Isaac

Forgive me for saying so, but it was a pretty good hurricane, so far as those things go. For me, anyhow.

That's the status I posted on Facebook earlier today.

When I was younger, I took a guilty pleasure in tropical weather. As I grew older and began to understand better the utter devastation these storms often cause, my feelings changed. My complicated relationship with cyclones is chronicled here.

So, by virtue of not having family in harm's way of this storm, by the good fortune of not being stuck in Port Fourchon or -- God forbid -- offshore, I stand by my midday statement.

Turns out a boat is not a bad place to be during a hurricane, provided you have a good hurricane hole. The dock we chose on the ICW in Morgan City was a pretty good spot.

Double-up the lines, lash down the life rafts, stow the life rings, bind the cargo and make sure the hatches are dogged tight. Then, throw a peach cobbler in the oven. That's the routine, apparently.

We didn't have to worry about the electricity going out (it's always provided by our generators), we had plenty of good food on board, and when the water rose we rose with it.

The idle time gave our crew a chance to get to know each other better; normally, we are all awake at the same time only a couple of hours a day and then we're likely pretty busy.

The eye of Isaac, still a hurricane, passed about 40 miles east of us, which meant we never saw the calm in the center of the storm.

We got some serious wind, quite a bit of horizontal rain, and in fact as late as this afternoon we're still getting some bands that make us wonder if the storm really passed. Inconveniently, one of those squalls slammed into us just as I was about to put our boat on the fuel dock.

Morgan City is hosting more work boats than usual; eight of Seacor's pretty, orange and black crewboats are rafted-up down at the Halliburton dock, and a variety of utility boats and offshore supply vessels we don't normally see are in port.

The Coast Guard did not allow any of us to move until after 1400 today, when it began reopening waterways section by section.

The bulkhead at the dock where we usually load has caved-in, and the word is that we'll be offloading and backloading at a different location tomorrow morning.

Seas are still a bit steep out there, if the National Weather Service is to be believed, so I'm happy to wait.

There's a Storm a'Coming

Debby is making her way northward and westward across the Gulf of Mexico, and today we began evacuating non-essential personnel from a couple of the fields off Morgan City, Louisiana.

Seas this week were running 6-8 feet; not impossible to work in, but not very comfortable, either. If they don't send us back out, and it doesn't pour on us, we may have a couple of days with a clear deck. That means it's painting time.

God (not to mention our port captain) knows this boat needs it.

At watch change today, the other captain on the boat offered to take over as I was backing up to a platform.

"I don't mind doing this one," I said, "Unless I'm scaring you."

"You ain't scaring me," he replied. "You're doing real good. You really come around okay."

Of course my first thought then was that such praise made it nearly inevitable I'd smack the platform.

I didn't, and the positive reinforcement was welcome -- especially coming from a 30-year crewboat veteran.