I highly recommend this video discussing why ships are choosing to wait for days and days at anchor rather than divert to another port, perhaps an east coast port closer to the main markets for many containers off-loaded at the LA-Long Beach port complex. The Chief MAKO Seaman Vlog is an excellent source of other information about the container shipping business, from a sailor’s perspective, and in this video here he explains exactly why ships are choosing to sit at anchor.
This morning I read in the New York Times that the supply chain problems are now going to make life harder for farmers exporting food and grain. This of course is true for those foodstuffs sent via container (there are some, for example fruits requiring refrigeration in refrigerated containers), but by and large most agricultural products are sent in bulk cargo ships, not container ships. Here in Tacoma there is a large grain terminal and nearly always I see three to five ships at anchor awaiting their turn, but this sort of back-up is normal and has not changed much in the four years I have lived here. Maybe there are shortages of truckers to carry grain from farms to silos and rail heads, but the congestion and panic expressed about the container business is not, or should not be, placed on farmers as well. Bulk ships are totally different than container ships and the two are never interchanged. Bulk ships have big open holds with huge hatches into which grain or salt or coal or iron ore of a host of other materials are loaded. Container ships, on the other hand, can only carry containers, stacked inside the ship or on deck. Supply chain issues with containers should have no crossover to the bull cargo sector. My suspicion is the Times article is misleading, and will only further inflame the rising panic.
Posted in Sea Stories and tagged anchored ships, containers, delays, fear, panic, shipping, supply chain by Charles Sheldon with no comments yet.
Closer to home…
A huge storm is bearing down on the entire U.S and Canadian west coasts, with record low pressure. Not a hurricane, exactly, but a monster. It’s likely California will be drenched, totally. A storm like this carries winds of hurricane force, and these winds kick up an awful sea state and swell. If you go to the Oregon coast right now you might see 30 foot surf.
A relatively small container ship, the Zim Horizon, came through this storm on her way to Vancouver, surely pressing her speed to make her schedule and hold her place for a berth to unload (otherwise she would be anchored and waiting for days) and she lost 40 containers, the seas were so big, swept away. Then, once in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, near Victoria, Canada, containers in the third stack aft of the bow caught fire, surely cargo contents igniting somehow. The fire grew fast and became bad fast, the captain evacuated some of his crew, some local tugs appeared to fight the fire, there are concerns that water to fight the fires might interact with chemicals in the containers and make the fires worse, the Canadian Coast Guard has strongly suggested the captain abandon shop entirely, which of course the captain doesn’t want to do because then he loses the ship, the engines shut down, pressure for fire pumps is lost, and nobody is left aboard to fight the fire on the ship. A ship fire is a sailor’s worst nightmare, bar none.
So as I write this that ship is still burning north of here about 40 miles (I am in Port Angeles as I write this), with the situation uncertain as to what happens next; there are all these drifting containers about 40 miles west of the coast which represent a danger to other marine traffic; and this enormous storm is bearing down on California. Just this afternoon the marine authorities near Los Angeles recommended in the strongest possible terms that the over 100 ships anchored or drifting just off the harbor entrance, waiting for berth space, and positioned to hold their place in the queue to unload, put to sea immediately to gain sea room from each other and have room to battle the high waves and winds approaching them. If a huge storm with 20 to 30 foot swells strikes the land, all those ships anchored in shallow water, probably half a mile apart, but maybe much closer than that, will be at tremendous risk of dragging their anchors and running into each other. If you’re anchored and you wait for the storm to strike, believe me, hauling anchor in a 60 mile gale and 30 foot seas, and somehow getting up enough way to maneuver before you are cast against another ship, or the beach itself, is not a place anyone wants to be. I am guessing, right now, ships are scattering to the west, toward the storm, but toward sea room, too.
We build these complex systems which work wonderfully until they don’t, but when they don’t it is a disaster, and the necessary costs and preparation to respond to such a disaster can be enormous. For marine ships, it used to be, years ago, the U.S. Coast Guard had fire fighting ships, and the U.S.Navy had firefighting ships and tugs, but these days all that work is contracted out to private salvage companies, based a long distance from most events. Eventually they will gather the people and the material and the tugs or ships to respond, but in the long hours or days before then it is up to the ship’s crew and whatever small local city fire vessels there might be nearby. I would bet that the City of Seattle might have even sent one of their fire boats 60 miles north toward Victoria, for example.
We did fire drills all the time aboard commercial ships, and aboard military reserve ships too. Every time we did such a trial it was sobering. Here’s the thing. A ship fire suppression system is itself a complex series of pipes, pumps, valves and hoses, running all through the ship. In the engine room are the big pumps, which use fresh water stored in tanks or maybe salt water through hull sea cocks. These pumps need to be run every now and then, greased, maintained. All the valves to direct the water flow – and believe me there are hundreds on any ship, many in hard places to reach – need to be “exercised” so they don’t freeze up, get stiff, or break. The hoses, canvas, heavy, up to four inches in diameter and extending hundreds of feet, with brass ends and fittings, lie coiled all over the ship, and they too need to be regularly rolled out, stretched, inspected, and charged with water to find weak spots. If you set up a fire hose system and run it fairly often it is a fantastic fire fighting system, but if you only try it now and then, it can be a disaster, a deluge of broken valves, frayed hoses, broken pumps. These systems run all over the ship, and the duty of the sailors and the engine room staff is to hold drills to get used to responding fast as well as to practice fire fighting, because when and if a real fire strikes you don’t want to be struggling to do your job, clumsy. This of course is not to mention the fire suits we have to don or the masks and tank air systems we use when going into an enclosed space or, worst of all, a fire in the engine room. Those tanks are supposed to hold air for 30 minutes of breathing, but when you’re in a 40 pound fire suit and helmet, crouched, in heat and smoke, heart hammering, the low air beep seems to start within five minutes.
So aboard a ship there is a fire fighting system (I haven’t even started with all the extinguishers) that is critically important but exercised seldom. Furthermore, as in many high-consequence situations (happening very rarely but when they do happen hugely consequential), when the best definition of success is nothing happens, over time all the drills and schedules become routine, often missed for good reasons, and bad reasons, such that what often seems to happen is when such a disaster strikes the system doesn’t work, or works badly, or the fire teams are not practiced.
All sailors need to conduct real fire training, with all the gear, and real fires, in terrifying closed spaces, again and again, to keep their certification. But all we sailors, whether deck workers or officers or engineers or the steward’s department, are not fire fighters by profession. Our task in the event of a big fire is to hold the fort as best we can until the big boys arrive.
We all know, all of us, that if such a fire happens far from any help, or a fire gets out of control, there is nothing we can do. Off course, if such a conflagration occurs well offshore, then one ship and her crew are lost, but if it happens in a harbor someplace, a naval base or a big container complex, then the disaster can be far greater. But it seems, these days, that at U.S. Navy bases there are no fire tugs or ships staffed by the Navy. There used to be, but over the last few decades this work has been outsourced to private contractors.
I worked on military reserve ships. It used to be that such ships were staffed and manned by Navy personnel, enlisted men and women and officers, but somewhere along the way the decision was made to remove these ships and their staffing from the Navy and contract it out. This meant work for U.S. trained commercial and merchant sailors, of which I was one when I did it, but the main lesson I received from the ships I worked on was that they cost an absolute fortune to maintain and keep operational, and now that fortune included a hefty profit for the private contractor, too.
All of which to say, just in the case of ships, they are complex, and expensive to maintain, and budget pressures always reduce those maintenance dollars, and then you have a complex asset that cannot justify the required maintenance and prevention budget, yet if a fire happens, is entirely ill equipped to properly fight that fire. Everyone who goes to sea knows this, of course, it is the secret gnawing anxiety always with you, and you simply hope for the best, pray your officers know what the hell to do if a fire breaks out, pray you know what to do.
So, vagabond drifting containers somewhere out there, right now. A ship burning just to the north, close to a harbor and a city, and questions arising about whether the necessary assets can be found to properly fight the fire. An enormous storm bearing down on southern California forcing over 100 ships to either flee into the teeth of the gale or try to ride it out where they are, all those ships forced to wait outside the harbor because of the myriad supply chain breakdowns throughout the system — lack of berth space, lack of empty containers, lack of chassis for the containers, lack of rail capacity, lack of spaces to store the containers, the entire worldwide flow of scheduled container services interrupted and changed, blockages expanding and then contracting, all resulting in huge uncertainties about deliveries — deliveries of all the goodies we’ve come to think is what Christmas is about and, even more important, deliveries of all the necessary parts and components needed to finish these complicated gadgets we’ve come to demand and depend on from a worldwide sourcing system that, when it falters, is a disaster.
Maybe this is a once in a decade confluence of factors bringing notice to the fragility of these complex sophisticated systems we have constructed and then cannot or choose not to maintain.
We better hope so.
Posted in Sea Stories and tagged complex systems, containers, Fire, fireboats, salvage, shipping, ships, supply chain, victoria, zim horizon by Charles Sheldon with 1 comment.
This is kind of a sea story, I guess. In 1984 I’d been working out of Fall River, Mass on a red crab vessel, Taurus, ten day trips to the edge of the continental shelf ranging from Virginia to Maine, deep water, catching red crab at 600 fathoms on 100-trap lines, butchering the crab, icing them, for delivery to a processing plant up by Boston. Red crabs are hard to keep alive in tanks of water, unlike, say, lobsters, or, I am guessing, the Alaskan crab species. We’d fill mesh bags with crab parts, bodies or legs, bathe them in a sulfite mixture for disinfectant, then ice them in the hold. The Taurus was a converted small Navy ship, 180 feet long, a sister ship of the infamous Pueblo, but with the topsides ripped off and changed, a good sea boat, comfortable, and safe, or as safe as a 40 year old ship could be.
Then I had a chance to go to work in New York, and I took the job because it was a challenge, with the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, to rebuild an abandoned steamship terminal in Brooklyn into some kind of fishing operation. In 1984 New York was the biggest port in North America, landing millions of containers at newer terminals over on the Jersey side, Newark, as well as a terminal on Staten Island and one in Brooklyn. Containers were king, and New York was the center of the action. Remember the movie, “On the Waterfront?” That was about marine labor in the middle nineteen fifties, when containers first appeared, and by the early sixties the 35,000 longshoremen in the city saw their job security disappearing before their eyes, as ships that previously took weeks to unload with gangs of dozens of people could now be unloaded – or the containers carrying all the freight unloaded – in a day or less using huge cranes and far fewer men. There was a huge labor battle over this, and when the dust cleared an agreement had been reached to allow containers to be unloaded by smaller gangs with the proviso that the rest of the displaced longshoremen were guaranteed an annual wage until they died. When I arrived there in 1984 I first heard about “GAI”, costing New York shippers something like $ 100,000,000 a year, which added to the cost of landed containers there, and which, therefore, encouraged other ports along the east coast to enter the business and offer cheaper rates.
By the 1980s manufacturing was already moving to Asia – Japan, mostly, or Korea – although China was starting to roar. By the time I came to New York some west coast ports, led by Seattle, interestingly enough, had started partnering with railroads to ship containers from Asia to the midwest and east coasts, offering faster shipping times than all-water from Asia to the U.S east coast through the Panama Canal, and this really took off when the railroads started placing the containers two-high on specially built cars, doubling the capacity of the trains. It took a few years to raise all the bridges and tunnels to enable the taller trains, but by 1984 much of that was done, enabling cargo shipped from Asia to reach the eastern US weeks earlier than all-water service. This rail innovation started the explosion of the west coast ports. This rail system grew and grew until, today, over 120 trains a week leave west coast ports to the inland United States.
In fact, just as I reached New York, the Port Authority, trying to compete with this new threat, had started their own double-stack service from New York to the interior, and they had sent their first train just the week I arrived there. I recall the excitement and then the bitter disappointment when that first train, made up of containers lashed two-high onto a flatcar, reached its destination with the container contents shaken and damaged, because the flatcar’s springs or whatever they are on rail cars were too rigid and the shaking transit ruined the cargo.
I was there in New York 1984-1990. During that time New York’s share of traffic dropped and dropped as a dozen other ports expanded and stole business; as the number of trains running cross country doubled and doubled again; as ships grew bigger and bigger. The dogma then was all ships had to be narrow enough to transit the Panama Canal, 105 fleet wide or less. There was even an around-the-world container service in operation. However, in 1988, American President Lines – APL -built some container ships that were too wide for the Panama Canal – post-Panamax ships, so-called – ships built expressly for the Asia-US West Coast or Asia -Europe trade. There was even talk, as by this time China was humming and factories seemed to be moving south toward Hong Kong and Viet Nam, of ships running from Singapore west through the Straits of Malacca, the Indian Ocean, the Red Sea, the Suez Canal, the Mediterranean, and the Atlantic Ocean directly to New York and some other U.S east coast ports, ships big enough to carry 5,000 20 foot or 2500 40 foot containers for the trip to work economically. I even remember a meeting in 1987 on the 64th floor of World Trade Center Tower Number One with the Port marketing guys scoffing that such a cargo string or loop would ever happen; that post-Panamax container ships were absurd. Ridiculous, some said. Impossible. A fantasy.
We’ll return to that scoffing later, and those APL ships, the first container ships too wide for the Panama Canal and in 1988 the biggest in the world, over 900 feet long and 120 feet wide.
The fish project at that abandoned Brooklyn facility, Erie Basin, failed, and I ended up working for the Port Department Planning Group planning container expansion facilities, of which I knew at the time nothing. The race was on, every port chasing every other port, fighting to deepen channels, expand acreage, piers, container cranes, all to entice the ever-bigger ships to land and discharge cargo. The mantra was this global enterprise was becoming increasingly efficient and global, the ships bigger and bigger, containers becoming the preferred manner of all consumer goods cargo world-wide. Nobody, as I recall, spoke about all the American factories and jobs that were disappearing. Nobody. Those APL ships at 5,000 TEU, too big for the Panama Canal, were replaced by ships of 6,000 TEU, then 8,000, then 12,000, then 15,000, even 18,000, ships 140 feet wide and 1300 feet long, enormous. And, to handle these ships, harbors were dredged to 40 feet then 50 then 60 then 70. The yards behind the wharves expanded, became larger, and more and more specialized and automated equipment was designed to stack containers higher and higher. Computer systems were expanded to track each container, to keep track of everything going on.
I moved to Seattle in 1990 and for nearly 20 years continued working mainly in the waterfront cargo shipping sector, designing and building container terminals. All those years, until I left the port business in 2012, the drumbeat was for more, bigger, faster. A huge and enormously complex logistics system arose to handle all this cargo, and as the manufacturing of all these consumer items moved to Asia everything depended more and more on a seamless, nonstop supply chain, a mixture of factories, warehouses, truckers, railroads, ships, more warehouses, and server farms of huge size processing all the data, all in the interest of seamless, fast, delivery of goods and products to the American and European consumer, often with the main goal of making everything as cheap as possible. The worldwide volume of containers and the number of container ships exploded.
After I left the port authority sector in 2012, still needing to work, I dusted off my years of sea time as a commercial fisherman in the 1960s-1980s and joined the Sailors Union of the Pacific and went down to the hall, Ordinary Seaman, hoping my card would come up. It eventually did, and I flew to New York, Newark, eyes wide and terrified, to join my first ship, a ship that had for several years been engaged in just that run so scoffed at when I had worked in New York nearly 30 years before – New York to Charleston to Savannah to Norfolk to Damietta Egypt at the Suez Canal to Jebel Ali on the Persian Gulf to Singapore through the Straits of Malacca and return, a 60-70 day round trip, on the very same ship that had been at one time the first post Panamax container ship and the largest on earth, the flagship of its class, the President Truman, now a measly rusty beaten up 5,000 TEU ship at the end of its useful life, a ship with over 175,000 hours on its main engine.
I made a few trips on the Truman and then APL sold her to Indian breakers for scrap and the last trip was one-way, New York to Singapore, where we handed her over to the new owners and flew home. On the way in to Singapore, the summer of 2013, we passed a new Maersk ship of 15,000 TEU with a Discovery TV crew aboard. We passed close alongside, dwarfed in size, once the king of the hill, now a rusty small ship among dozens of others, hardly noticeable. It was a haunting moment, that moment, watching that huge ship ghost by, enormous, just huge. It felt like the passing of an era, and now I think it was.
So when Covid hit, the virus hit a world trade and manufacturing system entirely built upon the container, promising shipments cheap enough to offset manufacturing distance, and offering as well the chance to use the ship itself as a warehouse while the goods were in transit, helping in the dream we could build a just in time efficient system free of inventory and free of excessive costs for spares and backlog parts; build instead a system where everything moved efficiently and inexpensively. Modern computer systems and worldwide banking systems made the data flows seem easy, almost magical, and, again, the view held we had figured all this out, all was well.
But, and take this from someone who first sat in port authority meetings with shipping CEO executives promising all was possible and who then chose to chip rust on the ships carrying the cargo and saw how fragile and difficult it was to keep the flows going, and how vulnerable everything would be if a great shock halted the flow, the imagined efficiency of modern data systems and logistics equipment to deliver goods is only that – imagined.
That ship that ran into the bank in the Suez a few months ago was a harbinger of what is happening now, a sign, a clear warning. One ship blocks one waterway and the world seems to stop.
But now, months on, after Covid has decimated ship’s crews and truck drivers and essential workers, after this hugely complex system has revealed all its many and critical vulnerabilities, it is sinking in to everyone that we have a problem, a huge problem. The price for great efficiency seems to be enormous complexity. The promise of just in time flows and worldwide manufacturing is being seen as flawed, brittle, because of that complexity, yet it will take both time and strong leadership to move manufacturing back closer to the consumer, and eliminate some of the risky and brittle links now being exposed.
President Biden made an announcement the other day that Long Beach and Los Angeles will operate 24 hours a day to relieve congestion, get the Christmas goods to the consumer in time. Leaving aside the lesson about why a good Christmas consuming season should be a measure of national health, Biden’s call was surely political, an effort so he won’t wear whatever bad might happen this Christmas. That is hard for him to do as the President, but it is also useful to know that what he called for, a 24 hour a day operation, is meaningless.. When a ship is at berth it is unloaded around the clock, already a 24 hour a day operation. There are 73 ships more or less waiting to unload outside southern California. I don’t know how many berths are at Los Angeles and Long Beach but surely there are at least 20. Those 73 ships could be discharged in three or four days if there are longshoremen to do it, but that is not the problem, the problem is where do you put the containers once off the ship? Are there truck drivers to take them somewhere and where do they go? How many are supposed to go on trains and how many trains are there? What about all the downstream and upstream cargo flows that have also been stopped, or paused? All those containers shipped to the west coast need to somehow be sent back for loading again, meaning the ships will be carrying air, the voyage a total sunk cost.
All of which to say, this seems to be a system-wide problem, not a political problem, although the rage held by all those workers who saw their jobs sent overseas is real and arguably the most important political issue facing us today. The entire system of a container ship delivery belt enabling one part of the earth to build things and another part to consume things seems to be breaking down, perhaps entirely flawed, and whatever readjustment that must be made will surely be painful and slow.
That first post-Panamax ship I heard about in 1988 and then sailed on 25 years later, the President Truman? She is surely now broken up, melted into steel, and perhaps contained in a much newer ship, perhaps even within one or several of the ships now stranded outside San Pedro.
What I am wondering about, reading about these supply chain issues, and then reading more about how workers are being burnt out forced to work overtime and how it seems many many systems of delivery and handling are coming apart, is whether we have built something so wonderfully efficient and complex that we failed to see that, once broken, it cannot be put back together.
Most of us have heard about Humpty Dumpty, as kids. It feels today as if the entire global supply chain system – send jobs to where cheapest-minimize inventory-worship efficiency and low cost-thrive on a throw-away culture – is the modern manifestation of a nursery rhyme birthed at the dawn of the industrial age at the end of the eighteenth century:
Humpty Dumpty sat of a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again
Posted in Sea Stories and tagged APL, cargo, complexity, containers, JIT, just in time, shippers, shipping, supply chain, systems, trade by Charles Sheldon with 4 comments.
Denny was born up Pubnico way in eighteen and ninety two,
In nineteen eleven to Boston he came, a dory man tried and true.
He fished from a dory for thirty two years till the war put an end to the trade
Moved to Chatham and fished alongshore in good weather, not much, but a living he made,
When seventy-two he fetched up on the beach in a shack in the woods by the Bay,
Rigged gear for the fleet and cleared our bad snarls, recoiled in a tight perfect lay.
A master, was Denny, rerigging our gear, each bundle a near work of art,
With his help all that summer we landed huge trips and a half share we left in his cart.
Denny was tiny, a lone quiet man, no family he had of we knew,
We’d leave him some beer and groceries to hand in the winter when gear work was few.
The following winter Denny fell sick, in his shack stone cold and in pain,
To a hospital bed in Hyannis he went not far from our boat on the bay.
We’d travel to see him, kids twenty five years, he’s lost in the bed, thin and pale,
Hated that hospital food, he did, wouldn’t eat and was wasting away.
So we went to the fish store and bought us some haddock which we cooked on our boat at the dock,
Wrapped it in foil and raced to the hospital, still hot when he reached for his fork.
Oh that fish he did eat, every bit, every bite, and a smile we’d see in his eyes,
So each day we’d cook and bring him his lunch, hear his stories which Denny called lies.
Later he moved to an old people’s home in South Chatham for hospice care,
The food there was better, but Denny was failing, companionship all he could share.
And always with Denny, those last weeks he had, three men sat with him for hours,
Old dory mates all, telling tales of days they all shared in their youth and their power,
Harold and Peter and Edward their names, first sailing then steaming offshore,
From their dories through years of weather and waves, saw men lost in the fog evermore.
I can hear those four men, all old, one quite ill, in that pale late afternoon light,
Their memories and laughter of days now long gone when from dories they worked with such pride.
Denny came to Boston a century ago, a dory man he and his mates,
I was lucky to know him, see his art working gear, he was small but to us he was great.
His lies now all lost, the memories too, but I hold in my heart that rare sight,
Four dory men true, gathered together, keeping real their lost way of life.
Now Denny’s long gone, it’s nigh fifty years since we kids brought gear to his shack,
And just as his memories are lost now forever our soon will fade in the black.
When you see an old fisherman, hands like burled wood, skin pale and eyes watery and dim,
Unshaven, clothes rumpled, slumped deep in a chair, never judge there’s no glory in him,
His story not written, his memories mist, his whole way of life but a dream,
Whaler, salt banker, dory man he, now one with the unchanging sea.
Posted in Sea Stories and tagged Chatham, dory men, Georges Bank, Grand Banks, Salt bankers, Sea stories by Charles Sheldon with no comments yet.
To return to Book (Front) Page: https://charliesheldon2.com/
When I was fishing on the East and Gulf Coasts a long time ago – actually a damn long time ago – there was a saying that wandered the docks. When boats tied up together in a port the guys working on the boats would talk to each other, on the dock or aboard boats or in the nearby barroom, catch up on scuttlebutt and gossip, tell lies. There was a phrase that floated around about some captains – actually at times more than some captains – and that phrase was, “He’s a screamer.” This meant that this person could not give an order without screaming the words, shouting, and often it seemed the case that no order was properly given unless it included at least two graphic insults.
There were of course more captains, usually many more captains, who were not screamers, they were level-headed men (and these days they include many women too) who had the crew’s respect, who rarely had to give orders because the crew knew what was expected and jumped to.
If you were lucky enough to be on a boat with a “good captain, meaning, someone who was all right to work for, this usually meant you were also on a boat that was well maintained, that carried the proper survival gear, where things usually worked, and where you made money. The crew members often became friends. I can name many boats which were based in New Bedford which had the same crew for two or three decades, they fished together, hunted deer together, and their captains, I am almost sure, were never screamers.
I worked for both types, and let me tell you, working for a screamer was dangerous, difficult, and downright scary at timers. The biggest issue was that screamers could not keep crew, they either fired those they did not like or drove the crew away, which meant that those of us who remained had to work twice as hard training the new guys every trip as well as doing the work. Boats with screamers in the wheelhouse gathered foc’sle lawyers down below, and disgruntled complainers, and laggards and bums.
I always figured the good captains remembered where they came from, how hard it was to learn the ropes, and had the good sense to admit when they didn’t know something, and were unafraid to ask. The good captains explained what was needed and gave others the respect to get it done, and in my experience if you treat someone as if they will do the job well, they usually do, whereas if you hover and pester the result is terrible.
The good captains were humble. They knew they did not know everything. They honored the weather and the force of the ocean. They supported the others around them and the others around them supported them. They went to work and brought back fish and an income, and they did it without breaking the crew.
Screamers? Never humble. Always trying to be on top, and better than. Never listen. Shout and scream and get angry easily. Have these ideas they have come up with which they declare must be true and refuse to admit they make no sense.
“Watch out for him, he’s a screamer.”
It feels, these days, the screamers gave taken over damn near everything, shouting their point of view and beliefs everywhere, insulting others, not listening, and most of all not learning or facing facts. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone in the wheelhouse who assumed everyone on the boat was equally intent on making an income and coming home safe. That’s the case, or was, in the fishing industry, anyway.
It seems to me that the reason it feels like we have screamers everywhere – in politics, in the media, on school playgrounds – must have something to do with forgetting that we cannot have a community unless people listen and speak carefully, meaning, are humble with themselves and others. At sea, in the microcosm world that was limited to the boat, a screamer was toxic, dangerous, and inflected the entire world. In ancient times such a person was driven from the tribe, shunned, left to wander alone. Maybe we could use a little more of that now, because with all the screaming going on, people lose sight of what they don’t know, what they need too learn, and what they should be doing to keep the community strong.
Posted in Sea Stories and tagged fishing industry, grace, humility, leadership, toxic behavior by Charles Sheldon with 1 comment.
I came upon this absolutely terrific video about the stuck ship in the Suez Canal. It really covers all the elements and in a very informal but informative style. The guy even uses his son as the aviation expert discussing the use of helicopters to lift containers off the ship. To my utter astonishment and delight, the helicopter discussed is the exact same model found in the story Totem I just finished – the Russian MI25. It turns out the ship ran aground near the southern end where the canal is very narrow, 300 meters wide. They had hoped to drag it free today and failed. Tomorrow the tide is highest yet (the tides there are about 6-7 feet it seems) so their best chances will be in the next couple days. I hope you enjoy this video.
Posted in Sea Stories and tagged salvage, shipping, ships, suez by Charles Sheldon with 3 comments.