Guest Blogger #16
I once told Larry Simoneaux this Walter Mitty fantasy I had of one day traveling to Chile and Cape Horn, the so-called end of the earth. He made a face.
"The wind blows around the whole world down there."
Definitely a perspective, that. And having a passing aquaintance with Magellan and the story of his nightmare journey through the strait that now bears his name, I'll take Larry's word on this, as well as anything else having to do with the sea. Another story...
At Sea
by Larry Simoneaux
2200 (10 PM). There’s a gale outside as I write.
“Outside” is 68 degrees south, 170 degrees west.
The Antarctic ocean. It’s not the end of the world but I can almost see it from here.
The wind is 45 knots gusting to 55. The seas resemble moving gray walls laced with white streaks. The highest are 16 - 18 feet. They’ll soon build to over 20 feet.
The weather is what we call “snotty.” Actually, we use another term. It’s not in any meteorology book. Starts and ends with the same letters. If you’ve spent time at sea, you can fill in the blank.
We just passed an iceberg that was about the size of a small island. It’s not the biggest out here. There’s one on radar that looks the size of Manhattan. They’re being calved from the Ross Ice Shelf and heading north. That’s towards us. The “pucker factor” is rising because it’s not easy to maneuver in this kind of weather and it looks as if we’re going to have to maneuver a lot in the next few hours.
I’m aboard a research vessel. Every 30 miles we stop and lower instruments to sample the water all the way to the bottom. We’ll be doing this 24 hours a day for the next 32 days. No days off. Cousteau’s films never captured the tedium, drudgery, and hard work that accompanies “ocean research” - especially in this part of the world.
Due to the weather, some of the crew and scientists are seasick. If you’ve never experienced it, take the worst nausea you remember, multiply by 10, mix well with despair because the storm will continue for another 24 - 48 hours, then head for the lee rail about once every 30 - 45 minutes. Death would be a blessing. Jacques missed this part too.
I’ve been going to sea since I was 20. Too much Conrad and Dana as a teenager. Once I started, I found that I was hooked. I also found that I liked the people out here. As a group, they’re a little different than what you might find around an office. They tend to be rough around the edges. They like demanding and physical work. They tell colorful stories. They see things in black or white and can be splendidly profane when the need arises. Being around them makes the drudgery bearable and the time pass more quickly.
Right now, I’d like to sleep. I can’t because I’m working. Even if I could, however, the weather makes sleeping difficult. We’re constantly rolling 15 - 20 degrees. You get mattress burns on your elbows and knees trying to stay in your bunk. I’ve learned, in these conditions, to wedge lifejackets and any extra pillows under the edge of my mattress. I sleep like a hot dog in the “V” created between the bulkhead and the mattress.
I’m the Captain. My job is, basically, to worry. I’m good at it. I worry about minor flooding reported deep inside the ship. It’s salt water. We don’t make salt water.
I worry about the weather. I worry about fuel and engines. I worry about food. I worry about laundry soap, clean linens, cokes, and toilet paper (it’s important). I worry about where we are and where we’re going. I worry that we may not see a small iceberg. Doesn’t take a big one to put a hole in the hull.
I worry about the crew. I look for people who might be too tired to work, who might not be paying attention to what they’re doing. One crew member has a very sick son at home. He can’t be there and the strain shows. One of the scientists just broke up with his fianceé. Their minds are probably not fully focused on work. That can get you hurt out here.
I’m looking at an implacable ocean that can dish out more punishment than any ship can endure. In these conditions, you try to be careful. You use all of the experience gained over the years, but you’ve seen too many situations where there was a new twist or wrinkle. You start wondering whether this might be one of those times.
The funny thing is, in spite of all this, I’m never allowed to look worried.
I’d hate to admit the number of times I’ve thought to myself, “Now how am I going to get us out of this mess?” Still, I’m not allowed to show it. That’s part of the job, too. It’s even tougher. The crew hates a Captain that’s worried and shows it. Doesn’t sit well with them.
Thirty days and six thousand miles to go. The wind just gusted to 60 knots. It’s getting dark and the icebergs are still there.
Mukilteo, Washington and my family are a long way from here. My wife says that one day I’m going to have to grow up and get a real job.
Not just yet, I hope. Not just yet.
8:44:18 AM 
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