The Transit

I had dinner in NYC with my cousin, Heather, who I roped into being my chauffeur, date, and buyer.  I have already forgotten the name of the Mexican place we went, but it was absolutely heavenly to shovel in shrimp, oysters, and guacamole dripping with habenero, chipotle, and mole sauces as fast as my face-hole could dispose of them.  That, and Heather is as base, ribald, and uncivilized as me so no topic was taboo or sacred, no joke too raunchy, or turn of phrase too foul, so we laughed a lot and I had a great time eating like only a glutton can.  On the drive back to the ship I skyped Laura on my phone; then, back at the container port, I hauled my booty back to the ship in time to sleep for an hour.  Then we threw off the lines.

I am no longer on the 4x8 watch- I have moved again, this time to the 8x12.  Where I worked over 400 hours of overtime in 2 months on the 4x8, I will probably only work 275 – 300 on the 4x8… a move calculated to preserve my sanity and give me experience on all three watches.

The transit from NYC to Charleston started out flat and glassy but by the time I started my evening watch it was blowing like stink, stink being 40 – 60 knots with the highest recorded gust at 91 knots.  I watched thick bands of showers roll through on the radar, and as they hit the wind would rock the ship and the rain would come down so thick that we’d lose all visibility. 

And lightning was popping thick enough to produce Saint Elmo’s Fire on the bridge wings and antenna whips, again, but this time I refrained from going out and playing with it.  Well…. Actually, I did go out to play with it, but 40 – 60 knot rain hurts like hell so I turned around and came back in before my hair got a chance to stand up in the high voltage field.  And some nearby lighting strikes persuaded me (read: “scared the shit out of me”) that perhaps this time I’d look with my eyes and not with my lightning-rod-like hands.

We got hit by a few rogue waves during the night- they smacked the bow pretty hard and threw walls of spray up into the air, where the wind quickly carried it across the deck and cargo forward the house and into the howling night.  The combination of following swells and big wind-waves on the bow made for a wild and unpredictable ride, but one that acts like mechanically-induced narcolepsy when I climb into my bunk.  The wild ride, a stout and well-built ship, and deep exhaustion = coma-like sleep.  Laura and I have wondered how long it’s going to take me to get used to sleeping “on the beach” again when I am done with this tour and whether or not I’m going to need to go down to our boat in order to get a full night’s sleep… I guess we’ll find out soon enough.