're different.

We arrived in Elizabeth, New Jersey, amid a mixture of rain and flurries and
sub-freezing temperatures. I steered us in at 0400 as far as the first
bridge (I forget its name) then my relief took over and I went aft. The
entire deck department was turned out to dock an hour-and-a-half too early,
leaving us exposed to the weather on the bow and the stern, impatiently
awaiting wrestling the 4" dock lines and generating our own heat. The only
saving grace was the hand-warmers that Clay hooked us up with in October-
people he's never met were praising his name. If you haven't used them- do.
12 hours of heat that fits in a glove is truly fantastic, and if you think
it's an unnecessary luxury- well, put on a hair shirt and STFU... I am now a
true believer.

We were still unsure how the longshoremans' strike would play out so we took
on supplies (yep, crane man, here), booted off the old captain and mates and
brought on the new ones, then headed south toward Charleston, from whence we
would depart for Damieta, Egypt. I steered us out of NYC at 0500. While
doing lifeboat drills on the way down the coast the new captain informed us
that the strike was delayed 30 days and we would, indeed, be stopping in
Savannah... but too late for Laura and me to put together a visit, and my
overall mood for the entirety of the coast reflected it- before the Savannah
news due to disappointment, afterward due to annoyance at the company.

I steered us into Charleston at 0430, then went aft for tie-up and got to
stand around in a torrential downpour that put about 8 inches of water on
the stern deck... enough water that the flaked and faked dock lines were
floating around on deck (fyi- faked lines overlap, flaked lines don't,
flemished spiral around and look all "yachty"). The Extraordinary Ordinary
stood on deck laughing, yes he did. It was one of those rains that
restricted visibility down to about an arm's length and it actually made the
monsoon in the Indian Ocean that nailed me while on deck seem a gentle
shower by comparison. Not really, but not too far off.
Just so you know- the heaving line is the line with the monkey's fist that
gets thrown to the line-handlers and is the exclusive pervue of the ordinary
seaman. God forbid he throw it and miss the dock. Even in the torrential
downpour I nailed it, but I had to throw it between the wheels of a crane
because that is what faced me at the dock- a wall of crane and a wall of
water.

Soaking wet and tired, I was still on watch, so once the gangway was down
insult was heaped upon injury when no security was hired by the company and
I was left on deck with a radio to screen the longshoremen, raise and lower
the gangway as the ship rose and sank in the water with shifting cargo, and
direct the non-cargo specialists to the Chief Mate's office. The
temperature dropped an immediate 15 degrees and within a short time I was
frozen to the bone as well as soaking wet, pissed off, surly, and overall
beset by cantankerousness. Afterward I was off 4 hours, then I humped
stores until whenever (I forget- the overtime says 6 hours) then slept
another hour or two, and then took us back out to sea.

I should back up a second, here. In New York I changed from the 12x4 shift
to the 4x8 shift. This is what I have come to think of as the sunrise and
sunset shift, but it should be more accurately called the steer the ship
shift, b/c I took the ship into NYC, out of NYC, into Charleston, out of
Charleston, into Savannah, and out of Savannah. I am actually starting to
get a feel for it, finally, and anticipate when to make corrections without
creating more work for myself. We call that "over-steering" or "chasing the
helm," and it'll wear you out just as quickly as climbing the lashing
bridges and swinging a wonder-bar all day.

After steering us into Savannah at 0400, my relief took over and I went to
the stern to tie up... but I was under-dressed by 2 layers, and later
learned it was about 30 degrees and I should have felt cold- because it
actually was cold. 20F with wind chill. Everyone else was better prepared,
and Peaches Warrior Princess and the Bosun were even sportin' their stylish
and functional handwarmers and praising Clay. The ordinary didn't get the
memo, apparently... he froze.

Bosun and I went to shore and we were ferried around by Clay to our various
places where we purchased our personal provisions- I, of course, got a 5 lb.
bag of honest-to-god coffee (from the Sentient Bean) and a burr grinder to
go with my scavenged French press... a cup of which I am enjoying immensely,
even as I type. We ate with the Jacksons at a place called "Vic's On The
River," which was fantastic, and we stuffed our pie-holes until we all were
stuffed. All in all a great time spent laughing and eating, and marred only
by Laura's conspicuous absence- the company owes me one. A big one. The
gangway went up 5 minutes after we were aboard (literally).

As I steered us down the Savannah River the "bells" alarm went off.
Harkening back to the days of early steam ships, the throttle of this ship
is controlled by "bells" rung by the captain that tell the engineers what
head of steam the bridge needs. The actual bells are long gone but the
terminology remains, and in this case, the bells alarm meant that the
"throttle was stuck wide-ass open."

As we increased in speed from 7.5 knots to 14 knots "made good," or "speed
over the ground," down the Savannah River (which looks like a ditch from the
bridge) the alarm claxons drowning out everything else, the captain and
mates huddled around the controls and spoke with the engine room via radio
(not bells) while they tried to figure out what was going wrong. The pilot
continued calling out helm commands, now very loudly, and I continued to
steer us outbound, but with a big grin on my face... the scene just tickled
my funny-bone. It still does. It is the kind of indescribable moment on a
ship where all hell is breaking loose and you're just along for the ride,
doing what you do and fulfilling your part in the grand scheme of things,
and the realization hits you that we're all just monkeys, hooting and
pushing buttons until food drops out of the shoot, and somehow- via the
marvel of collective inertia and dumb, blind luck, one of us monkeys hits
the right button.

Which reminds me of last night (New Years Eve)- I finished my sunset shift
and went to bed while the engine department got liquored up and rowdy in the
pool. They were climbing up to the upper decks, much against company
policy, and cannon-balling into the pool below and firing off huge
fireworks. Talk about monkeys... and yet they all survived. Unbelievable.
I have enjoyed describing, in a loud voice, every detail about eating a warm
stick of butter when any of them are around today... that color green is
irreproducible.

Anyway, my room is below the pool deck. Because exhaustion is its own
reward, I fell asleep with no problem as they dragged their knuckles up the
stairs and then hurled themselves down with great aplomb while oversized
blue, green, and red explosions molested the night outside the inch thick
glass of my deadlight (window)... but this morning my room was flooded (as
was the one next to me) with seawater from the pool. I discovered it with
my socked feet. Now, after my sunrise shift and breakfast, I am about to
shampoo the carpets while the deck crew tries to figure out exactly how the
water got in in the first place.

Happy New Year! May you, too, live in interesting times.