A Day of Baths

TJ and I awoke today with a sense of great anticipation.  At 0615, our excitement peaked, for at 0615, we began deconstructing an Alfa Laval purifier.  Several hours later, we had a purifier bowl sitting in parts before us. 

Our work was interrupted at 1020 by a series of emergency drills.  TJ and I were placed on deck behind one of several fire monitors during the day’s fire drill.  If I had been meteorologically-minded, I might have changed my position.  Then again, probably not.  Within minutes of starting the fire pump, those standing starboard of the monitor were soaked.  I was among them.  Some of this was the result of a strong wind; I am convinced most was due to mischievous monitor-operators though.

Following the deck dousing, TJ and I partook in a zero visibility drill.  While I fed the two a life rope, TJ and Kyle crawled blindly into a room to rescue the hospital's mannequin.  In an attempt to grasp Kyle's ankle and thus remain in contact, TJ definitely groped a butt.

The day was not content with its earlier saltwater deluge.  Shortly after the fire drill, it brought TJ and I an oil bath.  Armed with Scotch Brite pads, rags, and diesel oil (apparently a cleaning medium), we attacked our purifier parts.  Based on his white arms and pained expression, TJ did not enjoy the process nearly as much as I did.  Then again, he did get stuck with the stack of fifty plus identical discs.  Identical parts and cleaning never mix well.

I have decided on another mismatched pair: my arms and soap.  Dad, I know well your opposition to bodily markings.  Unfortunately, there is a good probability I will return home with grease/oil-stained arms.  Think of it as a segue to the inevitable tattoo.  You’re welcome.

Christmas Onboard

As of this year, I have experienced twenty-one Christmas days.  Despite their individual joys, memories of the first twenty have run together.  This Christmas, however, is one which will remain a distinct memory.

Within the engine room, there is an undeniable camaraderie.  Christmas day, this camaraderie was tangible.

The first demanded all cadets take the day off.  At 1030, however, TJ pulled me from recreational Internet browsing to attend a mandatory engine room meeting.

I walked into a roomful of ER personnel.  Immediately, the first handed me a gift.  From this second onward, I could not wipe a smile from my face.  The gift was immaculately wrapped.  The paper, remnants of some navigational chart, won me immediately.  I may or may not have required some encouragement to move past it.  The gift?  A nonfictional salvage tale.  It was perfect.  Dad, I am sorry.  Keep trying.  You will nail it one day.

This gift was followed by a second, one addressed to “The Webbies.”  TJ and I are now the proud owners of a personal sounding tape.

Before my arrival, TJ also received a gift from the first.  Consequently, he now owns some spiffy, adjustable wrenches.  (TJ, I am sorry, but I still win this one.)

To the engine room, I gave my shipboard pride and joy: a handmade paper elf hat.  This lent itself well to several humorous pictures.

The rest of the mandatory meeting consisted of shared stories, coffee, and above all, comedy.  Pre-lunch duties brought it to a close.

TJ and I spent our remaining Christmas day deep in recreation.  I may have spent much of it comatose.

Looking back on the day, I can conclude but one thing: if the people I see around me are to be my surrogate family for the next two months, then blissfully I say, “So be it.”   I can imagine no better.

All in a Day's Catch

It seems that fishing is to be a theme aboard the Peary.  Yesterday, our baby was diagnosed with insufficient jacket-water cooling.  Today, we engineers turned an eye to our prime suspect: the big boys on ship, the sea strainers.

Between the shipyard and my week at sea, I have come to following conclusion: with enthusiasm and chain falls, one can move the earth.  Onboard, the two come as a package deal, and believe me when I say: there is no shortage.  Thus, using chain falls, TJ and I helped our giddy coworkers raise the first of two sea strainers.

From the moment we broke the strainer’s seal, we knew the project would be a fun one.  Immediately, the potent scent of brine and fish swept the engine room, and I mean the engine room.  For the entirety of the day, one could not escape the odor. 

Sure enough, we soon faced a submerged strainer topped with a layer of floating piscine bodies.  For all strainer virgins, this is the moment at which one retrieves a used dinner plate.  For the remainder of the project, it is of paramount importance that you collect a plateful of fish to offer at your 1000 coffee break….or so TJ and I observed.

    

To see a sea strainer sitting in its grimy state on the engine room floor is something.  To see its catch is something more.  Ours consisted of bait fish several inches deep, a number of irate crabs, countless small, nondescript, squirming masses, an assortment of plastic, and a single twig.

Immediately, we got to work cleaning.  TJ was appointed scooper; I was appointed brusher.  If only I could describe the glamour of TJ’s job.  Picture a young man with a set face kneeling before a strainer.  Repeatedly, he drives a dustpan into the strainer, removing piles of sea remnants.  On both sides, cadets brush sea grime directly into his face.  For the record, I only realized this after the fact.  TJ bore the sea spray remarkably well.  Of course, had he borne it less well, he might have walked away with a cleaner face.  Personally, I prefer stoicism to cleanliness though.

TJ was graciously offered the chance to lick the strainer.  Apparently strainer-licking is a right of passage.  I am sorry to say that TJ refused the offer.  I was wholly prepared to place tongue to metal. Alas, my invitation never came.

In the afternoon, both TJ and I returned to the world of welding.  I cannot speak for TJ, but for me, it was a most wonderful reunion.  Within minutes, I was again boasting a blackened face.  It was the face of my shipyard days, and oh, how I had missed that face.  Nothing makes for a better day than a bodily layer of sea grime topped with soot.

Drill Day

Well, today didn't involve a whole lot of work in the engine room. Other than doing the morning rounds, most of today was spent on safety drills. First we had a boat drill. The entire crew had to don their life jackets and collect their immersion suits and muster behind the lifeboat. As the newcomers to the group, Kate and I had the pleasure of actually climbing into the free-fall lifeboat. The free-fall lifeboat for those of you that don't know sits in a cradle high above the stern of the ship on a steep downward angle.

The next drill was a fire drill. While the rest of the crew responded to a muster station on the deck of the ship, Kate and the other engineers and I reported to the engine control room. In the event of a fire, it is our responsibility to ensure we have enough electrical power to run all of the fire pumps. While the rest of the crew practiced with the fire hoses, we talked through our fire control plan. Both of these drills were very informative and gave us a good insight into how we respond to emergency situations on the ship.

So, the most interesting part of the day came after lunch. When I reported to the engine room, I was told to grab my immersion suit and report to the stern of the ship. Because Kate and I had never practiced putting on an immersion suit before, the crew decided that it was necessary for me to give it a try. They also decided to take it a step further though. After I got stuffed into a suit that was probably too small for me, the crew tried to convince me that I was being tossed over the side so they could practice a man overboard drill. Eventually, they decided to let me in on the joke, and we all had some laughs about it. We did conduct a man overboard drill, but they decided to use a box instead.

Well, other than that, everything is going very well. Everyone here is very nice, and Kate and I are learning a lot. That's all for now!

Sounds on Sounds on Sounds

Today was an eventful day.  It began as our days typically do, with a morning round of readings and soundings.  Returning from rounds, however, TJ and I were greeted by something new: two meters of freshly twisted wire.  It was time to go fishing.   Our game?  Brass plumb bobs.

After contemplating hook configurations, TJ and I went to face our oil tank.  Several tries and hook configurations later, I held my breath as TJ signaled a weight on his line.  When at last we saw the bronze breach the surface, TJ and I felt an elation only known to the big-time gamer.   Never have my hands moved as quickly as when they fetched from my pocket a pair of pliers to secure our catch.  Mothers and fathers, never fear.  Pictures are coming…just as soon as TJ and I manage an iconic fishing pose with a plumb bob.

At 1530, TJ and I entered the big leagues.  Under our watchful eyes (and a few others), the Maersk Peary took on 1810 metric tons of MGO.  Our level of enthusiasm was high.  Seven hours later, it had dwindled a bit, primarily in the face of exhaustion and restlessness.  As it turns out, bunkering is not particularly stimulating.  All too quickly, the novelty of soundings at fifteen-minute intervals and simmering health concerns regarding continued inhalation of fumes lost their impact.

In the interest of raising subdued spirits, supervisors pinned TJ and I in a fierce competition.  Our opponent?  A bright KP cadet by the name of Kyle.  Let’s call him Ryan though.  According to my mind, he is apparently more of a Ryan.  The challenge?  Fill two onboard tanks as close to ninety percent capacity as possible.  Webb, I regretfully confess: we failed you.  In spite of all our accuracy, Kyle, AKA Ryan, won the day.

It is with tired, pink-dyed bodies (the mark of indicating paste) and sad hearts that we walk from today.

Take Two

Today we returned to St. Theodore.  Evidently once was not enough for the Peary, but who can blame her?  What is better than a Med-side oil refinery?

In light of the docking, our workday was short.  TJ and I spent it assisting with mooring.

Around 12:15, we disembarked and began a journey into Greece.  Our first celebrated location?  A café across the street.  Four two hours, we greedily mooched off the shop’s Wi-Fi.  Correction: TJ greedily mooched.  I bought tea, so I’m good.  Brackins, I leave it to you to scold Thomas thoroughly.

To all business entrepreneurs, I highly recommend opening an Internet café directly beside a sea terminal.  I am convinced that in the course of one day, the café made patrons of every crewmember aboard the Peary.  The ambitious shop did not stop at human patrons however.  As TJ and I quickly found, it also opened its doors to members of the feline race.

This led to an interesting discovery: TJ may or may not be a feline-attractant.  Shortly after we entered the café, a particularly playful cat stationed herself beneath TJ.  For two hours, TJ’s dangling coat was thoroughly groped and his heart thoroughly warmed.

TJ and I next traveled to Corinth in the company of Maersk Peary’s Navy brigade.  With the team, we explored the city’s streets.  As it turns out, Navy brigades make delightful company.  I cannot count the number of times they made us smile.

For those who have never been to Greece, I now give a couple of observations.  First, there are stray dogs everywhere in Greece.  Moreover, I am fairly confident they have all been struck with a severe case of apathy.  Second, proper Grecian parking definitely requires one straddle both the street and the sidewalk.

Without doubt, the highlight of our day was bowling with our newfound military friends.  Our two games consisted of fierce competition, multiple mechanical breakdowns, and endless comedy.  It seems I am not a talented bowler.  Between chucking a bowling ball backwards into a charming young man and taking a granny shot directly into the gutter, I believe I have indelibly fixed myself in the minds of twelve Navy men.

For me, the day ended with a Peary-bound walk behind two KP cadets and a first engineer together carting pounds of baklava.  If my days as cadet have taught me anything, they have taught me this: the quickest way to an engineer’s heart is with baklava.

First Impressions

Today marked our first complete workday.  What is my current state?  Physically exhausted.  Despite popular belief, physical exhaustion is a beautiful thing.  There is something profoundly satisfying about working one’s body for hours on end.  I have been a stranger to such work for far too long.

I must say: TJ and I made outstanding first impressions.  Within minutes of beginning morning readings/soundings, we successfully guillotined a sounding tape, sending its dense, brass plumb bomb and twenty centimeters of tape into a hydraulic oil tank 173 cm in depth.  It seems bent wire is not a foolproof method of holding open a sounding tube.  A note to future cadets: when your first casually mentions you can retrieve brass tank contaminants using a brass magnet, do not take his word.  In retrospect, I knew this.

Following our noon meal, TJ and I served as kitchen slaves along with a navy brigade of twelve sprightly young adults.  We quickly learned several things.  One: nineteen palates of food is a lot of food.  Two: loading nineteen palates of food is a great team building activity.  (It is a quite a sight to see a train of muscular, camouflaged men and two green cadets collectively hauling food to a vessel’s kitchen.)  Lastly, one can always use more freezer space.

We ended the day as observers.  Per the captain’s suggestion, we braved the cool night air at 21:00 to witness weighing anchor.  At 23:30, we watched as deck hands dropped anchor outside Piraeus.  I will be blunt: weighing anchor, while interesting, is not particularly thrilling.  Dropping anchor, however, is a different story.  I cannot describe what it is to sense a bow rumbling beneath your feet, what it is to see and taste a cloud of rising rust, what it is to see sparks fly where a plummeting anchor chain brushes a hull.  I can only say this: I walk away from today with a newfound appreciation for the beautiful giant on which I stand.

We Made It!

Well, we made it to Greece! We made it to the ship yesterday around 4PM local time. We got a brief tour of the ship and met all of the engineers. After dinner, we spent a little time in the engine room during maneuvering. The ship was leaving the refinery at St. Theodore and heading for Piraeus. This morning, we did the morning rounds in the engine room with the engine cadet from Kings Point. At noon, we left the ship via launch and went into Athens. We've spent the day in Athens and are currently grabbing some food before we head back to the ship. I think that's all for now!

And the Journey begins with...

Sleep.  Yes, I thoroughly appreciate the irony.  Believe me when I say that I had every intention of beginning with a bang.  Apparently, however, the body has limits.

To the blissfully naïve, Webb has its faults.  Widespread sleep deprivation is one.  It is a curious aliment, however, for there comes a point when you cease to differentiate between your deprived and natural state.  Thoroughly numb and on the verge of collapse, you plunge onward.  Then comes the day of insight; then comes the day when your schedule is free, and you can afford such priceless commodities as sleep.  You enter bed and fourteen hours later, rise bleary-eyed to a wasted day and appreciate just how worn you were.

Thus, my break began at 15:00 Thursday.  It is an exciting thing to realize that one has less than half a day to complete all travel preparations.

The first task?  Packing.  Picture, if you will, laundry sufficient to cover a dorm room floor several inches deep.  Imagine these articles washed, dried, and thrown into the Motley wreck room.  A young woman stands before them, eyes squinted, hands on hips.  With a sigh, she begins the intimidating chore before her.  Hours later, she stands, wearing the same expression, before a black duffle packed to the verge of spontaneous eruption.  She decides to risk the extra force and plummets down onto the hazardous container.  It takes four hands to zip the bag shut.

Once on the plane, exhaustion struck again.  Tell me what you will; I am confident that a most malicious individual first conceived of long distance, economy-class flights.  That or some narcoleptic acquainted with contortionism.   It is a torture all its own: attempting to sleep while confined to a chair.

Thus, in fitful states of half-sleep, TJ and I arrived in an opaque, fog-enshrouded Munich.  It was at this juncture I made a critical discovery: when half asleep and landing in a cloud of white, the mind is capable of some fantastic thoughts.  I may or may not have spent several dazed moments conceiving of cloud lands.

At the moment, TJ and I sit in an Athens airport, awaiting a third cadet’s arrival.  The rumor is that our trip will bring us directly to ship.  Despite the journey’s unintended beginnings, I find myself saturated with a most delightful anticipation.

The Adventure Begins!

Well, as I sit here and write this post I'm looking at all the stuff around me that I need to pack for this trip. Not so sure how I'm going to fit it all, but I guess I'll find a way. Kate and I received our instructions yesterday from the shipping company. We leave at 5:40 PM this Friday to fly to Greece. We should get to spend some time in Athens before we board the ship, which is pretty exciting! We will board the ship on Sunday, December 15, and begin our journey to Antarctica! At this point, I'm not sure when our next post will be, but as soon as we get situated on the ship, I'll try and post something. Thanks for reading and check back for new posts!