#13 HUMP DAY

Being hove to in a long gale is the most boring way of being terrified I know.
-  Donald Hamilton

R/V Knorr

Wednesday, July 11, 2001

10'26" N

47'29" W

18:35 Shiptime (GMT-2)

20 knots of wind for a couple of days and the ocean responds. 
Wave height now 8-10' and steady. 

Typically the longer the wind blows at a certain speed, the larger the waves grow. We seem to be holding steady, inexplicably so, given the continued state of the wind. We are making friends with a little low pressure system to our Northeast. If it continues to build they will appropriately name it with some male or female name, now that NOAA has been brought into the current century and has lost some of its sexist ways. They name these systems once they reach a wind speed that classifies them as tropical storms. This is the category prior to hurricanes. We are in the optimal position relative to the potential storm as they typically curve west and hook north. Also, in this hemisphere, the storms rotate counterclockwise, and as it is traveling west, the weakest winds are experienced on the southwest quadrant. We will continue to watch this system.

The higher seas have given me the opportunity to provide the crew with added amusement.  It is a marvel to me that in two short weeks aboard, I've been programmed to figure out many ways about this maze. 

One must realize that there are approximately three ways to enter or exit every chamber. The first week was spent rediscovering a particular doorway lead me to the destination I had previously been going up a level, and then in a big circle, and  down a hatch, and back through a companionway to reach. Now, when heading to the library, I automatically turn at the top of the stairs near the galley.  

All the corridors, hatches, companionways, doorways, or other means of egress and moving about the boat are provided with handholds, railings, and assorted bars, mounted at hand height.   Just when I think the ship is my backyard, I automatically turn at the top of the stairs and reach for the handhold as  the ship lurches south. The handhold turns out to be painted red, abruptly comes off the wall in my hand, along with the axe head attached to the other end.  The skipper just happened to be approaching at that moment and felt it his duty to inform the rest of the crew of my readiness for any fire drill.  That wasn't half as bad as when I was bounced against the stainless steel shower stall in mid cleansing and the little tiny hairs on parts of my anatomy became friendly with the rivets holding the shower stall together.

Speaking of my bathroom... Just so y’all don't think this thing is all fun and games... (you can follow along on the layout of the boat if you are familiar with my web site that links you to the ship's web site) I am housed in the aft most cabin on the starboard side of 02 deck. It is sized for 4 persons and is generally referred to as "Boys Town".

Thankfully, this trip having a small contingent, we all have private rooms, me having a very large private room. I have four beds to cycle through.  I first thought that the assignor had recognized my relatively advanced age (at least compared to the mean age of the science crowd) and had provided me with the room that my status and wisdom and position in life rated. Though you'll note that there is no bathroom accessible directly from my room, there is a large head just outside my door. Appropriately sized for the headcount with two shower stalls, so I can rotate. All this space, all these luxuries. Then, I started noticing a particular smell in my head, that the 2nd engineer suggestion to correct was to pour water in the drains as the traps probably have dried out with the lack of people on board. I pour water daily in all four of my gargantuan floor drains. Any hesitancy results in a odiferous assault aided by the largest exhaust fan one bathroom has ever been blessed with. I suggested that if the fan could be turned off, and the water not be sucked out the traps, things would smell a lot better around "boys town" but engineering thinks my ideas suck.

So back to the pleasures of the largest estate onboard.  That was the description prior to the nightly net tow.  That's midnight.  The large winch and a 5000 meter sea cable, the whole rig is the size of a 1969 microbus, sits just on the other side of the bulkhead from my head, previously so merrily occupied by dreams.  I now relentlessly monitor every phase of every nightly net tow, all from the convenience of my bed. Also, being the aft most cabin, i am near the tail of the ship. Better to flip me from my right side to the other as we rock up and down these waves. 

There are several other benefits to being onboard. One is that ringing one has in their ears when one is in a quiet room. No problem here, with three or four of the crew continually engaged in chipping rust with pneumatic chippers, hammers, sanders and blasters, this steel hull prevents anyone from any sensation of loneliness or desperate quietness. That combined with the general vibrations of the 4 massive diesel engines, the twin 5000 hp

motors, the two bus sized thrusters, and it's kind of like a free massage, but quickly turns from an annoying buzz to that itch deep in your cast that you can't reach with any broom straw. Looking for a quiet respite, one may venture out to an exterior deck and sit in one of the patio chairs that abound. You’re sure to have company as no smoking is permitted indoors so you are either with a smoker, or accompanying their cig butt ashtrays and the associated stench as you stare off amongst the wild waves. That is if you can smell the ash trays over the diesel fumes that waft out of vents in every conceivable hideout I have found.  If there isn't a fuel tank vent, then there is an enormous fan vent that is exhausting some engine compartment, bilge area, or living space. These fans throw out more decibels that any of the exhaust stacks. No place for any solitude.  That is except for one spot on the forward deck.  No smokers venture here, no vents are piped here, and absolutely no engine noise, and there is a spare anchor fixed to the forward bulkhead, an enormous contraption with a shapely plow that just accommodates a grown person's derriere. Peace, quiet, a stunning view on the bow of the ship, as we plow into the wind, and the waves, and oh my, look at the size of that wave, and the spray.........     

Wet and soggy on the bow

David