As many of you know, I signed on with John Chatterton to help pilot the RV Beacon from Bayou la Batre' in Alabama to Samana in the Dominican Republic. I acted as one of three engineers aboard this vessel and I pulled a 4 hour watch with 8 hours off. Little did I know what terrors awaited me on the High Seas.
Y'all have probably heard of the Pirates of the Caribbean and how modern day pirates with agendas of hate and terrorism often pick out boats at sea to commandeer. What follows is an account of one such attempt and how I was able to single handedly thwart their attempts. These are the facts of that evening and I recount them to you as a warning of the crap you can run into out here.
It was my second hour of watch, about 2315, I had just finished attending to the main engines and transferred 140 gallons of fuel to the day tank. I had made my way through the subdued lights of the salon and galley to the pilot house to report our status and to check on our
progress.
Our pilot was startled to see me.
Quickly, and with great earnest he inquired about my recent whereabouts. "Were you on the port side?" he demanded.
I was not.
"Are you sure?" he demanded once more.
I assured him that I had not ventured out past the aft engine access hatchway and asked him why he was so adamant.
"We have some one on our port. I need you to check it out, stat! Something stinks about this and you need to investigate!"
With two steps I reached the first set of stairs and slid down the hand bars. With most everyone asleep, I had to act with alacrity to prevent disaster. With a quick jaunt and a deft movement I had made and released all the dogs for the aft salon hatch and at this moment I had my first
inklings of apprehension. "Should I get one of the shotguns for this?" I pondered. Unfortunately, my momentum had driven me not only through the aft salon hatch but also through the aft engine access hatch onto the rear deck. With steeled nerves I crouched and peered around the corner. That's when the crap really hit the fan. It wasn't a pretty site and the situation stunk worse than I thought.
That's exactly how this crap started. You see, I had just caught our cabin boy in the act of pumping poo overboard and the wind was whipping it all over the place. The stench was not Al Queda after all, it was merely the crew's poo spewing out into the ocean. I told him he was doing a craptastic job of flinging poo and went back in.
That is all.
Y'all have probably heard of the Pirates of the Caribbean and how modern day pirates with agendas of hate and terrorism often pick out boats at sea to commandeer. What follows is an account of one such attempt and how I was able to single handedly thwart their attempts. These are the facts of that evening and I recount them to you as a warning of the crap you can run into out here.
It was my second hour of watch, about 2315, I had just finished attending to the main engines and transferred 140 gallons of fuel to the day tank. I had made my way through the subdued lights of the salon and galley to the pilot house to report our status and to check on our
progress.
Our pilot was startled to see me.
Quickly, and with great earnest he inquired about my recent whereabouts. "Were you on the port side?" he demanded.
I was not.
"Are you sure?" he demanded once more.
I assured him that I had not ventured out past the aft engine access hatchway and asked him why he was so adamant.
"We have some one on our port. I need you to check it out, stat! Something stinks about this and you need to investigate!"
With two steps I reached the first set of stairs and slid down the hand bars. With most everyone asleep, I had to act with alacrity to prevent disaster. With a quick jaunt and a deft movement I had made and released all the dogs for the aft salon hatch and at this moment I had my first
inklings of apprehension. "Should I get one of the shotguns for this?" I pondered. Unfortunately, my momentum had driven me not only through the aft salon hatch but also through the aft engine access hatch onto the rear deck. With steeled nerves I crouched and peered around the corner. That's when the crap really hit the fan. It wasn't a pretty site and the situation stunk worse than I thought.
That's exactly how this crap started. You see, I had just caught our cabin boy in the act of pumping poo overboard and the wind was whipping it all over the place. The stench was not Al Queda after all, it was merely the crew's poo spewing out into the ocean. I told him he was doing a craptastic job of flinging poo and went back in.
That is all.
