A Hawsepiper's Guide to Applying, Studying and Testing for Master and Mate 500/1600

Now that I have had a few days to decompress and recover, here is my best advice for anyone working on that next upgrade.

Pre-requisites and Approval to Test:

The very first step in this process is to submit an application to the U.S. Coast Guard (National Maritime Center, via your Regional Exam Center). An evaluator at the NMC will determine that you have the required sea time on appropriate tonnage and routes and that you have completed all of the required endorsements. (Find the quick-and-easy guide to any license or rating in the NMC checklists).

At a minimum, and only prior to Dec. 31, 2016*, this will include: Bridge Resource Management, AB (Special, Limited or Unlimited)/Able Seafarer-Deck; Lifeboatman (the qualifying course is called Proficiency in Survival Craft or PSC-Lifeboatman), Rating Forming Part of a Navigation Watch (RFPNW) Assessments, Radar Observer Unlimited, STCW Basic Safety Training or Basic Training and Advanced Firefighting.

You have choices for these courses. For instance, if you take Basic and Advanced Firefighting together, you don't need to repeat two days of Basic Firefighting in the STCW Basic Safety Training.

Most schools will offer a discounted rate and allow you to take only the segments you need -- in this case, Personal Survival Techniques (Water Survival) Personal and Social Responsibility and CPR/First Aid (if you do not already have a current certification, and most working mariners will).

If you have a special circumstance -- for instance naval sea service, service as an Army Watercraft Operator or sea service on a submarine -- it may be worth your while to hire a license consultant. A search for "license consultant" on gCaptain.com will yield a handful of names of folks who have done good work for mariners in the past.

Apply for every permutation of the license you believe you may be entitled to.

For instance: if you are shooting for Master or Mate OSV, check your sea time and see if you might also qualify for Master or Mate (non-trade restricted). Master 500 or 1600 will get you STCW II/2, but  Mate requires assessments**. (Master will too, once they are published).

Your evaluator will approve you for only what you ask for (and sometimes not that, if she's not paying attention ... or at least that's my experience).

Also consider this: If you qualify for Master 500 or Master 1600, you also qualify for Mate of the same tonnage. Apply for both, because there is no path from Master to 3rd Mate Unlimited, but the Mate 500/1600 test is the same test for 3rd Mate and if you pass it once you can upgrade with only sea time on appropriate tonnage.

Other advantages of knocking-out Mate while testing for Master (or vice-versa, if qualified) include:

• the material is largely identical, only presented in different proportions and with a different emphasis; study once, pass both.
• as noted, after Dec. 31, 2016, the pre-requisites for either license become considerably more onerous (and expensive).
• mate upgrades with seatime to 1600 GRT or non-trade restricted 3000 GT after one year of sea service (upon application, of course); master takes two years.

Regardless, your first (and probably second and perhaps even third) billet with the new license (whether you hold master or mate or both) is, with a probability exceeding 95 percent, going to be as a mate.

To save on evaluation and issuance fees, you may submit your AB application simultaneously with your application for master or mate (or both) and request the NMC to issue it all at once. Another tip for saving on fees: make the new issuance your renewal.

Once you have your Approval to Test:

Congratulations! Your letter is good for a year. If you haven't been studying, it's time to start.

Lapware, Captain Joe's, Hawsepipe, Murphy's books, Upgrade U ... where to begin?

The biggest problem with Lapware (which a lot of folks have used very successfully) is that it requires a good internet connection, which might be a barrier if you are studying during your hitch.

It's also expensive, $150 for the first month and $100 per month thereafter. Captain Joe's ($89.99 one-time purchase) offers reference materials and comes on a CD, so that's a pretty good, comprehensive option. The Hawsepipe ($94.95 one-time purchase, good for a year) thumb drive, likewise.

My advice: keep it simple and keep it accessible. For IOS users, this means Upgrade U ($29.99), which is comprehensive and easy to use and available for both iPads and iPhones.

For Android users, you'll have to cobble together several apps to achieve the same result. The ones I used were: CaptainQuiz Deck ($4.99) for Deck General, Deck Safety and Nav Gen, and Rules of the Road Pro (99 cents) for Rules (also includes tips and some reference materials).

Note that the CaptainQuiz does not include reference materials -- it is current questions and answers only, from the Coast Guard database. This is helpful, but to understand the material you'll need either hardcopies (or digital versions -- usually free) of the CFRs, Bowditch, etc.; or you'll need to purchase one of the other prep packages (such as Captain Joe's or Hawsepipe, or Upgrade U).

Speaking of reference material, familiarize yourself with CFRs 33, 46 and 49. You will use these your entire career, and you also will need to know how to find information in them in the test room (where they are provided as "available resources").

As soon as you have your approval to test letter, or even before, begin using the applications of your choice above to study rules, deck general, deck safety and nav general.

Mastering Terrestrial Navigation:

Terrestrial Navigation, or T-Nav, is the big, ugly strainer that filters-out those who would like to run bigger boats and those who will be allowed to try. The module itself is called "Navigation Problems: Near Coastal (or Oceans, as applicable). T-Nav problems also show up in the Nav General module.

As I may have mentioned in an earlier post, it involves some math.

I know a couple of guys who taught themselves all or some of the t-nav calculations and formulae; my hat is off. Sincerely. For the rest of us mere mortals, I strongly recommend a prep course or a tutor. If you would like to know who I used and how to get in touch him, e-mail me or send me a message.

Because he absolutely rocked, and he didn't teach answers, he taught theory and process -- processes I can use for the rest of my career.

Plan on spending $2000-$3000 and three weeks, including evenings and weekends, learning and practicing.

Your plots will include t-nav problems, so plotting should be part of your test prep and is usually included in a prep course. Plotting, like most things in life, gets better with practice, so practice. A lot.

Your t-nav test prep course probably won't include a whole lot of rules, deck safety, deck gen or nav gen (though my instructor did spend a couple of hours reviewing each and teaching things like stowage factor, dewpoint and relative humidity, and stability -- and we completed a rules test each morning). So, again, study that stuff before you get to class.

Here's what you'll need for t-nav and plotting:

American Practical Navigator (Bowditch 1981, Vol. 2). Get the larger, hardcover version if you can find it (used is fine!); it's the one that will be in the test room and, for my middle-aged eyes, some of the tables were much easier to read. Everything else, including page numbers, is the same in the soft binding.

The 1981 Nautical Almanac, and 1983 Reprint from Tide and Current Tables and 1983 Reprint from the Light Lists. All available here, and elsewhere.

It should go without saying, but I'll say it anyway ... for the purposes of testing, and for test prep, you must use the 1981/1983 versions of the publications listed above. In practical application, the current versions work the same way, but all of the Coast Guard's test questions are based on the years above, and they continue to be reprinted for only that purpose.

Navigation Rules, August 2014, available here and elsewhere. (This really isn't a t-nav specific resource, but you should have it anyway.)

TI-30XA Calculator (some scientific calculators are not approved for use in the test room; this one is), available here.

Plotting tools: Parallel rulers (15-inch or 24-inch really are handy); triangles (if you don't know how to use these, learn, because they make life so much easier and angles so much more accurate); two ultralight dividers (one for use with a pencil lead, one for use with divider points only); draftsman's erasers; mechanical pencils.

A set of training charts (Block Island Sound, Long Island Sound and Chesapeake).

Maneuvering boards -- two pads,probably. Available here.

Other useful items include: Post-It Notes, sticky page tabs, several college-ruled notebooks, and 4-color highlighters.

Scheduling a Test and Testing:

Mariners are free to schedule exams at any Regional Exam Center. I tested at REC Houston, and while I assume most RECs are similar in layout and procedure, I can only vouch for my experience.

You may schedule the exams anytime after you are approved to test (within 12 months, obviously). You may do this online at the NMC website, or simply call the NMC (1-800-IASKNMC) and a customer service agent will schedule it for you.

The Houston REC was open 0700-1500, and we were discouraged from starting any module when we had less than two hours to complete it (i.e., after 1300).

I noticed that online, you are offered options to schedule up to three days. These are actually "start" days -- the RECs know that you will have a minimum of six modules.

You must complete two modules per day, in any order you desire. If you fail one, that module goes to the end of the line and you may retest immediately upon completing the other modules or anytime within 90 days. Fail three and you must start the entire cycle over again.

If you decide to test for both master and mate, as I and several others did, you may begin with either master or mate, but must complete that entire cycle before beginning the next one. One useful strategy with regard to this arrangement is to save deck safety and deck gen for day two (or three) of your first cycle, and begin with deck safety and deck gen of the next cycle the same day.

Our examiner allowed us to review the exams immediately after grading to see what we missed. I strongly recommend doing this if you do not score 100 percent on any given module.

The exam room is chock-full of reference materials, which you are free to access for any module other than Navigation Rules. Many of the answers to questions in Nav Gen, Deck Gen and Deck Safety are in these references. Give yourself time to look them up. If you are familiar with the CFRs (and Bowditch, the Light List and Pub. 102) when you go in, this will speed things up for you.

When completing your plot, be sure to use the Light List to verify that you are plotting bearings or ranges to the correct light or feature. Each plot (for mate, anyway) usually has at least one question that is answered in the Coast Pilot, as well.

Once you have successfully completed testing, your examiner will email the scores to NMC and your new license will be issued without further action on your part. If you fail any modules, again, you have up to 90 days to retest those modules (the ones you passed, unless you failed three or more, still count).

Take advantage of the time to brush-up on the subjects you had trouble with and go back confident that the second time is the charm.

Of course we all want to master the material and nail the exams on the first go-around, but nowhere, on anyone's merchant mariner credential, is there a section that shows your test scores or how many times you repeated a test. Just like the guy who was last in his class in med school and squeaked through the boards is still called "Doctor," you will still get a credential and a shot at proving yourself in the wheelhouse.

A last note on the REC: I suppose it might be respectful to show up in long pants and real shoes, but most of the guys who tested at the same time I did wore shorts and flip-flops. This is partly because it was July on the Texas Gulf Coast. But no eyebrows were raised, and it wasn't a problem. Be comfortable -- those hours in the exam room are like dog hours; a full day feels a little like a week.

Near Coastal or Oceans?

The difference between the Near Coastal and Oceans licenses is a matter of celestial navigation, which is an additional module, and different Nav General (and possibly Deck General -- I'm not clear on this) modules.

T-Nav gets you about halfway to C-Nav, from what I can tell, and it makes sense to build on that -- immediately or later. I initially thought I would do it immediately, but belatedly decided that following the advice of some friends to add that route later was the better part of valor.

My navigation tutor used an example from antiquity: the dog who saw his reflection in the water and decided he wanted *that* bone, too, so dropped the one in his mouth to grab it and ended up with nothing.

From a practical perspective, it doesn't matter at all for most oil patch jobs -- by default, nearly all of the domestic billets will be on vessels operating within the 200-nautical mile limit. Likewise for harbor tugs.

Where it would make a difference is in working foreign, in some jobs in the Pacific Northwest, or in ocean towing, so it's worthwhile to consider for those reasons.

Finally ....

Hawsepipin' aint easy. If you're doing it, you already know this.

If I had it all to do over again, knowing what I know now, I would have got myself to one of the maritime academies right out of high school.

If I knew then what I know now, and it had been available a little later in life, I might have opted for MITAGS-PMI Workboat Academy, which by all accounts is a terrific program.

As it stands, I've been able to make a decent living and I've learned a lot of practical and boat-handling skills doing it this way. It's taken a little longer, but at the end of the day I took and passed the same test academy grads take with a just year more invested (and zero student loan debt -- well, from this experience, anyhow).

It will take me a little longer to receive the same license the academy grads get, but from a practical and experiential standpoint I feel like I'm ahead of the game.

Still, I am mindful that the credential -- the license -- only says "You May." It says nothing about "You Can." It's just a ticket to try.

I'm looking forward to trying.

*This applies only if you began qualifying training or sea service prior to March 24, 2014. That means one day of sea service or training for one endorsement prior to that date. If you don't have this, or are testing for your upgrade after the beginning of 2017, you will, at a minimum, also have to complete courses in ship handling, stability, meteorology and search and rescue.

**The assessments are a bit of a catch-22 for most hawsepipers, or at least those taking the wheelhouse-wheelhouse route: they require an STCW-endorsed officer (500GT or better, usually) to sign-off on them, but prior to upgrading, guys coming from the 100-ton world usually won't have access to such a person for the length of time needed to do the assessments. Add the OICNW endorsement later, post-upgrade, or spend a week and $1300 getting them done in the simulator at Marine Professional Training in Fort Lauderdale, Fla.

And ... Done!

A couple of the problems in terrestrial navigation deal with the concept of slip -- the difference between one's theoretical and actual advance. All you need is the pitch of the propeller (feet per revolution) and RPM (revolutions per minute) so know how you're doing.

When one falls short of the theoretical distance traveled, we call that positive slip (though it's really a negative).

Negative slip is a good thing -- you're moving farther or faster than your RPMs indicate.

Slip can result from any number of conditions -- a foul hull, set and drift, draft, whatever.

Anyway, there's a nifty "per line" operation to calculate slip -- or distance traveled, or just about anything else. It's kind of magical.

Reflecting on the 5-year journey to the successful completion of my mate and master exams this week, it occurred to me that I am about a month behind the target date I set three years ago.

Just one month. Or positive slip of about .027 percent.

Given that there were months of classes (that weren't always scheduled during my time off, or didn't always have available seats) for endorsements that cost something on the order of $10,000, lots of sea time on appropriate tonnage and routes, and the fact that I believed myself to be functionally innumerate until about three weeks ago (and learning to navigate the old-fashioned way involves algebra and trigonometry), that's kind of amazing.

Two children under five and a teenager: really, no one is more surprised than me that I got this done.

The utterly unsurprising part is that I didn't do it by myself. 

There was a grand plan that involved decisions about what we, as a family, would spend money on and where we would live; the work my wife would do, the times I would need to be home to take care of the littles, the sacrifices she would make while I was away.

We called-on grandparents, who graciously stopped some gaps for us. We weathered some pretty rough days and weeks during long (28-day and more, sometimes) hitches, because that's typically what 100-ton captains work in the oilfield, and that is typically not conducive to family life.

A couple of friends who climbed the hawsepipe ahead of me reached down and gave me a hand up with advice, study materials and encouragement.

Believe me when I say I will pay that forward.

This past month I and two other guys engaged the services of what must surely be the smartest, most efficient and most passionate teacher of terrestrial navigation in these United States.

We rented a house together in Galveston, and studied and practiced 10 and 14 and sometimes 18 hours a day for 21 days straight.

It was a mountain of material. And I didn't know anything about the scientific part of a scientific calculator when we started. "Okay, next, find the sin of d ...."

Uh ... where's the "sin button?"

At one point someone mentioned we were doing trigonometry. I began hyperventilating.

The thing is, not only did I learn the stuff well enough to pass the tests, I even began to understand the why and how of it all. Some of the calculations we use to solve navigation problems are downright elegant.

Anyway, all this to say: thanks. Thanks to my family for the  incredible support on this journey. Thanks to my friends -- the ones who went ahead of me, the ones making the journey with me, and the ones just a few steps behind.

And a huge thanks to Andy, our instructor and coach this past month. E-mail me if you want his contact information or the dates of upcoming classes.

One of the frustrations -- and also the joys -- of the career I've chosen is that the lessons never end. There's always another endorsement, refresher or raise-in-grade to knock out. On the boat itself, nearly every hitch brings something I haven't seen or had to do before.

So, really, I'm not done at all. Just done with this step and taking a short breather before tackling the next rung of the ladder.

Azimuths and Amplitudes ...

Now in the last week of the upgrade prep course, and just six days out from testing at the Regional Exam Center, I can't quite believe how much material we've covered.

Holy crap, it's a lot of stuff. And a lot of math, which -- if you had asked me beforehand -- I would have told you I can't possibly do.

Except I can, apparently. Who knew?

About five days ago, faced with a small mountain of material I had yet to master, some of which gets me about halfway to celestial, I decided, regretfully, to change my route from oceans to near coastal.

That knocks two modules off my exam and makes a couple of others a bit easier.


Shortly after making the decision, I printed, signed, scanned and emailed a letter to the National Maritime Center asking for an amendment to my approval to test. That was at about 1030. At around 1400, I had the amended letter in my inbox.

Apparently you only have to call your congressman once to get continued stellar customer service.

I'll have covered enough by the end of this course that I believe I can probably swing celestial with just a little long-distance tutoring. Or maybe a lot of long-distance tutoring. We'll see.

The only reason I think it's possible, much less probable, is because our instructor is crazy good at this stuff.

He's not only good at algebra and trig, but really good at translating abstract ideas into actionable tools to solve problems.

And he's a fun guy, as are the other two mariners taking the course. Good thing, since we're all staying in the same house we're studying in, and the studying is averaging about 14 hours a day.

As you might expect, there have been a couple of study breaks.

One of the coolest things about this experience, for me, is the opportunity to get to know Galveston a little better.

I had a South Texan's prejudices about the city -- I still think the beaches are pretty crappy -- and have been happily surprised to find it endlessly fascinating. It's a tiny, old, very urban city.

I guess its history would point to that, but seeing it first-hand (other than driving in our out for work, or during a quick weekend visit) is something else.

Anyhow, that's the report from the waterfront. I'm underway making way this week.

Father's Day

Quite a few men I know are hoping they’ll be able to catch a cell signal or a few minutes on the sat phone to hear their kids’ voices while they are at sea today. At least one no doubt will be monitoring the SSB, hoping to touch base with a grown son on that man's Gulf shrimp trawler.

Others – too many others this Father’s Day – are home, but up early and worrying, perhaps parsing the household budget one more time, looking for that last tiny piece of fat to trim. They’re thinking about their kids too … wondering how they’ll afford a summer camp, a doctor’s appointment, a birthday party, a new pair of shoes.

The oil patch can be a lavish and exciting mistress, but ultimately she’s a fickle bitch.

Me?

Well, I’m still working the plan, which until I head out for a prep course and testing early next month, is all kids all the time. I. Am. So. Tired.

The 2-year-old takes a diaper change to be an invitation to beat some internal five-minute deadline to shit his britches again. The kid is a non-stop poop factory. He’s the sweet (and stinky) one.

The 5-year-old is a blur of tease and whine and questions and cuts and scrapes and bruises. If I had the money, I’d hire not a babysitter, but an umpire, to keep peace between the littles. He’s the smart one.

It’s a good thing they are both cute.

The teen – the inscrutable one, the strong one -- is here this month, and I’m working hard to keep some long-deferred promises to him. We just finished-up our PADI open water certifications as dive buddies … something I’ve wanted to do since I was his age and that we first looked into together when he was 10.

Our check-out dives took place smack-dab in the middle of a tropical storm and flash flood watch. Dive shops don’t use JSAs. Seriously, I was a little surprised there was not some formal risk analysis procedure.

Trying now to figure out how to schedule (and afford) flight lessons for Number One Son, among a dozen other more minor projects.

Sixteen years and three children into this fatherhood thing, here’s what I think I know:

1. We are all making this up as we go along.
2. And we’re all doing the best we can with what we have and hoping that passing grades are awarded for effort, nevermind results.
3. Having a kid takes the paint right off a man, as my friend Jon Dee Graham sings. For more than a decade and a half I’ve experienced at least one brief jolt of terror every single day, usually upon waking. And, at home or at work, thinking about my boys takes up a significant portion of my mental and emotional bandwidth. Every. Single. Day.
4. There are lots of ways to love your kids, and one of those is to get up and go to work day after day, month after month, especially when your work takes you far away from those for whom you are laboring. My own father taught me that. He’s about the workingest man I’ve ever met. When I was really young, he rarely had less than a 12-hour-day, much less a free one. Now, nearing 70, he has retired twice. His longest retirement lasted three weeks before he was back at work full-time.
5. That said, money comes and money goes and there’s always more of it out there somewhere. Time … not so much. Now, in my 40s, I can’t remember much of anything my parents bought for me when I was a kid, but I remember well the fishing trips and camping on the national seashore and in the hill country and hanging out with the big ol’ crazy family at the grandparents’.
6. If you are working 2:1 on the premise that you are making a “better life” possible for your family by stacking all that green, you may need to take another look at what they are missing – and what you are missing – when you are gone two-thirds of each year. Everyone’s circumstances are different, of course, and your mileage may vary. Still ….
7. Having children might just let you relive the best parts of your own childhood.
8. Before I had kids, I literally could not (accurately) imagine what that would be like. Now that I have kids, I shudder to think of what life would be like without them.

Anyway, here’s to all you dads out there, doing your best for the small people who may appreciate how hard you tried only long after your labors are done.

Keep on keeping on my brothers. Get some rest when you can.

And Happy Father’s Day.

[Captain] Daddy, or, We Celebrate Mothers' Day for a Reason

It’s the day after Mother’s Day and the day before my regularly scheduled crew change. It’s the day I’m usually doing the last of the laundry, downloading books on the Kindle, packing my bags and wondering if the children will let me get a nap before I drive 12 hours.

At this point in the crazy cycle of my life I’m usually disengaging from the family. If something on my “honey do” list hasn’t been completed by now, it will have to wait until I get home next time.

If one of the boys has a crisis, my wife deals with it; I’m focused on going back to work, where I will be responsible – at least half of each day -- for millions of dollars of equipment and half a dozen lives.

Parenting fail: he wasn't even supposed to know about the

Golden Oreos Double Stuff cookies. Damnit.

But not today.

Today I’m sitting on the back porch watching the rain, thinking about how badly I bungled my first day of a different sort of responsibility. I fell flat on my face, in fact.

My wife and I are trying out a new arrangement for the next four or five months. In this new scheme, she gets to travel and leave the house and kid stuff to me.

She has in fact always traveled for her consulting business, but usually just a couple days a month. My own longsuffering and generous mother has been available to pinch-hit for the parents; sometimes we’ve been able to find a trustworthy overnight babysitter.

But a new contract that builds toward deliverables in the fall of this year means the travel has increased significantly, and my folks are moving across the state this summer, and … well, it’s my turn to take the strain at home.

Getting some park time so Mommy can take a conference call.

I’ll use the time to study for my next round of tests at the Coast Guard’s Regional Exam Center, too. Or at least that’s the theory. In practice, it’s going to take early mornings and late nights and a lot of patience with sweet-voiced interruptions.

Parents of young children know this already, but let me just put it out there: if you get one little thing wrong – skip a wake-up or delay a nap, in this case – the ripple effects can last for days.

I’m not going to perform a full root cause analysis of why the boys were in the bath at 2300 last night, or why they had oatmeal for supper 30 minutes before that, or why they didn’t actually go to sleep until 0230 this morning, or why they are not in pre-school today …. but the broad outline looks like this:

1. We let Mommy sleep in on Mother’s Day, which meant Daddy had to get up extra early.
2. The 2-year-old went down for a nap about 1430. The 4-year-old not until 1700 or so.
3. They both slept waaaaaay too long.
4. Somewhere in there, Daddy also nodded off (see 1, above, resulting in 3).
5. Now we’re all home together on a wet Monday during the last week of “school” and my plans for garage organization/sorting old clothes for Goodwill/er … a nap … well, those plans are in significant disarray.

This is a lot more fun under an old oak
than under a crane 75 feet above the
water..

It's all a bit confusing. Last night when my wife called to say goodnight, the 2-year old looked at me, reached out his hand, and asked if he could talk to Daddy. Because usually it's Daddy who is gone.

But I love it. Sort of. I just had a conversation with the 2-year-old about why it rains. And reassured the 4-year-old that lightning was not in fact likely to strike the chimney, shoot down through the flue and spear him in front of the television.

Last night, in the wee hours before sleep, the 4-year-old picked his favorite sea creatures out of a book I didn’t know he had and asked me to read about them out-loud. I had photos of a surprising number of those animals – a manta ray, a needlefish (his big brother holding a junior state record), a whale shark, a bull shark and a hammerhead, a sea cucumber – on my phone.

I had just never taken the time to show him before.

But more to the point, in just 14 16 18 24 31 hours I have realized – viscerally rather than just theoretically – this solo parenting stuff ain’t easy.

Neither was the decision to stay home and take on a larger share of the responsibilities.

Despite the progress we have made, as a society, in achieving equality between men and women both at work and at home – and even though we are not quite there yet, we actually do better in the workplace – women still perform an outsized slice of the household and parenting duties.

But because of the first thing, greater professional opportunities and earning power of women outside the home, more than ever before men are taking advantage of the opportunity to stay home with their kids. The number has almost doubled since 1989. 

And if you needed another sign that the era of the stay-at-home dad has arrived, A&E aired a reality show about the phenomenon. 

Not surprisingly, the number of full-time stay-at-home dads peaked in 2012, right at the end of the recession. For many, the decision to become full-time fathers was an economic one.

Rudy's BBQ for lunch? Sure. Why not?

It was for us as well. The percentage of wives who out-earn their husbands has almost doubled from about 17 percent the year I graduated from high school to 29 percent in 2012.

We are part of that 29 percent, and it has rarely been anything more than an occasional source of good-natured competition and a constant source of pride for me.

That is to say, I don't feel threatened by my wife's success. I know I'm still smarter, sexier and a better angler than she is.

Okay ... not really. I'm just one of those things. But sometimes I tell myself I'm all that so I'll feel better.

For most guys who decide to take on the primary child care role, the decision is undoubtedly freighted with the same sort of tortured ambivalence I feel: it tears my heart every time I leave to start a hitch and, with young kids especially, I feel like I'm missing so much. 

On the other hand, I am a man, a husband, a father – my job is to go out and earn a living for the family. Never mind my wife makes more than half the income, my own career field pays pretty well and it is (usually) honest labor I can be proud of. In addition, I really enjoy my job, on balance, and I take pride in the progress I have made in a career I chose relatively late in my life.

For many men, what we do defines us, or is at least an integral part of our identities. But the same is true for many women. My wife earned a graduate degree, put in the years in corporate jobs and at one of the “Big Four” consulting companies, and has earned every bit of her successful career. Which she also really enjoys.

But …. my career!

God willing, there will be time for it. I’ll return to my other work in four or five or six or 10 months with a more valuable credential.I won't accept anything less than an even time schedule.  I’ll also go back, if the last 20 31 hours are any indication, with a much greater appreciation for what my wife accomplishes while I’m gone.

The world we live in today is changing at a remarkable pace. Many things our parents and grandparents took for granted – from lifelong employment and comfortable retirements to gender roles and responsibilities to what makes a family – look significantly different in 2015.

Entire industries and career fields have disappeared and others have taken their place (or, sadly, not). Technology and something called the Affordable Care Act have rendered the office and the corporate employer, if not obsolete, at least just one among many options.

(I just discovered I can get vastly superior health insurance for the family through the Health Care Exchange about 50 percent cheaper than COBRA and only about 30 percent more than my monthly contribution to my former employer’s plan.)

For our little family, all of this change has expanded opportunity rather than limited it. It means that, so long as there is an airport within a reasonable distance and high-speed internet at the house, my wife can work from virtually anywhere.

As a merchant mariner, of course, so can I. Just not always at precisely the same time.

All of this change around us has also changed the way we think about things; we no longer feel compelled to do things the same old way, the way our parents did, or the way society considers “normal.”

Instead, we can do things the way that works best for our family. There are limits, of course: no employer will tolerate unlimited leaves of absence; the kids require a certain amount of structure; and we have to pay the bills and save a little money.

There's no replacing Mommy. Best I can do is fill-in for a while.

There may be other limits we haven't yet discovered, something integral to her or me that will prevent this from working. Like the sink full of dishes right now and the floor that needs to be mopped. Also right now.

As long as I feel like I'm moving forward professionally in some way -- even if it's just a couple hours a day of study for my raise-in-grade -- and as long as I can take an active role in my boys' lives, I think I can live with it.

But holy crap, momming ain't no joke. And my wife does this for weeks at a time, while working five or six hours a day.

Hat's off, Babe. And I'll get those dishes done before you get home. Promise.

Becoming ....

I recently ran across an article online with this headline: Mark Knopfler: This getting older stuff ain’t for wimps.

That resonates for two … no, three reasons: first, I had a birthday this month. Second, I think Mark Knopfler is a fine songwriter and I’ve always enjoyed his music. Third, it echoes something my cousin Bobby said to me several years ago: “It takes a stout heart to grow old.”

Past a certain point, getting older has certain drawbacks, particularly if you are overly concerned with how the prevailing, youth-obsessed culture regards you.

The fact that in my mind I’m still a 20-something in the absurd and inexplicable situation of being trapped in a 40-something body is beside the point.

That thing your parents and grandparents told you – it goes so fast – is increasingly clear. The clock seems to tick a bit faster with every passing year. You realize that there’s something rather final just over the horizon; the bearing has not in fact changed, and the range is decreasing rapidly.

It’s not all bad. There also are advantages. I’ll admit that it took me a long time – way too long, at great cost – to “grow up.” To accept that those legendary adult responsibilities had my name on them. 

And then figure out how to meet them.

It wasn’t until my fourth decade or thereabouts that I finally started to get a handle on what is really important to me. Or even what I really thought about a lot of things.

The good news in all that, at least for me, is that the model I had in my head in my youth: grow, learn, take what I’ve learned and go do, coast into retirement with a genteel hobby or two…. has turned-out to be not terribly accurate.

It’s more like: grow, learn, do; grow, learn, do; grow, learn; grow, learn … hopefully right up until the end, whenever that will be.

That is to say, people change.

Scott Miller sings: “How am I ever gonna be me? How am I ever gonna be me, Lord? How am I ever gonna be if I’m not who I’m supposed to be?”

I learn new stuff every week: about being a dad, a husband, a son, a mariner, a man. Some of the lessons are bitter and I’m ashamed it’s taken me so long. Sometimes I feel smug, even triumphant, after mastering something, only to discover I’m still not done. Not by a long shot.

So … mid-forties, certainly with more years behind me than ahead of me, here’s what I know today.

1.  I’m not as smart as I used to think I was.
2. But I’m smart enough to realize that much of what I learned in school and in church as a kid was just flat wrong, or at least does not accord with the world as I have found it since.
3. Having a kid takes the skin right off a man, to quote a friend of mine. It’s the hardest thing in the world, and the best thing, and nothing is the same after.
4. Kindness matters more than almost anything else.
5. The practice of kindness notwithstanding, some people are just assholes, or mentally ill, and in either case unless there is a familial or professional (i.e., you are a proctologist or a psychologist) obligation, you should get the hell away from those people.
6. Despite #5, most people are mostly doing the best they can most of the time.
7.   The things you think are really important when you are 25 may not be the same things you think are really important 20 or 30 years later.
8. Friends matter. Especially the ones who have stuck around for 20 or 30 or 40 years, through all that learning and growing.
9. Of all the things I regret, and there are many, among them I cannot identify a single day I spent fishing or birding or just sitting somewhere watching water move. That’s some good shit.
10.  This list will change in the future.

One of the things I have not learned yet is how to splice a plaited (eight-strand) line. We chafed right through an eye during weather the other night, I had printed directions in hand, and I thought: “Well, how hard can it be?”

A couple of hours later, I can tell you it’s pretty hard. At least with this ratty line and in poor light. Maybe I’ll try again in the morning, if we’re not busy at the platform.

One down, one to go ...

Halfway through the hitch from hell and I am really, really looking forward to getting home.

Except that I won't get all the way home until just before I come back. A long weekend with the family at the folks', then back to Louisiana for more training.

These short hitches are nice, but this one already feels three weeks old. It's been one thing after another since just before crew change.

Some of it stuff I don't want to write about in detail here, now, though I do subscribe to Ann Lamott's dictum that: "You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better."

Stuff I will mention: downflooding, bilge pumps not pumping, electrical malfunctions, bad starters and 32 hours straight on DP ("...that ain't nuthin' ..." some of my buddies on big mud boats say).

The customer has finally released us from the site for the morning, and we've taken care of the other issues over the past week with no recorded downtime, and some things we didn't even know were broken are now fixed.

We fixed some stuff we did know was broken, too. Stuff that's been broken for months. And by "we," I actually mean someone else, but it happened on my watch. And I spoke words of encouragement, nodded my head sagely and affirmed good decisions.

Yay team!

And there's only a week more to go.

On the other hand ... I've spent more time than I would like this past week playing armchair psychologist, trying to understand a couple of things that cropped-up.

I'm no doctor, and  I have never even played one on TV, still ... I'm fairly certain that in the past ... oh, let's say 10 days -- I've had to devote some time to dealing with one individual who suffers from untreated schizophrenia, or a schizophrenic disorder, and another individual who almost certainly suffers from narcissistic personality disorder.

Either one of these is a terrible burden to bear, and I'm sympathetic (particularly to the former), but unless the affected individual is a family member or close friend, I'm not very inclined to stand in the line of fire.

Let me be clear: we don't worry overmuch about strange out here; we're all a little "different," or we wouldn't be on boats. When oddness becomes physically violent, or in some way a career impediment to someone else, then it's time to perhaps change the situation. Just sayin' ....

On the other, other hand (I have three) -- I'm sailing this hitch with a couple of guys I really like and respect, so that kind of blunts the drama trauma.

Talking to someone about all this the other day, she said: "Well, I guess it's not so different than an office environment ... you get all kinds ..."

True. But at least in a shore-based job you get to go home at the end of the day.

In other news, I just finished a great novel, Station Eleven, by Emily St. John Mandel (on sale now for Kindle at $2.99). Even if you're not into post-apocalyptic, dystopian worlds, you'll probably still like this book. It even manages to poke some good-natured fun at behavioral psychologist business consultants. Which is what my sweet wife is in her professional life.

And J.J. Grey's new album, Ol' Glory, is out -- bluesy southern soul that's just about perfect listening overnight on a boat in the oil patch in the spring of 2015.

'Pre-loading,' Funny Math and Other Stuff

We are bobbing around just offshore of Dauphin Island right now, on safety standby as the liftboat we are working with pre-loads.

There is a really detailed explanation of pre-loading (and some other interesting liftboat stuff) here, but basically it means that the ballasted liftboat is very slowly and carefully making the transition from vessel afloat to work platform.

Meanwhile, we drift with engines idling. The wind is out of the southwest at about 8 knots, the current is headed southeast at about 3 knots, and we're hanging between the two, slipping gently astern at about one-third of a knot.

Every hour or so I put the mains in gear for a couple of minutes and point us back toward the liftboat.

Last hitch we spent the last 10 days or so transferring cargo and pumping water. By the time we got back to the dock for crew change we were so light I felt like I was back on a crewboat when I looked over the bulwarks. Our laden freeboad of about two feet was suddenly about six feet.

Back home we had a nice mix of warm, sunny days and cool nights. I got the lawn mowed, we celebrated the teen son's 16th with family, we had company, and then had company again. In the second round the daddies took the youngsters down to the river while the ladies got pedicures. Followed by a double-date for German food and lounge time.

All in all, it was  a pretty satisfying two weeks off work.

My wife sent along a link to a news story yesterday: 5 reasons why you shouldn't work too hard. It got me thinking about my job, and I did a little math: on this new, and hopefully not temporary, schedule working 180 days/year, I end up working 2,160 hours/year.

That's equivalent to a full year's worth of 40-hour weeks plus two more. And I spend a minimum of another two weeks commuting or training.

So, 56 weeks of work every 12 months.

That's a lot better than a 240-day schedule (28 days on, 14 days off or 14/7), which totals 2,880 hours per year, or equivalent to 72 weeks of 9-to-5 labor.

In the context of the Washington Post article linked above, I wondered for a moment if I work "too hard."

Probably not.

A 12-hour watch in bad weather or with continuous cargo operations or a difficult approach in zero visibility is as draining as any physical labor I've every done, especially when there is only broken sleep between watches.

Shipyard is pretty hard. But other times -- tonight for instance -- those 12 hours are mostly just tedious. I'm more likely to die of boredom than heat stroke or mental stress.

On the other hand, and to the point of that article, when I am off I am really off. There are no emails to check or answer, no teleconferences, no quick trips back to the office for a can't-miss meeting or last-minute report.

Talking to a friend, another captain, about this earlier, he said: "So, have you broken that down to an hourly rate?"

No. No I haven't. I decided not to do a little more math at that point, because I figured the answer would depress me.

Earlier this morning I came across another maritime blog I had not yet seen -- it was linked on Lela Joy's site. The blogger, who lives on the West Coast, is about my age and, like me, made a dramatic career change a couple of years ago.

One of his posts, from February of last year, is called "Maritime Reality," and in it he touches on some of the same topics.

I guess some facets of this career are pretty universal, no matter which coast you're on or segment of the industry you work in.

Anyway, it's a great blog: Back to Sea With Me -- definitely worth a look. In his latest post, the writer mentions that his application for mate is being evaluated and wonders how long that might take.

I was pretty pleased with the turnaround time on my raise-in-grade application over the holidays: about a month from submission to my approval to test. Only, my evaluator missed a couple of important (to me, anyway) items on the application.

Some were fixed with an email and a phone call. One, though, was not. I think I've written before that I applied for both master and mate and hoped to test for both the same week.

My evaluator could not at first understand why I would want to do that ("But Master is the higher license!" she said.) and then told me she would have to check with management to see if it was even possible.

My view: Of course it's possible. Maybe not routine, but there is nothing in the CFRs that prohibits it. And if I qualify to test for master, then surely I qualify to test for mate as well.

Actually, I didn't come up with this all by myself. The fellow who writes merchant mariner credential policy for the Coast Guard heartily recommended it in a public forum -- both for efficiency, and to take advantage of the shrinking window of opportunity to be grandfathered under the rules pre-STCW 2010 implementation.

The efficiency part is that while master and mate exams involve some different modules, much of the material is the same or very similar. And while the exam for Master 500 GRT Oceans will get me to Master 1600 GRT Oceans and Master 500-3000 GT without further testing, the Mate exam will carry me all the way through 2nd Mate all gross tons.

Anyway, it's been six weeks since I sent in my letter requesting reconsideration of that decision and still no answer. I checked back earlier in the week and I received an emailed apology and assurances that I would have an answer on where my answer is and when I might expect it.

If my request is denied, the next step is an appeal, and that goes to the same guy who suggested we do this to begin with.

Meanwhile .... the clock is ticking, and I really should be studying. Harder. Or ... at all.

I've had time to reconsider my strategy, and to weigh whether I want to take a terrestrial navigation and review course and ask the Coast Guard to amend my application to Near Coastal, or if I want to take that course immediately followed by an approved celestial navigation course and ask the Coast Guard to amend my application to accept the course in lieu of testing at the Regional Exam Center.

I'm now leaning towards the former, because I'll test sooner and get the credential I need this year and I can always increase the scope later. Plus, a couple of my captain friends may be able to take the same course at the same time. Which would make things cheaper, if we could share accommodations. It would definitely make it more fun.

Either way, nowhere in my plans is the notion that I'm going to walk into the REC and take the celestial navigation exam cold.

Figuring this stuff out is some sort of analogue to the time-speed-distance formulae we use in plotting. Only this is a time-expense-opportunity formula.

The opportunity part is important, because the oil patch slowdown is now in full effect, with several hundred boats cold-stacked. Things are tight, and I'm happy my boat is working. Even if this particular watch this particular morning is a little bit tedious.

Hey, I just noticed: 17 seagulls on the starboard beam. Why 17, and not 16, or 18, or three or 30? The mystery ....

Sittin' on the dock of the bay

I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Watchin' the tide roll away, ooh
I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time ...

-- Otis Redding, "Dock of the Bay," 1967

Things are quiet in Theodore, a compact and capable deepwater port on the western shore of Mobile Bay, about halfway between the Gulf and Mobile proper.

We're waiting for the liftboat we are working with to get situated at a platform just southwest of the sea buoy, and then they may or may not call us for some of the equipment they put on our deck before they left.

We've passed the time catching-up on paperwork and a bit of deferred maintenance, cooking meals appropriate to the weather outside (yesterday was my turn: pot roast), counting down the days 'til next we go home.

Which, for the officers anyhow, is sooner than some would like. That voluntary 14/14 schedule I mentioned last post? Well, it's mandatory now. Suits me and the family fine, I can tell you. Even if I did have to come back to work two weeks early.

The boat now essentially has two crews, and I'm happy with the one I'm working with.

Back at the office, seven of our shoreside staff were let go this past month as a cost-cutting measure. The supply list is being trimmed. I'm fighting a rearguard action to keep water on the requisition and not have it transferred to our ever-shrinking grocery budget. It's a safety issue, to my mind.

It's awfully quiet over here, at least compared to Port Fourchon, where the radio chatter never stops and there may be anywhere from 20 to 40 boats in motion at a given time. What radio traffic we do hear is remarkably polite and friendly. Even the shrimpers in the bay routinely come up on Ch. 13 without any prompting. 

There are live oak trees literally a stone's throw from the back deck, and a curtain of tall pines behind those. 

An osprey is building a nest in one (is it that time already? Maybe that was a snake it had clutched in its talons ....).

Coots and cormorants bob around the boat. Someone caught a sand trout -- they call them "white trout" over here -- off the back deck the other night. And this morning there were snow flurries.

It's good to come to work at the beginning of a job, for a change. We had opportunities to meet the crews of the other boats and the customer representatives we'll be working for. We reviewed JSAs and traded phone numbers and email addresses and got a jump on some of the confusion that ineveitably happens once a job is underway.

The field we'll be working in is an active hydrogen sulfide field, which necessitated trips to the occupational health clinic on our way to work. 

It also necessitated the delivery of a dozen self-contained breathing apparatuses, two big supplied-air cascade units and a whole bunch of H2S sensors and alarms.

The other captain on my hitch worked over here for 13 years on a production boat, so knows the field and waters well; he even spent a few years working with the company man on this job, which makes everyone happy. 

This job, which is slated to last up to three months, is for one of the majors -- I guess it's actually the major oil major -- and I think our sales guys have high hopes it will lead to additional contracts.

We'll do a bang-up job, because we always do. And because this is an easy one, and the sort of fun, standard OSV stuff we all signed-up for.

But until they call us to the location, you can find me ...


Sittin' in the mornin' sun
I'll be sittin' when the evenin' comes
Watchin' the ships roll in
Then I watch 'em roll away again, yeah
I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Watchin' the tide roll away, ooo
I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time ....