ship noise

On a normal ship, out at sea, there is always noise.

On a normal ship, glued to the pier, there is always noise.

When the power goes out, there is no noise and below decks, there is no light. It’s not like being in a house without power, it’s much more intense than that.

It’s sense of missing.

Whenever you’re on a ship, underway or otherwise, you can hear it, the hum that I’d call the ship noise. When the power goes out, the ship noise is absent and you can feel it, right down to the core of you.  

Soundings

“Well, you’re about to make DC2. What would you do about it?” asked my ignorant Chief.

I was on watch and it was probably 0130 in the morning, I felt like being honest.

“Me? I’d try to convince him that the soundings are very important and make him want. . .”

“What do you mean?” interrupted Chief.

“If you can’t convince him that they are important, then perhaps they aren’t and we shouldn’t be doing them.” I replied curtly.

He didn’t say a thing and walked away, keys jingling, towards the door.

Naturally he didn’t take my advice.

flying fish

I remember the first time I saw a flying fish, it was sunset and we were drifting on a glassy sea off the coast of Malaysia. The sky was painted in brilliant shades of yellow, pink and blue. An oil platform standing in the distance contrasted with green mountainous coast.

Just then, as I was taking in the scene, a small fish zipped across the surface of the water.

I was shocked, and then another. It was beautiful.

The next time I saw a flying fish, it was midnight on a turbulent sea and the thing landed in my lap. 

wipe-downs

Engine room watch was four hours.

One round to learn the machinery status, two rounds to exercise and one round to wipe the oil off of the engines.

An old Warrant once told me that the engines were designed to leak oil, so you knew they still had oil in them. I didn’t believe him, but it sounded reasonable.

He was a Warrant after all.

 Anyway, before the last round, I’d always grab a bundle of clean rags for wipe-downs. Today, I still associate the smell of clean rags with the last round.

Needless to say, I love that smell. 

When in Dutch

Racing down the snow-covered mountainside in the moonlight wasn’t too terribly difficult.

On the way up, we were climbing alongside each other, scrambling up the rocks and other things. The moon was out, but it wasn't a particularly bright evening.

I do remember sitting at the top for a few minutes, looking down at the rest of our friends standing around the makeshift campfire. It couldn’t have been much higher than several hundred feet above the base.

Going back down, I remember seeing some details, but also losing many others.

There was this one particular point, though.