I didn't miss much on the boat the two weeks I was home. A couple of brief spot jobs and some paint touch-up, apparently.
I spent my first day back communing with the alligators in Berwick, then awoke yesterday afternoon to the rumble and surging-over-swells sensation that told me we were offshore. A stroll on the back deck confirmed we were heading east.
"Back to Fourchon?" I asked as I entered the wheelhouse.
Yes, indeed. Back on the job. This one looks to be a good one; a short (25-mile) run to a drilling rig once a day most days.
Being stacked, or even in the shipyard, has certain advantages: ready access to the corner store, or to the bar just down the street if that's your thing. No radio watch. No long days on the controls.
But neither a drydock nor a quiet, out-of-the-way set of bollards is a boat's natural habitat. No more than a hangar is what an airplane is built for, anyhow.
As for the crew, we'd all rather be working than not. It makes the time go by faster, for sure.