The Tales Not Told

Every sailor has a “worst watch partner” story.  This is the person you’re stuck with for two four-hour shifts a day, every day, that makes your shipboard life miserable.  Every noise they make becomes an irritant designed to afflict you, every sentence a veiled barb, every look a challenge, and every hour not on watch is spent dreading the next watch.

In my case, it was the third watch partner I ever had, when I sailed as an ordinary seaman.  It started out fine, of course.  He didn’t know a damned thing, and as we crossed the Atlantic I covered for him while I taught him his job and he got up to speed.  It was my third voyage (my fifth time across the Atlantic and the world) and I knew everything.

Well, I knew the unimportant stuff- how to move a ship in a way that doesn’t hit other ships or dirt, but the difficult stuff I had yet to learn.  Hell… am still learning...

This watch partner had an uncomfortable habit of disclosing all the details of his family's personal matters, and when I made it clear I didn’t really want to hear about it, he became surly and spiteful.  When I refused to have those long, drawn-out and tedious conversations, he then became vindictive and insufferable.

His nastiness became so untenable that I eventually told him “don’t talk to me unless it involves the safe navigation of this vessel.”  He protested, throwing his rank at me.  The chief mate told him to zip it.  For 35 days he had to keep his mouth shut, and the uncomfortable and pregnant stormcloud of silence that ensued was blissful after the treatment which almost inadvertently put my fist in his teeth.

One of the most memorable quotes from a superior officer came when the chief mate said “Look…” somewhat exasperatedly, “I understand.  I do.  But you can’t call the 3rd mate a ‘little bitch-’ he’s your boss.”

Well, a little mentioned part of the tale I leave out in the telling, which is the part not fun to tell, was me going to the old man and petitioning him to intervene- that I had simply had enough and I was going to take matters into my own hands if left to my own devices.

He looked me square in the eye and said, not gently, and more memorably than the chief mate telling me I can’t call the 3rd mate a bitch, “You’re too close.  You’re too fucking close.  YOU caused this problem, now YOU deal with it.”

He left no room to protest- just sent me on my way, unceremoniously, fuming and angry.  WTF did he mean by “too close!?”  I wasn’t close to that punk!  I wanted to smash his face!  I was pissed at the old man for a long time after I got off that ship for dressing me down instead of helping me deal with a difficult situation.

That captain on that first ship just so happens to be the very same captain on this ship I’m aboard now, crossing the grumpy North Pacific Ocean.  

And I have taken his scolding to every watch I’ve stood in the intervening years.  

And, begrudgingly, he was right, although I would have worded it differently; what he actually said to me was “he is the officer in charge of a navigational watch (OICNW), not your friend - you should have set better boundaries from the outset- these are the consequences.”

Because you can’t be nice at sea.  The chain of command is an accountability tool, and if he doesn’t know his job he needs to go before he runs the ship aground.

When there is weakness the knives must come out, and for good reason- all authority must be challenged in order to keep that authority cognizant of its limitations.  A healthy fear of reprimand and reprisal has a way of focusing the mind on the task at hand.  And that’s as true for the captain as it is for the ordinary seaman.

In my “Rules For Being At Sea” I’ve made for myself over time, near the top of the list is “don’t talk life with my watch partner.”  I discuss work-related items and retreat into silence.  I make it very clear to my superior officer that he isn’t my equal.  I enjoy an uncomfortable silence… hell, I strive for it.

Implied is that I won’t cover for him.  That he’d better know his job.  And when the bus of consequences goes roaring by I will push him under that fucker without hesitation.  For his good and for mine.  For the good of the ship.

It is only now, years afterward, that I think back and wonder- How awkward was that conversation for the captain?  Saying hard truths unflinchingly doesn’t win many points, and I guess that gets to the true heart of the matter- he didn’t win the easy points, but he did teach me a valuable lesson and make me a better mariner.  Everything but my ego was improved by it.

And I guess in so doing that he did earn my respect at a level that supersedes the rank of his office.  I hope it is behavior I can emulate.

At the moment- I am sitting in my quarters as the ship is being buffeted by 6 meter swells and sustained 40 knot winds as we steam into a nasty little low pressure gale.  The barometer dropped 10 millibars the last hour of my watch, alone, now we must atone for our trespasses!  It will get worse before it gets better.

There is a typhoon (a totally different storm) moving up through Japan and we are slated to hit that thing as we come into port.  It sounds like if that is the case then we’ll have to anchor out until it passes.

Whatever the case, whatever the outcome, the motion of the ocean makes me sleepy.  My quarters feel down-right cozy as the melatonin is kicking in and I am starting to nod.  

I promise to upload photos as soon as I have bandwidth… I am just grateful to have internets at all!!!