Two days out of the Philippines we brushed past the tip of tropical storm going the other way, back towards the PI. We’d been watching it picking up steam for a few days, upgrading from storm to tropical storm. As we crossed paths a couple hundred miles south of it, the thing graduated to cyclone status, careening into PI. We left at a good time, but got a taste of the disturbance in the form of heavy rains and eight to twelve foot swells.
Not much productive work to be done on such an occasion. As the captain put it, “Your job today is to stay on the boat.” Good advice and not overly challenging as long as one hand is kept free at all times for holding on to some portion of the boat. Moving around on a ship slogging through swells like that is like doing lay-up drills in a gym someone has installed on top of a wave pool, and every once in a while, the whole gym, instead of just the basketball, takes an evil, unexpected bounce. One minute I’m moving down a hallway thinking I’ve got it all together and the next minute the ship slogs sideways and falls down the face of a wave at the same time. Then I slog sideways and fall down on my face at the same time. Navigating stairs is entertaining, too; as the boat leans one way it feels like I’m in heavy gravity on another planet, but I hit a landing as the boat leans the other way and I get going so fast that I’m afraid I’ll go right through the wall at the bottom of the stairs.
There is no shame amongst the crew as we lurch around like drunks and stumble into one another. No matter how ridiculous your friend looks hugging a pole for dear life or taking a tumble while trying to navigate a hallway, it isn’t really amusing because, apologies in advance here, we’re all in the same boat. We nibble what sustenance we can choke down that does not require uncontained liquids, cooking, or preparation beyond opening a package and moving food to mouth. We sympathetically meet each other’s queasy green grimaces and try to keep it together. I was about to say that we give each other a wide berth, plenty of leeway, and then I realized just how penetrated the English language is with seagoing terms and thought you guys might think I was pushing it if I used either of those descriptions.
Anyone who hasn’t experienced an extended period on rough seas, think about your worst case of motion sickness ever. Now imagine you’re shop vacuuming a mixture of diesel and bilge water out of a cramped tunnel space in an enclosed environment with no fresh air or view of anything outside to orient the inner ear. Now imagine eating a lukewarm pork fat sandwich garnished with cigarette butts and rotten mayonnaise. Well, maybe not that last part, but all the rest, which makes the stomach feel like the last part is a reality.
It is unnerving to feel what is basically your home and your lifeline roiling around, listing heavily in the swells, and shuddering as it impacts troughs, sending rumbling shockwaves all the way through the steel of the boat. Doors and cupboards pop open and slam, things fall off shelves and slide across floors, furniture tumbles, refrigerator and freezer contents obey the laws of gravity and entropy, moving towards lowest level and maximum disorganization. Three hundred gallons plastic fuel tanks on the dive deck, each weighing in at not much under a ton, break free and start sliding around, tearing up big strips of the non-skid rubber deck coating, making me feel like I just entered the bumper car arena at the fair and I’m the only one without a car. Basically anything not bolted down breaks loose and goes flying; you can stand still and listen to objects crashing and tumbling all over the boat, and you are getting tossed around enough that you just don’t care as long as none of it is crashing and tumbling onto you.
Then comes the bad news. Remember all that mechanical, plumbing, and welding work done at the yard? Well, now we’re on Shakedown Street, that part of town where any and all problems, issues, discrepancies, and errors make themselves apparent. Piping that is supposed to move water starts moving diesel infused bilge. Piping that is supposed to move diesel moves air. Piping that is supposed to stay dry carries all three liquids at once. Places that are supposed to stay dry get wet. Places that are supposed to stay wet run dry. You get the idea. Cats and dogs living together in harmony. Congress in accord. Balanced budgets. Respectful, attentive teens. General chaos. Shakedown Street.
