It's Like Groundhog Day- All Over Again

So it goes like this:  

Port prep- an “all hands” evolution in which all the lines on the bow and stern are payed out to the chocks and extra line is faked out beside it so when it’s time to let go it can run, and all the messengers are led to where the AB throws the heaving line down to the line handlers.  My heaving line has been repaired several times (thank you, China) and looks awful, but it’s solid.

Once the lines and winches are ready, we go to the gangway and prep it.  In a perfect world we loosen the nuts holding it in place, push a lever, and out she goes.  It rarely goes like that.  Once she is “flying,” we raise the rails (requires pry bars) and I radio the bridge to let them know the gangway “is rigged and ready.”  They always reply with “thank you.”  

Once the gang is done we are finished with port prep… It usually takes about an hour.

Not long afterward I get called to clear the anchors; I go to the bow, pull the pins from the pawls and disengage the windlass gears.  I might stand a bow watch- the ultimate luxury, really- which requires that I be by the anchor brakes to let go either anchor for an emergency maneuver should the old man require it.  I look at it as the only down-time granted the Bosun and it’s quiet, gorgeous, and can be really quite lovely.  The wind and the sound of water being forced apart by 67,000 tons of steel make for a serene setting.

If we go to anchor, the mate and one of my men comes forward and we drop anchor.  If not, I stand watch until relieved or until we are ready to take on the pilot.

Which is why it stands to reason that the pilot ladder gets rigged next.  We go down into the engine room, out through one of the tunnels, and forward towards the side port.  I love asking permission of the bridge to enter the “port side side port…” It succinctly sums up everything amusing about maritime nomenclature.  

We remove the manual hydraulic strong-backs, turn on the hydraulic pumps, then open the side port door.  The rush of fresh air is always so nice after the hot, dank, stale air that festers in the uncirculated parts of the ship is swept out the door; soon the hot, dry air from the engine room reaches us and we continue, once more, to cook- this time in our own private little convection oven.

We lower the jacob’s ladder to the required height above water (it varies by pilot boat freeboard) and a mate comes down to witness taking on the pilot.  

“Pilot boat alongside.”  

“Pilot on the ladder.”  

“Pilot on board.”

The mate escorts the pilot to the bridge while we close it all back up.  

I might get a break for a bit if it’s a long transit, but if not, “all hands go fore and aft” to take on tug lines and get ready to dock.  I have a few tricks for handling the Chinese tug lines which markedly improves the safety of the crew… Tricks I’ve learned along the way.  Things I frequently say while on the bow: Stay out of the bite.  Don’t hurry- we have all day.  Keep your eye on the mate.  Keep your eye on the dock, mate.

The mate runs the operation and gives me hand signals as directed by the bridge.  I operate the winches, engaging and disengaging the gears, setting the brakes, and sending and retrieving lines per the mate’s direction.  My two AB’s send the heaving line, rig the messengers, and throw the eyes out the chocks per my direction.  

Mostly it is clockwork.  Often it is a total SNAFU.  If the line gets “buried” on the winch (jammed in the spool, basically) we have to beat on it with a sledge to free it- which takes time and lots of energy.  This morning we had two buried during let go- a total beast of a time.

Once we are all fast, we put out rat guards, set the brakes on the winches, turn off the pumps, then head aft to the gangway.  I lower it to the dock (the pilot is the first off) and I appoint two men to lower the gangway net by crane to the dock.  Three men pay the net out on the dock and I send down a messenger to haul up the net to the rail.  We systematically fasten the net to the ship from fore to aft, then fasten the other side of the net to the outboard side of the gangway rail.

“Bridge.  Bosun.  Gangway net is rigged.”

At this point, in a perfect world, we are done- but that never happens.  An army of longshoremen (“lashers”) board the ship up the gangway and a security watch is set.  The gang not on watch then send the crane over the side and begin taking on stores, making engine lifts, or offloading garbage per my direction.  Offloading garbage is pretty foul, at best.  It is gag-inducing by its very nature.

Oddly enough, while working at Fort Jackson in Savannah as a man-cub, my exposure to vast amounts of garbage in my daily routine made me pretty much immune to the stench of (as my buddy Big John called it) “garbage puke.”  Add a 20 knot wind, haul it up 100 feet into the air inside of a cargo net, and the merely unpleasant task of frolicking in rotten refuse becomes a proverbial “rain of terror” as everyone ducks and covers, trying to keep the garbage puke out of their upturned eyes or open, slackened sailorly maws.  

Work fast.  Work safe.  Shower often.

Let go is a reversal of the steps above:  Drop the gangway net.  Haul it aboard.  Raise the gangway and secure it for sea.  Go fore and aft to take on the tugs and cast off mooring lines.  Let go the tug when finished.  Rig the pilot ladder, then secure the side port once he’s away.  Secure the anchors after the bow watch.

Since we’ve been hitting a port every other day since I came aboard, this has been my reality.  Not enough sleep- work like a dog, then too much sleep- work like a dog.  Repeat.  Now that I’ve chronicled my time in China, I am going to sleep- last night was supposed to be “too much sleep” in the repeating cycle but we finished garbage at midnight 30, an alarm went off at 0300, I had to repair a winch at 0600, tend mooring lines with the mate at 0700, and we went fore and aft for tie-up at 1030.

Thankfully, my OT sheet looks like a novella.