Merlons and Cetaceans (Beneath the Guttersnipe Tree)

Guam to China

The cobalt seas have no wavelets and the gentle, following swells travel slightly slower than the ship, casting the illusion that we are moving in slow motion.  Chaotic skies surround us.  The cumulous on the horizon appear to sit right on the ocean’s surface, the towers of proto-anvil nimbuses that thrust upward like merlons on a medieval turret are ringed around us.  The heat and humidity doesn't feel immediately overbearing- it is the creeping stranglehold of a jilted lover rather than the efficient attack of the assassin, but come to bear it does- with all the force of sky behind it, leaning its full weight on the body rather than merely pushing down on it.

The ocean is an electric indigo, churning Wegeny Blue (™), and when I take her photo it looks like I've jacked the saturation way up, or used Instagram to “enhance” the image, but in at least one or two instances the camera “gets it right” and the colors are exactly as I see them on all quarters of the sea around me.  I read a printout of the news, drink coffee, and crack jokes while surrounded by the most amazing scenery, day in and day out.  Really… who does this?!

No filter- point and click with my phone.

There is still no overtime.  At some point (Hono- when I was late back to the ship after a day off) I pissed the chief mate off and there has been no recovery from it.  It is not the best position to be in if you’re the delegate.

On ships, the second mate directs docking maneuvers via radio with the bridge on the bow while the third mate directs them on the stern.  I call them “the kids” because they’re so young.  Unfortunately, the third mate overheard me tell the AB I call “Bobo” that he “lacked confidence” while docking in Guam.  Oops.  I wouldn't give a shit, except that he’s just about my favorite person aboard. My comment clearly caused him anxiety and distress.

The issue was this:  On some ships we use anaconda line, which is 3-½” to 4” line.  On this ship we use amsteel blue, which is only 1-⅝” in diameter, but stronger than wire rope of the same size.  The line comes off a “storage side” of a winch drum, but if you take tension on it while it is on that side of the drum it will “bury itself” in the line stored there.  So we “throw it over” to the working side of the drum, where there is no stored line and the dock line can bear on solid steel.  When to throw the line over changes with different diameters and line materials… and on only his second docking on this ship he flubbed it.

The working side of the drum is to the left, the storage side on the right.  The
capstan off the end of the winch is called a "gypsy head."

So this “kid,” instead of having a tantrum or becoming surly, came to me instead for advice on when to throw the line over.  Why, oh why, couldn't I have been more like that when I was his age?  Hell, why can’t I be more like that now?  It is the least kid-like response he could have chosen out of an infinite number of responses.

So in my mind I have been thinking of this voyage as “The Voyage of Humble Pie,” and not just for me and the third mate, either.  It was a lesson in humility for the captain of the s/v Walkabout, it was a lesson in humility for the old man who almost failed to secure that rescue, and I am sure there are others I am simply unaware of.

China

Not much to say, except take my watch times and add just as much work in between said watches and then subtract sleep...  Add the unpaid time required to track the gang’s overtime and a flock of irate gutter-snipes, decorating the time sheet with condescending post-it notes like brightly colored birdshit under a gutter-snipe tree, and you will have a picture of my second trip through China.  I failed to secure a visa due to the fact that, contrary to everything I was told last voyage, the “woman who gets visas” can not get visas for people who live in WA state because it is outside the LA consulate’s area of jurisdiction.  Life under the gutter-snipe tree.

China to Long Beach, CA

The weather has gone from unbearably hot and humid to wet and cold, the sunlight from directly overhead to autumnally inclined rays that originate low in the sky and cast long shadows- all since we left China a scant five days ago.  Dall’s porpoises make way briskly through green water ranging between jade to forest green, maybe kelly green, churning a paler version of the same hue, the cold, chlorophyllic soup full of jumping fish, the valleys between the swells filled with brown boobies swooping and diving, painted into the negative space between the rolling hills of water.  An inverse wave of birds.  Surfing.  Endless food as far as the eye can see.  Forever and ever, amen.

Of course I walk around the bridge saying “Brown Boobies!” every time I see one, which is often.  Last time we came through here, almost due south of the Bering Straight, I saw seals… which is contrary to everything I thought about the shore-hugging, land-loving sea dogs.  I am seeing the great ocean-going albatross of the white body/black wing variety.  Upon lamenting that I left my Seabird’s of the World identification guide, the chief mate showed me the Audubon app for his phone… which is, in a word, totally bad-ass.  Not only can you identify specific species, you can hear them, too… and it’s birds, mammals, trees, plants, fish… etc.  I think I just got One-Upped in epic fashion, and I am buying that app as soon as I hit cellphone territory.

I am second guessing my sea mammal identification of late.  I have slowly come to realize that the Dall’s Porpoises share a territory and characteristic speed, behavior, and tell-tale “rooster tail” spray while swimming with those of the Northern White Sided Dolphin, and to a lesser degree, with the Northern Rightwhale Dolphin.  Yeah, they look very different in the book, but from 130 feet up and a mile away… well… Not for the first time, nor for the last, will I decry my lack of interwebs, my key to the side door of the Library of Alexandria (that side door where all the pan-handlers congregate and ask for money or solicit you for porn when you walk though).

Four Days and a Wakeup

Today saw torrential rain, faint sunbreaks, or thick fog indecisively closing-in or moving-off, as if the weather gods debated the current conditions and each time a god scored a rhetorical point against their godly opponent a new weather condition was made manifest.  The forest green water of earlier this week morphed into a not-teal, not-aquamarine blue-green that I’d need a pantone index to describe accurately, but what struck me most about the coloration was the ever-changing hues and finishes that went from clear to drab, high-gloss to matte, and everything in between. And then, as if to second guess the changes, back again.  One moment the water appeared as thin and volatile as methyl-ethyl ketone, the next as dense and viscous as bunker oil.

And the sea mammal issue is solved- the most numerous cetaceous critter out here right now is definitely the Dall’s Porpoise.  And holy crap! But they are fast!  I mentioned the last time we came through here that they moved as if they had someplace important to be, but today I realized- after ample opportunity to sate my observatorial curiosity- they are simply suffering from exposure to methamphetamines.  Or cocaine.  Possibly both.

They are characterized as reaching speeds of 35 mph, but I’d swear they go faster than that- so fast, in fact, in order to observe them I was forced to “lead” my prey with the binoculars and look where I anticipated them to be, because when I looked where I saw their telltale roostertails it was too late- they had long moved out of the optical field of view of my long-eyes.  I wasn't always successful at seeing them, either, as they turn on a dime, but the “lobe” on the dorsal in conjunction with the stupendous speed and the unmistakable roostertail convinced me: Dall’s Porpoises- NOT the White Sided Dolphin, and certainly not the dorsal-less Rightwhale Dolphin, though both have made their appearances in recent weeks- only now I can tell the difference.

I have done three days of OT.  I’m not eating dinner because when you advance clocks between lunch and dinner there is only about three hours between meals.  I have a bowl of cereal before watch, instead.  I have finally finished my first “proper” bellrope and it is awaiting varnish and paint.  I never thought, not in a million years, I would be seeking solace in macrame... it’s goddamned embarrassing.  What next?  Quilting?  Basket weaving?  Ugh.

Having owned it, now I must move on to the next iteration of the disease- mastery of the turks head knot.  I can tie them- and do, don’t get me wrong- but they are still mysterious creatures.  And if you flip back to my first or second post after joining this ship you’ll see a photo of a bellrope with an elaborate, doubled 9 bite, 12 lead turks head on the bottom that has me itching to get my hands on a copy of the “Turk’s Head Cookbook.” A damnable and slippery slope.

This is what I made to tie a 12 bite turks head... 

Day of Arrival - Longbeach

Five 2-hour clock advances every other day has simply worn me out.  The days are two hours shorter, which- for me on the midwatch- means that each of my two sleeps per day is 40 minutes shorter but my work day is the same.  So I go to bed and can’t immediately sleep.  By every 4th rest period I am unable to sleep at all, so I end up sleep deprived for the long part of every second day.  Then I crash.  And repeat.  

Today saw a grey whale and some bottlenose dolphin, numerous sailboats enroute to and from Catalina, and the first sunlight since Xiamen, China.

But it is the morning of our arrival and I am gearing up to rent a car for my exciting trip to Costco and Whole Foods, either tonight or tomorrow night.  And my blue-tooth is ready to get my talk-on with Laura, who last heard  from me, intermittently, from China- the time-delayed, exhausted, and irritated me of three ports in four days, that is.  The me that should avoid the phone, at all costs, but can't because it's the last opportunity connect.

When we hit port (when the ship doesn't arrive and depart on the same day) we watchstanders revert to daymen, meaning we work 0800 until 1500, all other time worked becomes OT, or we can go ashore.  Unfortunately, while I have a civilized schedule in Long Beach, cargo operations will be going on.  Cranes will be running, picking up boxes and either depositing them with a crash onto awaiting trucks, or- once discharge is complete- depositing them on the ship with a resounding boom that travels through the steel of the ship and directly into my dental work.  Meaning sleep will be elusive (refer to the last 3 seconds of the following video).  

Phone calls, interwebs, resupplying my private foods and coffees, kombucha, and interrupted sleeps- here I come! And Oh Yeah- I called a meeting, as delegate, and forced the election of a new delegate... I am free from THAT tedium this trip!