The Goddamned Coffeepot

The wind has finally laid down some, a real favor to this boat -- a "big 135" with a measly 2,800 horses and no thruster. Not that I've ever used a thruster on a crewboat, but still ...

This morning, at our fourth stop of the run, the first captain came storming up the wheelhouse stairs, shoved me out of the way and said: "I'm going to school you ..." I was, he said, making the deckhands uptight.

The indictment read as follows: throttle jockeying, rushing from rig to rig, dumping gears.

Hey, it's his boat and he has the right to insist it is run the way he wants it run. But I'm no throttle jockey. And I sure as hell wasn't throwing the sticks down on the dash with an audible "clack" as he demonstrated; I don't even hold the throttles in a way that would make that possible.

I may not be doing everything exactly the way he wants on this boat yet, but I sure wasn't doing everything wrong, which was his strong implication.

A little later, he rushed up the steps again.

"This is the second morning in a row the coffeepot hasn't been set up. On this boat, you have to set the coffee pot up for the next watch."

"Okay, I got that," I said.

"Well, why wasn't it done? This is the second time. It was set up for you!"

"Probably because I'm still drinking coffee, and it's not even 1100. You come on watch at noon, right? Also, I've been driving the boat for the last five hours."

"It's got to be set up when I wake up," he clarifies. "If I get up before [the engineer], if that coffee is more than 20 minutes old, I dump it out and make a fresh pot for him. We don't drink old coffee."

"Okay, [his name -- rhymes with "Dick"], so what time do you usually get up?"

"It depends, but usually by 8 or 8:30."

"Okay," I say. "I guess I'll stop drinking coffee by 0700, just to be safe, and make sure the pot is set up for you."

"Look," he says, voice rising, "That's just the way it is on this boat, the way it's been for the past 13 years. If you can't get with the program I'll throw the goddamned coffeepot overboard!"

Alrighty then.

Oddly, that's the longest exchange I've had with this guy. The other day, in an effort to make small talk, maybe find a connection, I asked: "So, what kind of bike do you have?"

I got a one-word reply: "Harley." Then he walked away.

I could have guessed that much, given that he was wearing a Harley t-shirt.

Does it matter? <shrug> I dunno. In the end I'm here for a paycheck, and for the sea time. I'm always hoping to learn something new and improve my skills. It would be really nice if my weeks on the boat also were pleasant, interesting, or even (from time to time) fun.

After the goddamned coffeepot conversation, I was ready to go.

"Man," I said to a friend, "this just isn't going to work."

I decided instead to sleep on it, and now I just don't know. We'll see how I feel come Tuesday, I guess.

Quick Impressions

Day four on the new boat, and I'm headed off watch and to the rack. I lost most of my second day on the boat to a violent bout of food poisoning, or a stomach bug, or some such. It was a real bummer.

Here are a few quick impressions ....

The boat doesn't look 13 years old. She's been well-maintained and the owners continue to invest in her.

She also is, as advertised, under-powered, under-ruddered and under-wheeled. That doesn't make it impossible to operate this vessel (in 13 years she's been without a job just three days), but it does make this boat very different from my last boat.

So, I'm back in learning mode.

We're supporting three drilling rigs (with favors to production as needed) in the West Delta field, running out of Grand Isle, La. Grand Isle is very literally the end of the road. Well, the road ends in the state park, but I can see it from the wheelhouse.

Barataria Pass and Bayou Rigaud are a lot easier than the Eugene Island Channel and the Atchafalaya.

It takes us about an hour-and-a-half to run the 20+ miles offshore to our rigs, and we're back at the dock a couple of times a day.

My phone works everywhere here, and so far as I know none of the minutes I'm using are costing me $.79 ea. 

AT&T, you never loved me anyway.

As usual, I'm missing the kiddos. Especially Son Number One, who turns 14 tomorrow. Other than that, though ... so far, so good. More soon.

The Captain's Kit

I'm due on the boat in a week and already I'm doing laundry and packing for a 14-day hitch.

I've seen more than a few threads on gCaptain asking: "What do I take to the boat?"

It's true, I'll probably never make anyone's best-dressed list, and frankly I don't care. I've always appreciated sturdy, practical, comfortable clothes that don't require any special care.

Upon being hired at one boat company, I asked the personnel manager if what I was wearing (jeans and polo shirt) would be okay for the boat.

"That would be terrific," he said. "A lot of our captains look like they're going to a dog fight."

Most boats are business casual, with the emphasis on casual, but the officers set the standard for the entire crew and that standard is reflected in everything from footwear to the condition of the bilges.

1. Long pants. I've tried 'em all -- from jeans to Dickies to Carhart -- and have settled on Wrangler's Men's Cargo Pants ($18.97 at Wal-Mart). They come in twill and rip-stop, and they're remarkably sturdy. They're also cheap enough that if I splatter them with paint, I don't pout.

2. Shirts: No company I've worked for has had a uniform requirement, though most do have t-shirts and sweatshirts available from time to time. I wear a combination of work t-shirts (Wolverine, Carhart, Magellan), fishing shirts (Columbia, Magellan) and my favorite graphic tees.

3. Shoes: The SMS policy of any company will likely specify steel-toe shoes or boots for all crew members on duty. In practice, wheelhouse personnel often get by with tennis shoes or Crocs or even flip-flops. I wear Sketcher steel-toes, and I'm on my third pair in a year.

They're comfortable, but tend to fall apart after a couple of months.

4. Light jackets and sweatshirts: layers, layers, layers.

5. Hats: I wear 'em, mostly because of an unfortunate hairline. For the same reason, I usually just buzz my hair down to the scalp. Low maintenance.

6. Flip-flops, shorts and light t-shirts for off-duty cabin and lounge time.

Every offshore vessel should have a functional washer and dryer, but I usually take enough clothes to go a week without doing laundry.

In addition to clothing, I typically pack bedding -- a twin sheet set and a pillow; a sleeping bag to use as a comforter, one or two bath towels and toiletries.

Additional gear includes my laptop (which doubles as a DVD player and music center), my Kindle (which holds my recreational reading, as well as Bowditch and a copy of the Rules), an iPhone, which I can tether to the laptop for interwebs access, a small LED flashlight, and my Spyderco Pacific Salt pocket knife.

I consider the last two items to be safety requirements.

At any given time I may also have a couple of small screwdivers (to quickly address wheelhouse rattles or malfunctions), wirecutters or needle-nose plyers.

All of that gear goes into a sturdy daypack I carry everywhere. The daypack also holds my license and certification documents in a waterproof pouch and a physical copy of the International Rules.

If I'm lucky, I'll remember chargers for the laptop, phone and Kindle.

Finally, I pack sunglasses (for most of my life, Costas, but mid-hitch one month I picked-up a pair of Wiley DVX polarized safety glasses at Wal-Mart, and they're pretty awesome), safety glasses, reading glasses, work gloves, a hard hat and my work vest.

And that's it. That's the basic "going to sea" kit for a modern-day (oilfield) mariner.

Did I miss any essentials? Please leave a comment!

When it Rains ...

Well. Hello there. It's been a while.

I have news.

But, first: there's a thread going around on gCaptain right now on members' hobbies. What do you do when you're at home? (What do you do between hitches? Anything you've had to give up due to working offshore? Leave a comment!)

Me? I change a lot of diapers. Cook. Clean. Sometimes I throw the ball for the brown dog. Occasionally I catch a re-run of House or an episode of Shameless.

My aspirational response is that I read, write, fly fish, paddle a plastic boat, look at birds, carve things out of wood.

And I'm learning to play the ukulele (chosen, in part because chords are simple and there are only four strings, and in part because it's small enough and quiet enough to go to sea with me).

I have been home now for more than two months. My radar endorsement is safely tucked into the little red book. I've primed and painted the front gate. Found a couple of really cool old wooden school chairs cheap on CraigsList and stripped and refinished them. I hung blinds in the kitchen and replaced a couple of toilet seats.

It has been delightful, but I'm ready to go back to work for as long as my long-suffering, incredibly hard-working wife will let me.

With no solid offers arising from my three interviews during the week at school, I decided to head back to Louisiana and knock on some more doors.

But then it was Superbowl Weekend and Superbowl Hangover Week. After that, Mardi Gras.

A trip to Louisiana from the middle of Texas is a significant investment -- a triple C-note in gas roundtrip, plus accommodations, plus I'll probably want to eat once in a while ... it's a gamble, no job guaranteed, so most of us who do this from time-to-time try to make sure we maximize our productivity on any given trip.

And, you know ... Newton's First Law of Motion.

The unbalanced force (e.g., poverty, domestic unrest) had not yet acted upon the object (me) to change its (my) velocity (zero).

I've now buried my lede as far as I possibly can -- so I'll cut to the chase: a couple of days before I had planned to hit the road, I sent out two emails. Late at night, on a holiday. The next day I received a phone call and a job offer from Company Number One -- a smaller, family-owned boat company.

Crewboats, not OSVs, but nice crewboats owned by some folks who have been in business for a lot of years now and have long-term contracts and are willing to pay more than my last employer. Bonus points: an old friend from another life is a captain on the boat they are sending me to.

Ironically, as I wrapped-up my acceptance over the phone, call waiting beeped and it was the other company I had emailed -- bigger boats, newer boats, better bennies.. I reluctantly declined their offer, explaining that I had just accepted at Company Number One and didn't want to burn that bridge.

The personnel manager at Company Number Two teasingly reminded me that she, too, had previously offered me a job and I was turning her down again ....

"Well," I said, "Maybe the third time will be the charm. Can I keep in touch and check back with you down the line?"

"Absolutely," she said.

I am not God's Gift to the Gulf of Mexico, or The World's Greatest Captain. I'm competent, I try to pay attention. I keep my paperwork up-to-date, I speak standard English and I wear clean clothes and look people in the eye when I meet them.

But let me back up: when I say I emailed "companies," that's not exactly right. What I really mean is that I emailed specific individuals, and those particular people called me.

I hold on to business cards, send thank-you notes after interviews, and have been known to share cool photos of boats belonging to companies I did not go to work for -- when I run across them out on the water -- with the people who did not hire me.

My point is this, Grasshopper: never write-off a person or a company just because you don't go to work for them the first time around. This industry in this part of the world is fairly fluid. You never know when a previous good (or at least not negative) impression will pay off.

My other point is that when it rains, by God, it pours. This is my third round of job hunting in the oil patch, and the third time I've had multiple job offers on the same day or in the same week.

And I am so very grateful, because apparently in much of the country still, jobs aren't just falling out of trees.

And for all the sacrifices mariners make, it's damned good money, even in the 100-ton world, even for someone still relatively new to the game.

RADAR

Today is test day -- practical assessments, that is -- and the final day of the week-long RADAR Observer-Unlimited class at Fletcher College in Houma.

I have been very pleasantly surprised by the quality of instruction at this school; nice facilities, too.

The other five guys in my class come from a variety of companies, including a couple of the big boat outfits that have their own, in-house training programs. Nice fellas, and I'd be happy to sail with any of them.

I'm staying in Raceland, at Ms. Claudette's Home for Wayward Mariners. Nice digs, and the proprietress is full of helpful information. The best part, of course, is the opportunity to meet other mariners who also are in town for school or on the hunt for a gig.

Another captain here, down from Virginia, yesterday landed a 1600-ton mate position on a Choest ROVsupport vessel.

Most of us realize, I think, that there are plenty of boat companies and plenty of jobs out there, and we're willing to help-out the other guys however we can. And for all that, it's a small world and you never know when you're going to cross paths with someone again.

Wednesday I stopped by the dock in Morgan City and visited with my old crew. Good to see those knuckleheads, and good to see the boat post-shipyard (though it doesn't look like she got the overhaul I had expected).

Earlier in the week I was able to steal away a bit early one afternoon and squeezed in three interviews before offices closed; two were at companies in my "Top Three" list.

I should have an idea this afternoon if I'll be going to work at one or the other, or if my new job search extends into next week.

Well, Hello There ...

Here we are: 2013. The election has come and gone, a plunge over the fiscal cliff was narrowly averted and all that worry about the Mayan calendar has come to naught. Former hometown hero Lance Armstrong is reportedly set to announce that yes, in fact he is a lying bastard.

The U.S. is enjoying a 20-year peak in oil production and is on-track to claim the title of top oil producing nation in the world in the next decade. Newbuilds are hitting the water one after another, and rigs and boats are making their way back to the Gulf.

Me? I've been hanging out with the family for the past five weeks. During that time we moved across town, celebrated the holidays and explored the new neighborhood.

This Christmas marked the first time since ... well, probably in at least a decade, that I got to spend Christmas with the entire family -- both my brother and my sister (and their awesome significant others), the kids and my folks.

I was grateful for that opportunity.

We're a mile from our neighborhood brewpub (in which we promptly invested) and from a light rail station. There has been lots of kid time, which has been a real joy after spending nearly three months straight away from home.

I even got to head downtown to one of my old haunts for the "Wednesday Night Church Service," and was reminded, again, how fortunate I am to make my home in a place where $8 buys me a couple of hours of truly world-class music.

With another  200 days at sea under my belt, I now have the requisite time in the right categories to sit for the 500-ton Mate Oceans exam, and I'm just a few months shy of time enough for the 500-ton Master. 

I think I'll sit both and be done with license exams through 1600-ton Master and 2nd Mate All Gross Tons.

First, though, I have a long list of endorsements and assessments to complete. Short of spending about four months and $20,000 in a structured program, it's catch-as-catch-can at a handful of schools scattered around the continent's rim.

I start Monday with the Radar Observer Unlimited course at Fletcher Technical Community College in Houma, La. I have used radars routinely since the days when I was running tour boats; maybe this course will help me use them more effectively.

The climb up through the hawsepipe is a long one and is not particularly straightforward after the implementation of STCW 95. But how cool is it that there is even such an option in this country?! Many maritime nations have only one route to the wheelhouse, and that's through an academy of some sort.

The only way this works for me, by the way, is because my lovely bride also works.

She's sort of a superwoman -- holding down a high-pressure, senior-level position for a large healthcare network, taking care of our two youngest children (both still in diapers) and managing to remember to feed the dog and cat.

That doesn't give me the freedom to not work, but it does give us enough float that I can take a little time off and go to school, and I don't have to accept the first job that's offered.

The game plan of the day is to spend half of the week after next interviewing for jobs; I think I'll be looking at companies with larger boats -- mini-supply and supply boats.

Crewboats are cool, but with the growing importance of deepwater E&P, there may be much better opportunities on the larger, slower, steel hulls.

I'll keep you posted.

Changes?

After a miserably bouncy last day in the field, and a cold and foggy day at the dock, our trip back out was quite pleasant. I let my deckhand make passing arrangements with an inbound supply boat, which made him happy.

A quartering sea gently urged us offshore and the full moon hung off our starboard rail, one point of an isosceles triangle that included Jupiter and Aldeberon.

Here’s some trivia for you: a full moon sets in opposition to the rising sun. So, at least once a month, you can get sunrise to the east and moonset to the west at about the same time. It’s pretty cool.

It’s not exactly calm out here, but seas are from the east and the period is a little longer than usual and the current is an easy half knot to the south; all in all, no real challenges at the platforms.

I’m still enjoying the company of this crew, but seriously thinking it may be time to move on from the company for which we work.

Our crewing coordinator can’t tell me if I’m getting off this coming Wednesday, or the one after that. I’m already working over from my regular 14-day hitch, and by the time the next crew change opportunity rolls around will have been on the boat ten weeks of the past twelve.

On top of that, my six-month short-service employee period is in the books now, but the pay increase that was supposed to come with that is not. 

I don’t have a regular boat, unless I go back to the one I’ve been on – and I’m not too excited about that.

So, I’m thinking maybe a job as a relief on mini-supplies with dynamic positioning next.  Or maybe knock out some schools and come back in a couple of months ….

It’s tricky, making a change around the holidays – enough people just quit as it is because they want to be home and can’t get the schedule they want. Which of course might be an opportunity for me.

Whether on my regular boat or this one, I’m already scheduled off for Christmas, so that’s not the issue.

What to do?