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.
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