Weather Window

Christmas dinner was two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

In the past week on the boat, I’ve had just two hot meals, not counting a bowl of microwaved oatmeal. Mostly it’s been pretzels and crackers.

Weather, you know.

The Gulf of Mexico in winter, as I’ve written before, is a study in contrasts. There are, in any winter month, days of astounding tranquility and beauty. They usually come on the heels of a raging, blundering cold front that heaps the seas and generally makes us miserable for 24 or 36 hours.

In the day or two leading up to a cold front, typically we have a strong onshore flow that brings with it 20-25 kts of wind from the Southeast and moderate, but still less-than-comfortable seas of six feet or better.

Even in the wake of a cold front, it doesn’t get truly cold out here in the middle. This great basin is also a terrific heat sink (surface water temps in our area of the Gulf right now are averaging about 72 degrees); last winter we had snow flurries in Fourchon, while 100 miles offshore air temps dipped to maybe the low 50s.

We are still, for a few more days at least, working with the seismic fleet. Mind-numbing, 12-hour wheel watches. Headings and speeds dictated by survey lines, not the weather, which means wretched, broken sleep for the off-watch folks when the weather is crappy.

On the upside, it’s a job. And it’s good for the boat to have a job, in winter, when the price of oil is less than $60/bbl.

I’m also getting to see some of the vaunted deepwater projects out here: drillships and MODUs and LLOG's nifty Delta House Floating Production System, finished-out at the facility where my sister-in-law works back in Texas.

The long wheel watches cry out for some sort of stimulation; reading and television are out, which leaves strictly auditory entertainment (below the volume of the VHF radios, of course): Flogging Molly to Jon DeeGraham to The Trishas to sea shanties to J.J. Grey to Townes van Zandt to … Audible!

I downloaded the app, and a couple of books, before leaving the house.

Redeployment, by former Marine Phil Klay, is a thought-provoking punch in the gut.

Some of it resonates with my own (Army) near-war experience. All of it makes me feel more certain than ever that our political leaders must employ and deploy our military might only for damned good reason. Because that shit breaks people. Breaks them beyond repair, sometimes. And I’m just talking about our people, the ones who come home.

Something else I do to amuse myself out here is take pictures. Capt. Dean Thomas, the world’s best (and, quite possibly, most laid-back) kayak fishing guide recently turned me on to Snapseed, a Google app that easily turns ho-hum snapshots into dramatic images.

So, you know, I’ve been overdoing that.

There are a lot of things I see out here that I’ll probably never be able to capture photographically: the spray of stars overhead, the comb jellies and dinoflagellates scintillating in our bow wave, the lights of a drillship reflected from a low ceiling of cloud; a pumpkin-colored moon on the horizon.

Archimedes asked for a lever and a place to stand; I would need a fast, long lens and, also, a steady place to stand. Not terribly likely to happen out here.

I am reminded just now of another fun aspect of the job we are currently working … as I think I’ve mentioned before, the majority of the crews on the seismic vessels are European.

Most – at least the ones we deal with over the radio – have a fair command of English. Some speak an elegant and formal brand of the international maritime language, and all seem to be highly professional mariners.

This appears to have had, over the past couple of months, a salutary effect on both radio procedure and clarity of communication among the crews of the support vessels. Everyone’s just a bit more courteous, too.

And that ain’t a bad thing.

Despite the Shenanigans, Joy

For all the shenanigans, for the sometimes crappy conditions, for all of the time away from home, working on a crewboat still affords many moments of what I can describe only as joy.

Folks end up working on boats for many reasons, not the least of which is money. It is not difficult, within just a few years of entering the profession, to make what many doctors and lawyers are making.

There is much more to it than that, though.

For some people – I’m one – being on and around boats is a pleasure in and of itself. We were dropped on our heads, into salty water, when we were babies. The experience rewired our brains forever.

I’m no gearhead, and my truck is a mid-sized one sans brush guard and lift kit. I don’t go “mudding,” and I’ve never seen a NASCAR race. I have never been inclined to operate heavy equipment, and I’m not especially fond of loud noises. But …

There is a sublimely powerful feeling in having 6,000 horses at one’s fingertips, literally.

Speaking for myself, I get a real charge out of standing on the 40-yard line and precisely controlling a very large object (the stern of the boat) in the end zone just feet or inches away from some very large obstructions.

In 1996 I was named U.S. Army Europe military journalist of the year. I have won top awards at the Department of Defense level. I have planned every facet of a successful overseas deployment to a war zone.

I have seen my stories and photographs published in dozens of magazines. I’ve rescued people from flood waters and retrieved them from the destruction of a hurricane.

None of that, or anything else I’ve ever done, matches the feeling of accomplishment that comes with a calm, controlled and safe offload or backload bow-up in 8-foot seas and 30 knots of wind.

I love the sailorly arts, the ones that connect me to age-old tradition: making-up mooring or dock lines, plotting a course, making passing arrangements in a busy port.

I enjoy teaching new guys the things they need to know to keep themselves, the vessel and their shipmates safe. I enjoy learning about my shipmates; you get to know the people you sail with (and live and work with 24-hours-a-day) on a level that compares only to family or brothers-in-arms.

Hell, I don’t even mind the ever-growing mountains of paperwork our customers require.

There are other benefits that you’ll never see listed on a boat company’s web site: in this line of work, one gets to experience things that people working and living ashore can barely imagine.

Things like a whale shark snuggling up to the boat for a couple of hours, or a pod of dolphins cavorting in the wake, flying fish skimming the wave tops next to the boat, a towering thunderstorm reflected in a glassy calm sea … a fat orange moon rising out of the Gulf, sunrises, and sunsets.

Those sorts of things never get old, truly. And sometimes when the shenanigans are in full swing, a single spectacular sunset can ransom another week of enthusiasm for the job.