Thursday, January 14, 2016

I Am The Storm

Last week I had lunch in Marin with an old friend and mentor who chastised me for not posting anything here for two months. Not a day has gone by that I haven't wanted to write, but I've been held back by a mental block that feels about as big as the Pacific ocean. In the last six years the point of this blog has become less about me saying stuff about what happened at work, and more about giving others a glimpse of what it's like to be in this industry as well as giving them some information about where to start if they're interested. I've received a high number of emails and messages over the years from strangers asking questions or offering support, and the experience has been fascinating and wholly rewarding. If I am to keep writing, it's because I think talking about my experiences can help others and I still believe it can, so I won't stop anytime soon. That being said, the big personal revelations that make for moving or informative content don't really come along every day, and I'm no longer interested in offering up mundane descriptions of my life just to fill the silence because I doubt that interests anyone. Also, ranting about work when I'm frustrated is not something I'd like to make a habit of, and it seems like some of my more recent posts were leading into that territory: at this point, I think it's better to say nothing. Seems like I'll have to find a middle ground somewhere here, which is exactly what I've been struggling to do lately.

Incidentally, today (January 14) is the 6th anniversary of my first crew-up ever, on the Sidney Foss in 2010 for a trip up the inside passage to Valdez with a deck barge.

It's been a trying couple of months, let's start there. I turned 30 in October (which was awesome) then went to work; in mid-November I had to get off the boat due to severe back pain (not so awesome - I couldn't put on my shoes, I certainly couldn't work, just packing my bag was brutal); and I've been off work ever since, in and out of doctors' offices and lying on the couch knitting hats (my Etsy shop has garnered an alarming number of orders so far, the last of which went out in the mail yesterday; I culled my listings and upped the prices to compensate for how much work I've actually ended up putting into the finished product, and doubt I'll get many more orders this season as winter begins to wind down... thank goodness). I'm feeling happier lately, but a month ago I was miserable, watching the world go by without me. I hate not working.

In December I went to see a spinal specialist to talk about the condition of my L5-S1 disc, and found out it was not nearly as bad as the radiologist's report made it sound. The disc is mildly herniated which was causing painful inflammation, but surgery is not needed and I've been doing physical therapy for the first time in my life which has been a huge help. Years of rowing followed by working as a deck hand on tugs and cargo barges took their toll I guess. When I got home from that appointment, I glimpsed myself in the mirror to discover my first gray hair on the top of my head and was oddly excited about it. At this point, getting older is not something I'm afraid of; I feel more like myself than I ever have, and leaving my 20s behind is exactly what I want to do.

I visited the San Francisco Bay Area in December and again last week, to stay with my mother and reconnect with old friends in the maritime community as well as those outside the industry. It was startling to realize how little I've traveled to California in the last year, when I used to drift through all the time - since I put my name on an apartment lease in Seattle a year ago I felt it was a good time to stay in one place for a while. It was also pleasantly surprising to find that though I hadn't been around, I actually hadn't been forgotten. I've carved a niche for myself and have been struggling to gain a foothold in that niche only to find it's been mine all along, and I'm stronger than I've ever been before, ready for what comes next. I'll be back soon I promise.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Spill Drill

Back in September we got to tow the near-shore response barge 500-2 to Cordova and anchor up in Nelson Bay for ten days of fishing vessel training. This entails dozens of fishing boats - in this case bow pickers, gill netters, and seiners from Cordova who are contracted to the Alyeska pipeline company to respond in the event of an oil spill - to come out for a week and practice near-shore oil recovery with boom equipment provided by the barge. 

The weather was wonderful, we had a massive northern lights show one night, and towards the end of the trip I got to take a walk into town with a friend of mine from another boat. It's strange to walk a mile or two when you've barely walked more than twenty feet in a straight line in weeks. 

Thursday, October 29, 2015


I never really worked in a harbor before this job - I always towed barges on the ocean and along the coast, which I loved. What I've found in the close-quarters setting of a small fleet of boats with not enough distance to go and not enough to do is that people get bored and when they do, their chief source of entertainment is each other. I've never seen sailors chew on such vicious gossip before in my life.

It gets back to me now and then that some people like to say, among other things, that I have only come this far because of my father. I find this so hilarious because it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. First of all, if my father had had his way, I never would have set foot on a tugboat. I'd be working a fancy desk job on Montgomery Street in the city and sleeping in bed at home every night. He tried to talk me out of my dream because he knew that this career can wreak havoc on your heart and mind and personal life. But once he saw I was determined, he supported me (quite gallant of him) and continues to do so. However, he'll be the first to say he's far removed from the waterfront now and his need to maintain contacts in the industry became moot a long, long time ago. What I've accomplished in the last six years has everything to do with my own grit and the good people who have taught me and given me opportunities. In a way, yes, he is an inspiration to me and I might have chosen to take this path in an attempt to immortalize him for myself, because I love him very much and his legacy is a treasure to me and to my family. But the contacts I used to snag a job had nothing to do with dad.

I've learned a valuable lesson from all this, which is not to get angry about the rumors that eventually creep their way into your ear through the maritime rumor grapevine. If you spend your energy worrying about what people are saying, you'll have nothing left to devote to your work and your own happiness. What you need to remember is that the ones who say bad things about you usually don't actually know you at all, and if they never give you a chance then they will never know you or what's really going on in your life. They'll never know what you've been through to get to where you are today, because they don't want to know. All they want is to make themselves feel better by putting you down, and that doesn't affect you; it only affects them. What they say about you is not reality. You need to love yourself enough to remember that their negative thoughts do not touch your life.

If you're reading this, and if you read this then you'll know who you are, go ahead and have fun talking about me. The things you tell yourselves are not actually the truth. I'm done caring what you think.

Thursday, September 17, 2015

my 2 cents

A friend of mine contacted me the other day to ask what advice I would offer as he prepares to go on his commercial cruise next summer as a Cal Maritime cadet. I've learned a lot in the last five or six years that I'd like to pay forward; for the sake of brevity, let me touch on at least one topic that I value quite a lot.


This applies to everyone in my book, but here I'm talking to the ones sailing as cadets, whether you're at PMI, MITAGS, or HMTS with the Workboat Academy, or on a ship or tug putting in your 90 days for a traditional maritime academy. Although you aspire to be a mate or captain, you're not there yet; always respect your deck hands and your engineers. Chances are they're older than you, they've made a career out of what they do, and they have a lot of knowledge they can pass on to you if they so choose. You don't need to kiss anyone's ass but in a perfect world you'll be genuine and respectful and they'll be the same to you.

For me, the only time this goes out the window is when you're being bullied by another crew member. This is tricky: if there is someone on board that you trust, confide in them, especially if you're facing a hostile work environment, which I feel should never be tolerated. Just remember that gossip is everyone's favorite pastime and you may fuel a worsening situation. Sometimes the only answer is to put your head down and get tough. There may be shipmates in your future who will have a chip on their shoulder just because you're young and ambitious. There's nothing wrong with being young or ambitious, but you'll have to work harder to prove yourself. If it's the captain who is giving you a hard time, you're kinda stuck. Just remember that if you're doing your job well (be honest with yourself here), no one has any reason to pick on you and if they do, it's probably because they're dissatisfied with their lot. In the meantime, every trip eventually comes to an end, and chances are you'll learn a lot from that guy about how not to behave. And now for the tough love:

Stuff No One Wants To Hear

"I know"

I'm guessing that whatever is happening at the moment, you probably don't know everything about it. More importantly, if someone is trying to coach you or offer you advice, the quickest way to lose their support and respect is to cut them off with "I know". To refuse help or advice from someone is to take a serious risk. Your shipmates feel that what they've learned over the span of their career is valuable, and their advice may well be valuable to you. If you shut them down, you demonstrate that their knowledge is not important to you, and this can turn people off to helping you in the future (best case) and possibly offend them to the point where they are willing to let you fail, even in a potentially dangerous situation (worst case). To avoid situations like this, be receptive to coaching and advice, even if you think you already know something or you've heard it before, because you may gain a new perspective and, if nothing else, you'll reinforce the lessons you've already learned. A better alternative to "I know" is a sincere "thanks". You will also give someone the satisfaction of knowing that he was able to teach you something, which is worth its weight in gold.

"This sucks"

It's 30 below outside? You're stuck in a hurricane and going backwards? You're tired? No one wants to hear it. Two words: crew morale. Everyone on that boat is going through what you're going through. When you voice dissatisfaction, it brings everyone down just that little bit. It poisons the very air you breathe, and makes it that much harder to face your next watch. This has the potential to lead to disaster. I can promise that no one appreciates your complaints, so foster some positive self-talk and get on with the damn thing. You may not realize that your attitude has an impact, but every individual plays an equal role in keeping crew morale high.

"I want to go home"

To what, or to whom exactly do you feel the need to return? Mommy and daddy? Your girlfriend? Stop it. If you are going to make this your career, there's something you need to accept: you chose to do this, no one is making you stay, and from now on, "home" is exactly where you are at this moment. Whether you're on the ship or on land, you get nowhere by wishing you were somewhere else. Take control of your situation and make the very best of it, and you will thrive. And if they love you, the ones at home will understand.

So there you have it, my best advice gained from a few short years involving lots of proverbial blood sweat and tears. I hope my offerings help someone out there, and I wish you all the best of luck.

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Queen Bee

"Do you view her as competition?"

I was asked this a few months ago with regard to my second mate, and I was caught off guard. Not because I could ostensibly feel that way about another woman on the boat (I might have felt that way years ago, before I decided to stop feeling that way), but because someone would want to know if it was true; not only that: they expected it to be true. Do women who work in a field dominated by men sometimes feel threatened by other women arriving on the scene? Yes, it happens, more than I care to admit. It may be residual of the tokenism of a bygone era, the sentiment that women are such a rarity that the guys should only really be expected to handle one at a time, that she's the ship's "mascot", not a legitimate team member. Such a view is ludicrous in this day and age, but I still see it happening from time to time.

I've seen a lot of men in the maritime industry encourage Queen Bee behavior. Let's face it: people (especially sailors) love a catfight. Drama is entertaining, it makes things interesting. It's no fun when everyone is happy and getting along. It seems to me that people aren't comfortable with the idea of women who work together in a male-dominated workplace actually liking each other. It makes more sense to them to see us battling amongst ourselves for status, rather than advocating for each other. In turn, this historically has led to women internalizing their perceived inferiority and feeling pressured to cast a shadow over the other women in their workplace; to feel threatened by others' success - as if it somehow diminishes their own - to sabotage others in order to protect their "territory" or their unique status as the lone woman of the group, one of the guys, because those traits are somehow more valuable to society. I've witnessed women bad-mouthing other women in the workplace, echoing the sexist beliefs of the men in the room to gain legitimacy.

I reject this behavior.

I read Sheryl Sandberg's book Lean In the same month it was released. It quickly became my reference for navigating just about everything career-related, and put into words so many things I had seen and felt but hadn't been able to articulate. One of the things I was introduced to was Queen Bee syndrome; the phenomenon that manifests itself when the presence of another woman in the room signals a threat or competition, rather than a friend or ally, and sets us up to work against each other for recognition or credibility. This is such a huge waste of our energy. I was shocked, and somewhat ashamed, when I read about this and realized it was true, and that I was perpetrating it. I knew those twinges of jealousy in the classroom when another girl came around and I was no longer the only one in a roomful of men. Did she steal my spotlight, my voice? Not really. But I was afraid she would. I was one of the boys, I was special. I didn't want that to change. But when I finally realized how exhausting it was to maintain this stance, I started to understand how much better off I would be, how I could improve the lives of others, if I made the conscious decision to encourage and champion my peers, to offer them my support and guidance, rather than diminish them.

It's changed my life for the better, and I encourage women and men in the industry all the time to recognize this behavior and try to change it. Valdez is a unique place, in that there is at least one woman on almost every boat in the Crowley fleet here. It's a breath of fresh air to feel a sisterly kinship with the people I work with. This trend gives me hope that we can focus our energy on helping each other out, and I'm convinced we will all benefit as a result.

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Fish Are Jumpin'

It's been the most beautiful night. It's actually starting to get a little darker around 2 in the morning, but by three, the light comes back into the sky and the mountains seem to rest pensively at the water's edge, velvety purple in the mist. On lonely mornings like this, when all my questions for the universe go scattered and unanswered, I can look at this place and let my mind settle into a quiet blue calm. Over the years Alaska has always taught me that everything I needed was right here with me, and I'm where I need to be.

This is day twelve of twenty-eight in our hitch; the end of the first week always seems to be the hardest moment for me to face, when I'm still thinking of the fun I had at home and I realize I still have three weeks to go. But after that passes I distance myself from home a little more and the loneliness fades. I've also realized It's been just over a year now since I came to Valdez - I can't believe it. It amazes me how much a year can change your life.

Prince William Sound has come alive with the fishing season - dozens of seiners and tenders are gathered in the Narrows and the Arm, their skiffs and nets scuttling out of the way to allow tugs and tankers to pass through. Salmon are jumping all over the place and seals and sea lions are feasting. Rafts of otters hold each other's paws to sleep at night, and they paddle around solo, munching on shellfish and crab and looking up at us with their curious faces. Kittiwakes and Oyster Catchers fly close over the water and scream at each other as they tend to their nests and raise their young in the marshes. It's a cacophony of life.

Now the fog is rolling down silently from the glacier stream and creeping westward over the bay. I'm nervous that the fog will keep me from flying out next crew change day; a week and a half ago it kept my plane from landing in Valdez and we actually turned around over the airport and went all the way back to Anchorage. When we landed at Ted Stevens, all the Crowley people scrambled to get on one of the other two flights of the day and I was the only one to make it onto the noon plane. Flying into Valdez on Tuesday night the way I usually do will be a safer bet in the future.

Later today we'll be going to McPherson Bay to relieve another boat, and we'll be out there for about a week. McPherson is on the eastern side of Naked Island and even though there is a cell tower just over the hill, the signal is terrible and you're more or less cut off from communication. Outside Bay is just to the southwest across a tiny strip of land and the signal there is fine. Go figure. But there will be enough to do, between paperwork (it never ends) and an audit to prepare for when we return to town.

I also have a bit of a personal project in the works: the day I came back to work, I decided to cut sugar, grains, dairy, and legumes from my diet (Whole30-style) and see how it would make me feel. My whole life I have had zero self-control when it comes to anything sweet: cake, donuts, cookies, candy; and the sugar withdrawal alone gave me a headache for a week. But the results have been promising so far - better sleep, more consistent energy (fewer sugar crashes, which were a part of my life that I had accepted long ago), and the best part: the power to pass on sweets. Once I started to accept that exercise alone wouldn't counteract the damage I've been doing to my body, it became easy to decide I just couldn't eat another bite of sugar. We are not built to eat like that, and I've had enough in my first thirty years to last a lifetime. It's hard to stick to the plan perfectly - an additive or two might sneak into a meal from time to time - but I can't have total control, and my cook has been a good sport about it. After several years of going to sea and eating sugary crap and processed junk food just because it's there and I'm bored, this change is allowing my mind and body to feel clearer and lighter than they ever have in my life. I encourage everyone I know to give it a try.

Monday, June 15, 2015

Stud Links

The last notable evolution we undertook on my latest hitch aboard the Hunter happened a week ago, when we swapped out the pigtail on one of our response barges. I was in charge on deck and things went smoothly, with exception of a bell shackle that was pretty well locked up with stinking marine growth. In Valdez they use a bell shackle instead of a fishplate to connect the bridle legs to the pigtail. We pulled off a half-shot and quarter-shot and replaced that will a full shot (90 feet or 15 fathoms) of 3-inch stud link chain. My fascination with towing gear continues: each link is 18 inches long and weighs about 94 pounds. A welded stud strengthens the link by preventing collapse and stretching; standard measurement is "length over five links" in inches (66" or five and a half feet for three-inch chain). The weight of a full shot is about 7,650 lbs. An open link at the end is required since a shackle can't be put through a link of chain containing a stud. Working with this gear reminds me that I do in fact miss towing barges sometimes.

On my way home, however, it became clear that I'm lucky not to have been on the ocean last week; I arrived in Anchorage Wednesday evening with a plan to stay in Alaska with friends for a couple days. By 9 pm I was stricken with horrible abdominal pain, but assumed it was food poisoning from lunch in Valdez and tried to sleep through the night. At noon on Thursday I decided I should probably go to the hospital, and after a long afternoon consisting of three liters of IV fluid, multiple doses of potent painkillers, and a CT scan, it was pronounced that I had an acute appendicitis and was going into surgery almost immediately. It was traumatic but I have to say that every person who took care of me at the Providence medical center in Anchorage was without exception sweet and kind and made the whole experience strangely pleasant, considering the circumstances. I'm also terrifically lucky it didn't go down at work, because I doubt I'd want to get cut open in Valdez and transportation from an outport in Prince William Sound to emergency medical care is a scenario I don't even want to think about. And to think that I didn't know whether I was getting relieved until the night before crew change...

Aside from this unpleasant interruption, the last four weeks have been excellent; with a group of happy, optimistic people to work alongside it doesn't feel like work at all. And getting back into life at home is an interesting study… at the end of each trip to Alaska, being back in the city feels like a new chapter. We are fully into the summer now, and walking around my neighborhood feels like walking through Europe: so vibrant, strange, and warm, the streets lined with charming houses and gorgeous flower gardens. So beautiful.