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?

Giving Thanks

It has been absolutely gorgeous out here; a big half moon has lit the Gulf half of each night, and if I had a solid, non-vibrating surface on which to set the camera I could take some really nifty long-exposure photos our here right now.

On the way out, bio-luminescing jellies (or so I supppose) rolled out of our bow wave like so many radioactive bowling balls.

In the field, large, white gulls (the Sibley is at home, I believe) are colonizing our buoy, and brown pelicans -- rarely seen over the summer -- have taken up residence on several platforms.

I wish I could share the sights with my wife and kids.

 It’s Thanksgiving as I write this. Last Thanksgiving, on another crewboat at another company, the turkey came out of the oven just as we cleared the ends of the Galveston jetties.

Today our deckhand has been tending the galley between offloads and a veritable feast awaits us: smoked ham, candied yams, macaroni casserole, corn, hot rolls, made-from-scratch mashed potatoes and (also made from scratch) gravy.

Man, it really smells good.

This year I am thankful for many things: including the continued presence of my 13-year-old in my life, my wonderful wife, who keeps things going while I’m away, the healthy little guys at home, and my job.

Renewal

No, nothing to do with the Coast Guard or the TSA … it’s more like, well, vocational renewal, I guess.

A couple of weeks ago I told you my boat was headed to the shipyard. It did, but I didn’t go with it. Instead, I was asked to hop over to the replacement boat – a sister ship – and help familiarize the new crew with the field and our job out here for however long they are needed.

One week has turned into two, and for all I know (and, actually, rather hope) may turn into a full four-week hitch. 

The regular third captain on this boat had other business the first week, and then – just as I was preparing to head to a completely new boat and a possible long-term relief master position – “mysteriously fell down a ladder” the day he was supposed to come back to work.

That means that when the first captain comes back to this boat, and the regular second goes home, they’ll be right back where they started if I also leave. So it would make sense for me to stay for a third week, and at that point (in my humble opinion), I might as well stay on the full four.

It does not escape my notice that this arrangement would still allow me to have Christmas at home with the family.

Anyhow, same job, almost identical boat, different crew. And it’s a world of difference.

I am grateful for what the guys on the other boat taught me over the past five-and-a-half months, for sure. 
But it was a couple months past time for me to get off that boat. Call it differences in management styles, or priorities. Maybe culture, too.

A week working with the crew on this boat, and it’s like a whole different company. We actually do things I’d only read about in our recommended safety practices binder.

I can see the bottom of the bilge when I lift a deck plate in the engine room. 

People are pleasant, and professional, and I share some common interests with the other two captains here.

So, anyway, we’ll see what happens. The boat I was supposed to go to this week also sounds cool.

In the end, I’m carrying everything I need to go wherever the company needs me, or home if it comes to that.