Entries about jobs

If I were to write you a short autobiography about the last three years in my life, I would begin by telling you about my job. For those of you unfamiliar with my line of work, I want you to know that I am a deckhand. I am a proud member of the bottom rung of the maritime ladder. I’m not sure there is anything else I’d rather be on this ship, much to the chagrin of my superior officers. A good deckhand has no use for promotions.

I truly started living when I became a deckhand. I‘ll never forget how it felt to be on the open sea for the first time. I’ve been in love with the ocean ever since.

On Deckhands

Deckhands are wanderers. Deckhands don’t make decisions. Deckhands do the dirty work. Deckhands know how to tie knots, both practical and fancy. Deckhands appreciate a good officer. Deckhands despise a bad one. Deckhands live and work outside in all types of weather. Deckhands have strong backs. Deckhands carry sharp knives. Deckhands like to swear. Deckhands don’t spill their coffee when the ship is heaving in rough seas. Deckhands are silly in the early morning hours. Deckhands can throw a heaving line a hundred feet. Deckhands know how to coil rope. Deckhands have nicks and cuts in their hands. Deckhands are mischievous. Deckhands like to spend their money. Deckhands have friends in every port. Deckhands love to eat. Deckhands love to drink. Deckhands often have tattoos of a chicken and a pig on their feet. Deckhands save lives. Deckhands probably have had their life saved. Deckhands despise bad line (rope) and hoses. Deckhands despise sloppy seamanship. Deckhands expect good seamanship. Deckhands can cook. Deckhands can sew. Deckhands know who’s sleeping with whom. Deckhands are healers. Deckhands like passing tugboats and trains. Deckhands love to lean on the rails. Deckhands love the sea. Deckhands love the stars. Deckhands love to laugh. Deckhands have seen things you have not. Deckhands stick together. Deckhands are indispensable. Deckhands are proud to be deckhands.

Dennis Puleston wrote about a certain deckhand in his book, Blue Water Vagabond. “…He was one of those men born of the sea who had lived on it his entire life. He could easily spend a morning forming an eye splice out of steel cable before heading down into the galley to make delicate French pastries.”

There isn’t much a deckhand cannot do.

A Note on Rough Seas

The ocean can be as docile as a sleeping cat or as ferocious as an attacking lion. It all depends on the wind. Two days ago, the wind swatted us with its lion paw.

Go to a set of stairs. Now picture yourself walking on the front side of the stairs instead of the top using the rails to pull yourself up. It feels like you are walking downward even though you are going up. This is what its like to move on a heaving ship in big seas. It’s difficult to keep your balance when the only thing you can trust is rocking unpredictably.

It makes mundane tasks challenging. It’s hard to pour coffee in a cup that is sliding all over the counter. It’s harder to carry that cup without spilling it.

The swells were hitting us diagonally just off our port bow. I estimate the swells to be at least ten feet with another three feet of wind chop atop them. These swells caused our ship to roll from side to side, pitching at steep angles. They weren‘t the biggest seas I have seen, but they were the biggest I have seen in a long time.

So we were rolling. It was my job to walk throughout the ship to make sure everything was secure and not falling over. As this was the last day of ten beautiful days at sea, the crew forgot that the ocean could get lumpy. Seamanship Rule #2: Never trust the ocean. There were objects banging into things all over the ship. I had a hell of a time trying to lash down those loose items. I went from room to room, deck to deck securing a weird and wide variety of stuff.

Thom’s list of stuff that needed securing

Two kayak racks (which pissed me off because whoever moved them should have done this after they had finished their work). Four outdoor tables (in which I had to roll across the top of them to get the line to the rail. This is dangerous.). Two stacks of chairs. I found a puddle in the bar and found that the refrigerator had moved off the drainpipe. A food rack came loose in the storeroom. A file cabinet started sliding across the bridge. The refer doors in the galley started swinging violently open, almost spilling meat everywhere. The wine cupboard in the bar needed taping down.

I did pretty good, but not good enough. I forgot to check the public head and while I was busy securing all that other stuff, a monumental mess was created.

It turns out our hotel staff was keeping one-gallon jugs of liquid hand soap, shampoo, and lotion on the shelf under the sink. With one good roll of the ship, they broke out simultaneously spilling all over the deck (floor). Since it is a small space, it spread evenly and mixed into a slippery ectoplasm an inch and a half deep. It was an awesome sight.

I sighed. I went off in search of a large stack of towels and a dustpan I could use for scooping. Deckhands do the dirty work. If I was malicious, I could have left it for the hotel department to clean up, as it was their mess. But, that’s not the nature of this job. It was the nastiest mess I’ve ever had to clean up. The worst part was that I really had to pee. That’s why I went in there to begin with, and it was too slick to stand on that deck until I cleaned it.

As I was rinsing off one of the bottles in the sink, I looked in the cupboard to see if anything else had spilled. I found a small puddle forming from the suds I had just rinsed off. The drain gasket was leaking. I called up our engineers on the radio and asked for help. Perry came up to take a look. It wasn’t a hard fix and he was about to go and get the tools needed. Our other engineer called up and asked if we needed anything, and I told him, “a cold beer.” He laughed and said, “Maybe in awhile.” He meant when I got off shift.

The thing is, it was a truly beautiful morning. It was crisp, damn near cold. The air was fresh. Each breath was a pleasure. The sun poured over the scene - white gold rays of a dramatic intensity that a photographer would love. Sadly, this photographer was knee deep in slime, but I could still admire it from afar.

The seas eventually abated when we turned with them into the Straits of Juan de Fuca. What a night, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

Amelia

When I come to Seattle, I call Amelia first. “A mariner has a girl in every port.” So they say. There IS a lot of truth to this, but don’t get any ideas about Amelia and I, we have been and always will be the best of friends.

I haven’t seen her in a half a year. That’s a mariner’s social life. When I saw her, I tackled her. I didn’t mean to, but our feet intertwined and I pounced a bit too aggressively, and shit… She cut both knees and scraped her elbow. I felt terrible. That’s not what I had in mind at all, but alas, it happened. Why am I such a jack ass? Anyway, I bandaged her up, apologized nine million times and made amends by buying pints of good beer at the Freemont Brewery. Eventually, we realized that we would laugh about this some other time. “Remember when I tackled you?”

We drank our pints at a likeable bench and talked the afternoon away. There was a lot to catch up on after all, and we took turns listening and speaking. We vented, listened, and helped each other think through some problems. We laughed. We were ridiculous. Why is there so much clarity when talking to some people compared to others? Amelia helps me think clearly.

We moved on and bought burritos from a notable food cart. We ate those burritos at a small park near the canal.

Thom’s definition of happiness:

I have a delicious burrito in my hand. My best friend is sitting on my left. Ahead of me blooms a warm spring park scene of green grass, swaying trees, azure sky, passing boats and gaggling geese. To my right sits a dude with the most outlandish sideburns I have ever seen. I am happy and content. Ah, yes. How I love these moments.

If I were going to write you a short autobiography about the last three years of my life, I would end it like this: I love my life, the life of a deckhand.

I’m on a bus rolling north on Interstate 35. I’m a passenger. Why am I not a “passager”? Why is that “n” there? Now that is a perfect example of a bus thought. I’ve spent a lot of time on buses and trains this year. I’ve gone from the top of Michigan to the middle of Florida by bus or train. This has given me a lot of insight into the nature of this style of travel.

Here and Now

Parallel streaks of water slide down at a 15-degree angle from the top of the window. It distorts my view. The heavy gray ceiling hangs over drab landform of the plains below.

I’m listening to tunes on my I-pod. My songs: “Truth” by Alexander. “Some Say I’m Not” by Mason Jennings. “Skinny Love” by Bon Iver. “How to Disappear Completely“ by Radiohead. “Islero“ by Crooked Fingers. The music creates a soundtrack to the movie of my life. I picture past events and put music to those moments. I’m vain enough to think it would be a cool video.

A minute ago, we passed an abandoned farmhouse and barn along side of the road. It would have been an easy scene to establish mood in a photograph. Three “D” words come to mind: Decay. Decrepit. Dreariness. Sadness hangs over that place, even the trees don’t want to grow. I wonder about it.

The dark afternoon suits my temperment for this ride. I’m a bit hung over today. I’m also a bit tired. Last nights adventure took my nephew, his future bride, and myself into downtown Kansas City. We ate and then went to the Blue Room over in the Jazz District. Have you heard of the Blue Room? It’s a Kansas City landmark, right on the corner of the Jazz District. Many Jazz legends have played the Blue Room. The proof hangs on the wall in the form of vintage black and white band photos. The music is good, the mood is light, the conversation flows. Two events surprise us: Free cake and a saxophone player. The latter being a musician of modest fame, who happened to be in town, and was packing his horn. The former was delicious. Both surprises are delightful.

My memories, the soothing landscape and my music are the order of the day.

On Thinking Too Much

Buses offer a lot of time to think. Alan Watts reminds us that, “A person who thinks all the time has nothing to think about except thoughts. So he loses touch with reality and lives in a world of illusions. I’m not saying thinking is bad. Like anything else, it is useful in moderation. A good servant, but a bad master.”

So true.

What do I think about? My future. As a Zen free spirit, I find it amusing that I suffer from mild anxiety about my short-term future more often than I want to. I haven’t convinced myself that there isn’t anything to worry about. Everything will work out, as it should. Ram Dass has mused, “Isn’t that interesting? Far out, I still get uptight about this.”

Four Repeating Thoughts

My finances are dwindling. I may have to give up being a mariner. I don’t have another job lined up yet, though I am working on it. I’m tired of trying to figure out where to go.

These thoughts aren’t all that scary. I don’t know why I’m worried about it. I offer them to give a little insight into the mind of a wanderer. My life is different from most, and sometimes its not easy living on the very edge of stability. I feel like I’m coming to crossroads of my life. I can’t see the next path, yet, but I sense it is there. Which path should I take? And there’s the rub.

This last paragraph has brought a smile to my face.

I am at a very interesting juncture at my life right now. I’ve just quit my job, I’ve recently broken up with my girlfriend, and I’m setting off on another epic adventure with no far placed vision as to where it will lead or end. Lately, there have been moments in my day when I think about my situation, and start chuckling, or even break out in full on laughter. Life sure is interesting, and you just never know what twists the next path will hold.

In the last three days, I’ve traveled from the Pacific cooled beauty of Magdalena Bay on the west coast of the Baja peninsula across the barren deserted peninsula by van to La Paz. From La Paz, I flew down to Mexico City, to connect to Chicago, and finally found myself knee deep in a cold winter snowy wonderland that is the Keweenaw Peninsula of Michigan in late January.

I have been finishing my tenure as a deckhand on the good ship Sea Bird, and I have had no ambition to work at all, no interest in painting anything else, or improving the boat in any way. I was done, and waiting for January 28th to roll around which marks the beginning of the next path.

Since I really wasn’t working very hard, it gave me plenty of time to hang out with my friends on the boat, and I was lucky indeed to have a lot of familiar and friendly faces show up at some point during my last two months on the job. Having good friends around led me down the path of very little sleep trying to cram in as much desert exploration, and conversations that I could with my mates on the boat.

When I did sleep, it was out of necessity, and I often slipped away to unconsciousness wondering what is going to happen next.

Finally, the big day came when it was time to leave, I was up early to pack, and clean up my cabin. I went around to my friends remaining onboard the ship to wish them farewell. Then, without looking back, I began the first steps of the rest of my life, and my next adventure. My life and adventure often walk hand in hand, and, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The van ride across the desert was great. My good friend Amelia was driving, I was riding shotgun sipping cold Mexican beer, and digging the sights of new roads. It was quiet, and we enjoyed an amiable conversation as the hours passed. In the other van, was most of the crew I had been working with for the last year, and they were having a loud boisterous car ride punctuated with shots of tequila, and cheap beer. I was glad I was in Ame’s car, because I was too exhausted to put up with that rabble.

On two occasions, we stopped for a pee break. Now, Mexican roads are without rest areas. So if you have to go, you pull off on side of the road, find a cactus to your liking and let fly. There is no privacy, and the barren landscape offers little if any protection.

We all piled out, ten of us at a time, and had at it. You have never seen anything so funny in your life. There were ten half-drunk gringos, piling out of two pure white vehicles, giggling, laughing and yelling. Each of us chose a spot, some faced traffic and peed right in plain sight, and others ran off into the desert to pee on a cactus. One guy, inadvertently chose to pee on himself, a fact he was not aware of at the time (sorry folks, it wasn’t me).

Having been a lands surveyor for 8 years, I was used to peeing with little cover in public places, and I used one of the doors, and the rest of a vehicle to block the wind and passing cars.

It was great fun, and I highly recommend a Mexican pee break given the opportunity. We made it to La Paz, unscathed.

I had a quiet night in La Paz. I went out for a pizza with a friend, and since neither one of us knew much Spanish, we weren’t sure what we were going to end up with. I have to say, we did pretty well for ourselves. The pizza was delicious, and I have very high standard for my pizza. We returned to the hotel, and I passed out from exhaustion and carbohydrate overload.

I slept for about six hours. Then I jumped out of bed, threw on my clothes, grabbed my bags and went down to the lobby to catch a cab to the airport. I was tired. I was a bit uneasy. I had never flown into the U.S. before from a foreign country, and flying to Mexico City. On the ship, Mexico City International Airport is deemed “The worst airport in the world.” I was told many varied tales of torture that the crew had experienced while traveling though Mexico City.

I trusted their advice, but knew that most of these people hadn’t flown through there in a few years. For my situation, the fastest way to get home was to go through there, and so I figured to try my luck in Mexico City.

When I landed, I stepped aboard a bus that shipped us to Terminal 2. From there I was on my own, and so I started making some educated guesses to find my way to Terminal 1. I know I looked like that guy who doesn’t know what was going on, but without having any idea of the layout of the place, I found my way to the elevated train which took me to terminal 1. Once there, I followed the signs to international flights, found American Airlines kiosk, and stepped through three sets of id checks and sat down to wait for my plane.

It was no big deal. Maybe I’m just lucky.

I landed in Michigan at 11:20 at night. It was 14 degrees (F) out. I was wearing jeans and my adventure shirt, shoes and my wool watch cap. I was cold, exhausted, and happy to see my brother. I was even happier to see my checked bag arrive. How can the airlines get my bag from La Paz to Michigan without any problems, but can’t seem to get it there from Ohio?

I settled in at my brother’s house and fell into a deep sleep. The adventure begins when I wake up. I’ll be off to Duluth, Mn, St. Paul, St. Michael, and then drive across country to northern Idaho…

Onward!

The boat slowed, and I knew we had spotted some sort of sea creatures, but I didn’t yet know what it was. I was in my head (bathroom), getting my day started. I knew that whatever it was, was probably going to be pretty cool. Therefore, I spit out my toothpaste, grabbed my fully charged camera battery and headed up to the bow. The guests had gathered, and I found a group of crew ready to go with their fancy cameras ready to shoot.

I learned we had stopped for a Blue whale. The blue whale is the largest animal on planet earth. This thought alone, gave me a small charge of endorphins coursing though my veins. I couldn’t believe I was going to be lucky enough to witness one at a reasonably close distance.

The sun was bright, and the day was hot (as it always is). There was a soft breath of hot breeze, and the seas were softly rising falling like the contented breathing of someone asleep. Red clouds of krill and invertebrates willowed around like smoke in the water. These smallest life forms come in a variety of shapes and designs, but ultimately most of them end up in the same place: digesting in a fish or mammals stomach. It’s amazing to me that these tiny creatures are the start of the ocean’s culinary chain. These tiny creatures are very important to the ocean’s ecosystem. Without them, none of the spectacular wildlife I’ve seen would be here, and it’s possible we wouldn’t be here either.

Blue whales feed on krill, and while growing can pack on 200 pounds a day. The length of a blue is 100 feet long. Look at the comparison to other animals to give it some perspective. We humans are but a mosquito to these giants. One of our wildlife naturalists on board told me that there are about 50 year round blue whales that live in the Gulf of California.

We were very fortunate; this Blue whale wasn’t diving down for long periods. They typically dive for 10 minutes at a time; however, the one we were watching was only going below for half of that. It would surface, blow, swim at the surface for awhile, then arc it’s lengthy back and dive down deep once again. I was in the right place at the right time, and was able to capture its fluke, the tail of the blue as it dove down deep. Seeing the fluke on a blue I’m told is rare, so I feel fortunate to not only see it, but can take this memory with me.

I witnessed my first shark here in Baja. I was snorkeling among the vibrant corral reefs on the Isla Manserate, looking at the beautiful varieties of fish swimming below. In front of me, a school of some of the larger fish suddenly shot past towards shallower water. I thought to myself, “Well, they don’t just bolt for no reason,” and I looked in the direction from which they came. I saw in the distance the sharply angled v-shape of the shark, a gray body and a lighter underbody. It was significantly larger than anything else under the water, and in two strokes of its tail was gone. Awesome! That was a rush. I don’t fear sharks, but I am aware of the fact that while I’m snorkeling, I’m nowhere near the top of the food chain and there are many creatures much larger than I am. I continued my snorkel occasionally glancing ahead to see if it would return. It never did, but I hope to see another shark soon.

Author’s Note: Before starting my contract on the ship, I watched a shark documentary called, “Shark Water.” One man wondered why people feared sharks so much and set about to find out why. What he found is that, as usual, humans don’t understand sharks. We stereotype them into a man eating monster. Not only that, but he exploited the ruthless and needless killing of the sharks for there tails. The shark tail is considered a delicacy in some countries, and will pay top dollar for shark fins to make shark fin soup. It was an eye opening documentary, which I found informative, entertaining, and visually amazing.

Landing on the small beach on the island of Ispiritu Santo, the first thing I saw was a small shark head bobbing in the froth of the small waves. It was frowning. I guess if I was decapitated and had my head thrown into the sea, I would frown as well. What does this unfortunate shark tell us? Somebody is killing sharks, but to what end? As it happened, I was in a “protected” national park of Mexico, this isn’t reassuring.

December 23rd, 2010
“This is definitely one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. I’m sitting atop one of the high, rocky overlooks on the Isla Danzante. Turkey vultures are soaring overhead, gliding effortlessly on the wind, the far off “SMACK” of a breeching manta ray down in the bay makes me turn and pull out my binoculars to watch it for awhile. Who knew? I never knew that rays loved jumping out of the water, until I saw it with my own eyes. All around me are endless views of the beautiful desert meeting the sheer rock cliffs that drop down into the sea below. All around me are more islands, uninhabited, beautiful and wild. The hike was enjoyable, it’s easy to hike in sandals which is a definite bonus, the thought of hot hiking boots seems intolerable at this point. I’ve swam in the ocean every day this trip, mostly on deserted beaches well away from anyone. This is the life. I haven’t worn pants since December 5th. I work very hard (12 hours a day), but the rewards are this: access to the magnificent desert islands that make up Mexico’s national parks, which I can explore as I want. This job is more a working vacation than a regular job.”

~Journal entry from my hand written journal

I’m having trouble finding time for anything else other than work and exploration. This blog is suffering because of it. I haven’t made time to try and keep up with my explorations. Every day I work 12 hours. That’s one part of my day, then I catch the zodiac ride to the beach and explore for 3 to 4 hours, after which I only have time to edit my pictures and go to bed to do it all over again. Every day I’m at a new beach that I haven’t seen, and I have my choice of either hiking, beach combing, snorkeling, kayaking, or lying still. To do justice to every exploration, will take time, so please bear with me. To be perfectly honest, I guess I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm seizing every opportunity I have to explore this area, and that after all, is my billing.

I live in a world of exploration and monontony. The endless repetition of a deckhand is completely offset by every day of amazing exploration, discovery and play. I am loving my life right now.

Today, on Boxing Day (for Canadians), I’ve finally made it back to La Paz, and I have some time to catch up with my writings, but words fail me. This region is a desert paradise. Here are some pictures that hopefully will give some insight into my desert world of discovery.

Merry Christmas From The Dusty Vagabond!

My latest attempt at money making has me signed up for six months aboard a 152-foot cruise ship that will be sailing the Columbia and Snake rivers this fall, and down the west coast to Baja California, Mexico this winter. It’s exciting, and seemingly a perfect job for a curious wanderer and inspired student of the world such as myself.

I am a deckhand. I’m one of a crew of four that work aboard this vessel. We work long shifts, 12 hours on and 12 hours off, on a rotating swing schedule that changes every week. Our shifts cover the entire day, so the ability to be flexible in sleep schedule is already apparent. This is my fourth day on the boat, and while I still have a lot to learn about my job, everyday I feel more comfortable here. I’m settling in to my new home. My deck partner and I, who is also my roommate, and the person who works opposite schedules to me, has the same birthday as me. When we found that out, it was kind of like a twilight zone moment of weirdness. How bizarre! What are the chances of that happening? Astronomical. Anyway, I’ve decided our room needs to be decorated with May 10th paraphernalia, in honor of the situation.

My “home”, my berth, my cabin, is much what you would expect for a crewmember aboard a relatively small ship. Its cramped quarters, designed for efficient living, where mostly to get at anything you want in your berth you only have to turn around. However, my cabin living space is actually quite a bit larger than my van is, so I’m more comfortable than one would expect. It also has lights, electricity and a functioning head (bathroom) which makes it quite a bit more accommodating. In the head, you have three options: toilet, sink, or shower. All of which are easily used by turning around in a skimpy three and a half foot wide area. I’m sure you could use all three fixtures at once, if you were pressed for time.


The food is excellent and plentiful, and available at three meals for the crew, and a make your own snacks all day long, providing you don’t get in the galley crew’s way. Coffee, Cappuccino, and other beverages are readily available as well. The coffee is terrific and helps keep you going during your long shift. My current shift has me eating a small breakfast at about 10 am, and then attending crew lunch at 11:30. I could wait, but I like to start my mornings with breakfast food.

My first insight is that it’s going to be an interesting dynamic between living and working on a boat. As I’m going to be onboard most of the time, I’m going to have to get used to the fact that while I’m traveling and seeing new territory, I’m more or less on a fixed position moving around the globe. It remains to be seen how I get used to doing my work, then shutting down and enjoying my “me” time. So far, it hasn’t been a problem, but I’m only on my first week. The other cool part about being a deckhand is that, when you are on, you’re on, and when you are off, your off, nobody is going to ask you to work other than attending the weekly emergency drills. In addition, everyone knows when you are off, and so they give you some breathing room, and let you do your thing.

I’ve seen some cool things so far while on the ship. There is a lot of river traffic on the river, and a long series of locks to navigate through. I’ve taken part in tying off the vessel, by either calling bollard distances for the pilot, or actually making the toss and securing the vessel on the bollard. Then we rise or fall depending if we are heading upstream or down, the gates open, and we are on our merry way.

I really like making the rounds at night. I love the way the moonlight shimmers on the near glassy water of the Columbia and the Snake Rivers. The night starts with deep cool blue, which in time deepens to the dark of night. While walking the decks, I feel the beautiful solitude that lone deckhands on the watch have felt since sailing began. There is something about it, that’s hard to describe. Maybe it’s just wanderlust realized, embraced, and lived, combined with a changing natural environment.

“So it goes”, the river, life, and the ship. Therefore, I will as well.