"Winter in Alaska", or "They Don't Pay Me Enough for this Shite"

Since we lost several ships to other ports, the core of Grant and my jobs out of Seattle/Tacoma are on the domestic runs either to Hawaii, and more significantly, Alaska. In 2009 I worked exclusively on the Alaska run. Though I had been invited back to “my” ship several times since my first trip the spring of 2007, I have been hesitant to due to the a really bad day I described in a previous post. The truth is, I can’t turn down work if I’m going to pay my mortgage and eat. And also, truth be told, these ships going to Alaska are pretty good pay. I also really like the people I work with on this particular ship. They have become the closest to “family” I have had on any of these ships, and there is a lot of camaraderie amongst we Alaska-run people.

In many ways the run to Anchorage, Kodiak, and Dutch Harbor is not particularly difficult as there is very little traffic, we get home a few times a month, and everybody speaks English. But in many ways, this run is much more difficult than picking your way through thousands of fishing boats or arguing with Shanghai pilots as they light a cigarette while colliding head on with an outbound ship.

The reason it is harder?

THE WEATHER SUCKS. Especially in November and April. Not to mention December, January, February, and March, and often May and June… When I joined the ship this last time, around Halloween, my watch partner started speculating about the weather in November. He, and others, mentioned that the really bad storms come with the transition seasons, particularly fall turning into winter, and winter turning to spring. I already experienced April/May with the worst day of my career back in 2007, and November 2009 also did not disappoint.

A day out of the Straits (Strait of Juan de Fuca, entrance to the Puget Sound, aka, the body of water that makes Washington State look funny, and separates the Olympic Peninsula from Vancouver Island, Canada) we found ourselves going straight into winds upwards of 50 knots with 40 foot seas. That’s about the height of my apartment building. We slowed down through the night to avoid pounding, to the point where we were in hand steering going 4 knots, basically hove to. We were not rolling much, as we were heading into the seas, but we had to be very careful, as the seas could punch the containers in, and we could risk incredible damage to our hull.

Same storm as the first picture

Our stern was completely underwater. We had a fire alarm go off in a space on deck, so we had to stop, and turn around about 90 degrees to make a lee for the Chief Mate to investigate. No fire, but the mate was able to snap this photo.

Last season large seas crumpled our huge steel breakwater like an old credit card bill. This year we tried to avoid that kind of damage.

Breakwater. The left side should not be creased like that

More bent steel on the back of the breakwater

Closeup look at crumpled steel.

We only punched in three containers, which is a miracle:




After seas like this:

Large seas like this actually break in the middle of the ocean. I wouldn't try surfing these though

When these 30ft+ seas break, they break containers too!

I never felt like I was in real danger like on other ships and other storms, but it definitely wasn’t pretty, and as little sleep as I got, the Captain hadn’t slept in days. He literally spent all day and night on the bridge. Ok, I know what your next question is going to be: “Isn’t the Captain always on the bridge anyway?” No! The Captain is not a watch stander. I am the Officer In Charge of the Navigation Watch, and the Captain is available when extra help is needed like in heavy traffic, or when transiting especially hairy pilotage areas. When the Captain is on the bridge all the time on the open ocean it means one of three things:(1) He is really obnoxious, (2) you are a crappy mate and he doesn’t trust you, or (3) the shit has hit the fan (or could if we are not careful). I assure you our Captain is not obnoxious nor does he think I'm a crappy mate. Because he was so dedicated to maneuvering the ship safely through the storm for days, we escaped major damage to the cargo, ship, and crew.


When not in huge North Pacific storms, the weather and other environmental factors in Alaska make it difficult to work. In Anchorage, it gets really, really cold. Cook Inlet around Anchorage gets ice anywhere from before October and into April, May, and beyond. The worst of course is in the dead of winter, when the Coast Guard institutes Ice Rules for shipping. These rules basically mean that the pilot and/or Captain must be aboard at all times, engines ready to go, and extra lines put out. The ice can, and has, gotten between the ship and dock and torn them off the dock. Ice doesn’t compress very well.

Ice. Not recommended between ship and dock.

When we are docking, we actually have to put the bow on the dock at an angle and either let the current move all the ice out of the way, or get a tug to come over and swish all the ice out with it’s prop, before we can come alongside.This makes for long, cold tieups. It sucks working outside for 8 hours in -20 degrees Fahrenheit (not Celsius. If only it were Celsius).

In addition to the ice, Anchorage has the second largest tidal range in the world. It regularly changes by 30 feet in a matter of six or seven hours. Again, that’s about the height of my apartment building. So picture sitting in your boat, or 700ft container ship, and suddenly finding yourself 30 feet higher a few hours later. It is as crazy as it sounds.This makes for a lot of unique problems while docking.

When docking soon after low tide, I literally cannot see the dock. I send my mooring lines UP instead of down like at most docks. I must rely on the Captain on the bridge looking down to tell me by radio when my spring lines are on the bollard. Also, the lines will get pinched between the dock and ship, so they often have to pull the ship off the dock in order for me to pull the lines tight, so we are flat alongside the dock. Confusing, no? The biggest safety issue while docking at such a low tide is that you don’t get your fingers, or head, caught between the ship and the dock stringers. Scary? Yes. Dangerous? Yes. It’s hard to describe, so hopefully these pictures help.

Nearly low tide. At high tide this deck is above the top of the dock. Here I am looking up 20 feet to the dock. Notice the yellow dock stringers? On the stern, if you stick your head out at the gaps, then the ship moves forward, you can be decapitated. Luckily, we have avoided that so far.

The large tides require this unique gangway. At high tide, the center of the gangway rests on the ship's helo deck. At low tide, it is a long, steep hike up and down. This helo deck is a deck above the main deck pictured above.

From the stern, low tide looking up 20-30 feet to the bollard

So after surviving the storms, the ice, and the tidal range of Anchorage, it’s off to Kodiak.

Blizzard outside Marmot Strait on the way to Kodiak. Zero visibility is not always due to fog!

In Kodiak our dock is not protected by a natural or man made breakwater, so our ship surges off the dock, even on a calm day. I mentioned before that my first trip up in 2007, we had a particularly bad day with high winds and a large surge, and we parted 8 lines. When a mooring line parts, if you are caught in the middle, you will be cut in half, and this does happen on occasion. The energy of the line parting can knock you down if you are near, even if the line itself does not hit you. I had a guy that was hit by a line not parting, but just slipping around the capstan, and the force of it broke his wrist in several places, and broke his hip. I had to call for an ambulance, get him into a safe place, and give him first aid. He was in so much pain that he though he had been cut in half. It was very scary, and the worst day of my career. I am very gun-shy around mooring lines now, especially in Kodiak.

Dutch Harbor does not have a surge, ice, or cold temperatures as Anchorage, but it does get hit by very large storms. Luckily we missed the storm that did this:

Gusts up to 125 mph knocked this huge gantry crane over at the APL dock in Dutch Harbor early December. Horizon Lines is servicing APL ships for now. They own an extra crane in this port and may sell it to APL, but it will still be a huge, expensive process no matter how you look at it.

Now that I am safely home, drinking my coffee in my pajamas, I can look at this two-month tour of duty as a success. Nobody was hurt, I made a few bucks, and I’m going to Mexico. Uno mas cerveza por favor!

Here is some really cool sea smoke, which I had never seen before!

It's cold, but we're still here!!!

                       Approach to Kodiak, AK

Well, this isn't a real blog post, but I wanted to check in with everybody.  I'm enjoying an adult beverage in Anchorage, where it is a balmy 34 degrees.  It was so warm I had to take a layer off while running around on deck.  Today I realized I have been on this Alaska run too long because I now consider anything in the low 30's to be warm.  We had about 6 hours daylight today, though as we are past solstice, the days are getting longer.  Traveling North from Seattle, the days are always getting shorter this time of year, so I don't notice this supposed phenomenon.  I don't know how the Alaskans do it.  The bitter cold, the darkness, the isolation.  They all seem pretty cheerful and like good people, so who's to say?  Then again, I'm in a brewery, so that might explain things!

November was a dreadful month, but as soon as fall turned into winter, the weather started cooperating with us...Though some other ships and docks didn't fare as well.  

Stay tuned.  Next week I'll fill you in on all my sea stories with plenty of gnarly pictures to boot.  Thanks for keeping up with the blog!


                    Anchorage, AK (that's ice in the water)

p.s.  As per usual, Grant shipped out right before I was due to come home.  Luckily it was only a month relief, so we'll catch up with each other in a few weeks.  Besides my sea stories, we have a lot going on in the next few months:  My best friend is due with her (and all of our) first baby, Grant has some skiing in Jackson Hole to do, and we are planning a trip to Mexico with Grant's and my favorite sister and brother-in-law, with a bit of Missouri thrown in for good measure. Life is wonderful!  (like I said, I'm in a brewery :)

Winter At Sea (Rougher Than You Think!)

Yikes!!


                 Here Be Monsters


Well it’s winter in the North Pacific Ocean and that means nasty weather. You know how when you’re watching the weather channel and they say the storm moved safely out to sea? Just remember that there are sailors out at sea in that storm. And guess what? ‘Safely out to sea’ for the landlubber means dangerously heavy weather imminent for the sailor. So let’s just think a safe thought for those caught in heavy weather at sea this winter.


      Actually a pretty nice day for those on the Ship


Robin sent me an email from her ship describing horrifying seas and high winds. I’ve been in some heavy weather myself and it makes my stomach churn thinking about being in those conditions.




                    Weeee(puke)eeee!?


Imagine not being able to sleep yet having to work anyway. In terms of watchstanding mates, they generally work 4 hours watchstanding on and 8 hours off. So you stand on the highest weatherproof deck of the ship(the Bridge) and monitor the ship’s progress to your destination. The bridge is the apex of the pendulum and so the motion is very exaggerated – when the ship rolls, the people on the bridge have the most motion. It can be so bad that you literally have to hold on to the rails and not move for fear of being flung across the bridge to violent and painful effect. Many have sustained broken bones in just such circumstances!

                                                              Rollin'

So you can barely stand. And you certainly can’t get any sleep because you’re constantly tossed out of your bunk. And all of your coworkers haven’t slept either. No one has any patience. Tempers are quick and short. A simple task of making coffee or filling out a logbook becomes extremely difficult. You begin to wonder what the hell you’re doing out here in this inhospitable environment? Oh right. People in Alaska need their plastic walmart toys for the holidays. Wait, that’s not too fair. They really do need their groceries too. But I really don’t want to die. And this ship is old. Can we really withstand this weather? Is it worth it? Sometimes I really think they aren’t paying me enough for this crap…..

And never forget the awesome power of nature at sea. There are no words to express how powerful the ocean is. Even when you see it and experience the ocean in it’s power you cannot comprehend how immense and devastating it can be.


    Why did they stow everything strewn about the deck?

Containers out on deck are stove in from the power of the waves. Many containers are lost overboard every year due to heavy weather. There are ways to avoid the worst of the storms in terms of navigating around them. But guess what? That adds time and distance to your voyage. And you’re on a schedule remember? The Captain is responsible for the safety of the crew, the ship, and then the cargo. There is quite a bit of pressure from the ‘bigwigs’ sitting safely in their climate-controlled offices urging the ship to remain on the schedule. So if you slow down due to heavy weather or try to sail around the storms the office yells at you for being late. I think every one of the ‘bigwigs’ should have to spend one winter voyage at sea to experience the danger and appreciate the conditions the sailors must endure to remain on schedule.




                       Whoopsy!


The KAUAI Bridge portholes blown out from a wave. Note the overhead was destroyed too!

So next time you casually walk into a store and nonchalantly grab a cheap plastic item off the shelf or even a fresh piece of fruit from some faraway land remember that some hard working sailor has endured possibly some horrifying seas and sleepless nights of hard work and determination to bring you these items.


      I just want to go home now

It is not thrilling and exciting to be at sea in this very rough weather. It is terrifying.
Enjoy your Christmas toys; thank your favorite sailor today!

Life of a Sailor - "So, do you get to steer the ship?"

When I'm Captain, Grant get's to steer!

This is one of our most FAQ's. The answer is NO. Grant is an Engineering Officer, so he works in the engine room. I am a Deck Officer, which means I am in charge of the overall navigation of the ship when I am standing my bridge watch. I cannot fix our position on the chart, do collision avoidance, communicate on the VHF's, GMDSS, and internal comms, or do any number of other clerical work such as logbook entries, if I am standing around steering the ship. And how am I going to know what course to steer if I'm stuck behind the wheel? Ah, somebody has to tell me the course, and that person is me. So I need somebody else behind the wheel, so I can give them a course to steer. In short, no, I don't get to steer the ship.

Me at work. Notice I am not steering.

Proof that what Grant says I do for living is true: I'm heading to the coffee pot for a refill, after which I'll put my feet up and enjoy the view.

In reality, most of the time the ship steers itself. In the old days, (like a few years ago), we would put the ship in auto pilot, and the ship would use whatever rudder it needed, within the limits I input, to keep the ship pointed in the direction dialed in. We still have that option (the old iron-mike), but in addition we have a "Track Mode" or as some people call it, ECDIS mode. Basically, we go to the computer with electronic charts (Electronic Chart Display and Information System) and input our route. This is displayed as track lines on the screen. Once we're pretty darn close to the line, like less than a tenth of a mile off, we switch the steering stand to "Track" mode. Once on Track mode, the ship doesn't just steer a course automatically, it accounts for set and drift, and steers whatever course it needs to keep you on the line. For instance, the track line may be 090 (east), but because of current, we are being set to the south. The ship will then steer a little more northerly, say 088, to make good the 090 track line. And I don't have to do a damn thing. The computer and GPS does it all. Another cool thing, is when we are on a Great Circle route, which plots as a curved line on our flattened out Mercator projection charts, the ship will continuously adjust course along the curved line. Pretty cool.

When we have traffic, or we are too close to land for it to be prudent to let a computer drive the ship, it goes back to auto pilot. I evaluate what course we need to steer to make good our track line or give the traffic an appropriate wide berth, and then tell the AB on my watch what to do. He dials in the course, and checks the magnetic heading. When traffic is particularly heavy, there is a large course change, or we are steering very close to land, I put the ship into hand steering, or what people think of when they ask, "do you get to steer the ship". Now the AB on watch is steering the ship by hand. I give courses, and even rudder orders if needed, and he repeats my orders back to me and tells me when he is steady on course.


My view from the bridge. Hey weekend warriors. Just so you know, when you try to cross my bow, I am steering 700 feet from the bow, and going 25mph, so you might want to rethink your strategy!

Now for a sea story: A few years ago while in Kodiak, we had such a big storm that our ship parted 8 mooring lines over the course of the day (very dangerous, people can die, and one of our men almost did). Our dock in Kodiak is really crappy as there is no breakwater, natural or otherwise, to protect us from the seas that roll in. We had a tug holding us against the dock and our bow and stern thrusters going. The longshoreman wanted to quit, but we still had hatch covers off. It is illegal and just plain stupid to go to sea, especially in a storm, with huge holes into your hull. We convinced them to get the hatch covers on, but they refused to lash the containers as they wanted off the ship. (Hatch covers weigh several tons each, so require a crane to move them.) All hands were on deck securing the containers. I was called to the bridge with the Captain and Pilot to get all the navigation equipment going so we could leave. Well, it was time to go, but we looked around the bridge and realized we didn't have a helmsman! The Captain looked at me and said, "Robin, you have to steer." It had been about six years since I steered a ship, but I hopped on, and apparently did a good job. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when the AB finally made it to the bridge to take over. Phew. Just goes to show, we have to be ready to do anything, and perform all job functions at any time while out there. And I must say, if I ever "get to steer the ship" it's because the "shit has hit the fan", so to speak.


A heap of parted mooring lines. The line is several inches in diameter, or was.


View from the offshore side of the ship at the Kodiak dock. Though a nice day today, you can see we are open to any seas or swell that come in. This exposed, even a little bit of swell makes the ship surge away from the dock.

The Life of a Sailor - The One Left Behind

This is the first piece in what I will call my "Life of a Sailor" series, which I hope will provide insight into our bizarre world. Fun travel pieces will also continue.





Grant shipped out a few weeks ago unexpectedly. He went to the union hall for a union meeting, and a great job fell in his lap. This has happened to him a few times in the past, but he still worries more than I do about finding work! So I drove around with him to his doctors appointments and on his errands for a few last minute items, then I bundled him up into his old Volvo at 6:30 am and sent him out to sea. I am left behind.

Most people assume that because I ship out as well, it is easier on me than the other wives and girlfriends. This job has one of the highest divorce rates for any industry. It's also hard for the young guys to keep a girlfriend through even one tour of duty. But though I have enough empathy, understanding, and love not to leave my man because of the stress of him (and me) being away for long periods of time, I often think our situation is harder and more stressful than the classic case where the loved one is left behind.

When one of us leaves, we have no idea when we will see each other again. Let me explain. We belong to different unions, as he is an engineer and I am a deck officer. His rotations are 90 days, and mine are 120 days, so presuming we get a job on the exact same day (never going to happen), our schedule is already off by one month. We are allowed to take a trip off for up to 30 days (or one round trip), so some of our work is as relief officers for short tours of one month. Frankly, one month is not enough to pay the bills, so after our trip we have to go straight back to the hall to try for another job. (This process is often called "Looking for a Ship", and John McPhee's book by the same title is an excellent read.) Often what happens is that one of us will get a job right before the other one is finishing her rotation. This has happened many times, sometimes so close that we are literally two ships passing in the night, hours away from our homeport but one is arriving, and one is heading out to sea. One year, between us shipping out and having to go to school for continuing education, Grant and I saw each other a total of six weeks! Six weeks, of which it was a day here, and a day there adding up to that six weeks. And we don't get daily phone or private e-mail contact like other couples who travel for work! When you have a traditional landlubber significant other, you know that they will be there when you come home from sea. That is not true for us.

The other part that makes it difficult for me, and probably Grant, is that our job is very dangerous. I know this first hand. I myself had to give first aid to a man hit by a mooring line which ultimately cracked his hip and broke his wrist and arm in five places. I thought I was holding a dying man with a broken back in my arms on the cold, wet deck of a ship in Alaska, with mooring lines parting all around us. Luckily I was able to get the two of us to a safe place while I screamed in the radio for an ambulance, and he gave me what he thought were his last words to pass on to his only daughter. I have also heard of major accidents in the engine room. I have been in storms so bad I was physically thrown out of my bunk and across the room....over and over again. Grant has had a fire onboard (nope, no firefighters on board. We are the firefighters, police, security, and medical personnel in addition to our "regular" jobs). Everybody has sea stories, and I frankly would prefer not to gain any more.

Sometimes when the ship comes back to our homeport, we get to see each other. We get to come home for a few hours, sleep, get up at 0600, and go back to work. We would never miss a chance to be together, but it is an emotional rollercoaster. The time is too short, we know the other has to leave but don't want to believe it, and again, we don't know when we will see each other next. This last time I picked up my man, I finally realized what it feels like for me. He feels like a ghost. Here, then gone, like he was never there in the first place.

The short of it is that when Grant and I kiss each other goodbye, we don't know for how long.

Cheers, and here are some pictures for you :)



Grant's home for the next three months. At least he got rid of his roommate (me)!



His ship. (Through the magic of Iphoto, I have erased the name of the ship and company logo from the bow)



The bustling Port of Tacoma. To the untrained eye, this looks like a bewildering array of industry. But if you look close (click to enlarge) you start to see that there are two bulk carriers at anchor awaiting their berths, a loaded barge at anchor, numerous sailboats and private yachts, four container ship terminals, a log and pulp terminal, bulk liquid cargo storage, a tugboat, and a railroad to carry the cargo out to the hinterland. This is a major part of what the global economy looks like.



A closer look. I'll buy a pabst for whoever tells me first, in the comments section, how many ships and where they are in this picture.

It was only a matter of time

Off the topic of New Zealand. One of the most frequently asked questions Grant and I get about our jobs, is about potential run-ins with pirates. We always answer by talking about how a US container ship has never been seized by pirates as they are faster and have higher freeboard than the slower tankers and general cargo ships. Well, that all changed today.

http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5gB7YMEDuCwwY9ncDOtPAkEI4-H2wD97EL40O0

Our hearts go out to Captain Richard Phillip, and his family, who gave himself up to the pirates so the rest of the crew could go free. Grant was on a run in the Persian Gulf on a similar ship working for Maersk last summer, so this really does strike us close to our hearts. We are hoping for a speedy return of Captain Phillips to his family, and commend our brothers, (and sisters if you're there) on the Maersk Alabama for their courage, strength, and seamanship.