Old Home Week

In the hall of my company's Corpus Christi office there is a photo of the USS City of Corpus Christi, which made her first port visit to her namesake in 1986.

I skipped school with a friend that day to tour the Los Angeles-class attack sub.

I sailed a ship last week from the same cargo dock at which I visited my grandfather aboard his Lykes Lines freighter in the 1970s, and across the channel from the company dock I can see the Coast Guard station that was home to the USCG Reliance, first of her class, from 1964-1975.

My father was a crew member from '66 to '68.

Other connections abound -- from captains who graduated from high school with aunts and uncles to memories of standing on the breakwater to welcome the replica Columbus fleet -- I steam past that same spot to meet inbound ships now.

The very sky and shoreline and shape of the bay are old friends, as are some of the people working on its waters.

If the pace of operations in Houston is frenetic, Corpus is more measured.

Three slow days at the beginning of the hitch morphed into two non-stop days at the end of the week, but in-between there was time to get to know shipmates and others in the fleet.

A live oak shades carpet grass between our office and the dock and mesquite trees overhang a creek teeming with redfish, trout and snook.

The company has thoughtfully placed a lighted fish-cleaning table next to the BBQ pit and picnic area.

The boat is a 96-ft. powerhouse, nearly as old as me.

Her twin locomotive engines put out 3900hp and spin 9-ft. propellers for a bollard pull of 60 tonnes ahead -- not much shy of the company's newest z-drives.

More importantly, she'll slide sideways at least half a knot faster than many of our twin-screw, flanking rudder boats.

A close reading of nearly five years of blogging about working on boats suggests I may be overly optimistic at the beginning of any new chapter, happy to give anyone and anything the benefit of the doubt.

So I'm not saying I've landed in tugboat heaven.

But it sure seems like a possibility after the first week.

Days Like This

"When it's not always raining there'll be days like this. When there's no one complaining there'll be days like this. Everything falls into place, like the flick of a switch, well my mama told me there'll be days like this ...". (Van Morrison, Days Like This)

I got some unexpected good news last week, and it seems like a fine time to stop and take stock. Not just of my career, but also of my life in a larger sense.

First the good news: our office approved a transfer down to Corpus Christi, which is as close to home waters as I can ever get on a harbor tug.

My folks live about 20 minutes from either of our two docks, my brother works in the port and about two-thirds of my rather large and historically very close extended family are just 30 minutes up the road in Rockport (RFHS class of '87, y'all!).

And the schedule is 7/7 -- crew change the same day every week, every other weekend off.

Corpus is a "quieter" port than Houston. With approximately 1,800 ships and 79 million tons of cargo per year, it's about a quarter the size of the nation's second-busiest port but still ranks in the top 10 nationally.

Anyway, folks who work on our boats in Corpus tend to stay there. I thought I was going to have to wait a couple of years before wrangling a transfer south. It feels like a gift, and validates the down-to-the-wire decision not to move to Houston.

A different port, a different class of boats and a different bunch of pilots means starting over on a couple of things, but I'm betting it will come quickly.

My new boss, the master of the tug I've been assigned to, has already called to make sure any questions I have are answered.

That's a first in my six years of sailing commercially.

("When no one steps on your dreams, there'll be days like this ...")

Much to the dismay of most (and no doubt the secret delight of a few!) family members, this does not mean we're moving back "home" to Rockport. But we'll be visiting a lot more often.

The truth is, after moving half a dozen times across the length of the state, the long-suffering spouse and I are really enjoying our life on the edge of the Texas Hill Country. 

There are deer in the front yard, and a river in the back yard (a canoe and kayaks in the garage), and we've begun making friends.

Georgetown is convenient to her several-times-a-month client engagements in Fort Worth or Dallas, close enough to the coast to make a weekly commute manageable, and with two weeks off each month I might actually have time to feed my saltwater addiction.

Significantly, I also have unfinished business in Central Texas with the first-born entering his senior year in high school. He's turning into a fine young man and I want to be around as much as I can before he flies ....

("When all the parts of the puzzle start to look like they'll fit, then I must remember there'll be days like this ...")

Elsewhere on the homefront, the favorite nephew just graduated from high school after an extremely challenging senior year.

I'm guessing a lot of kids would have thrown in the towel, or gone off the rails. He did neither. I'm pretty proud of him.

He has a contract in hand and ships out for Coast Guard basic training in September, where he will carry on a family tradition, is guaranteed his first choice of occupational specialty and will earn enough educational benefits over the next four years to see him through two PhDs debt-free, if that's his desire.

As he begins his last summer break, he's frequently at our house, often with friends. I'm kind of enjoying the sounds of teen-age boys playing video games, noodling on their instruments and engaging in fierce battles of Monopoly.

They may have broken the good brown dog, though, throwing that ball.

The littles are enjoying a vacation in Grammiland. We'll see if we can peel them away next week.

("When you don't need to worry, there'll be days like this. When no one's in a hurry, there'll be days like this ...")

Anyway, all this to say that all is well. Very well, in fact.

And I think it's important to acknowledge that from time to time, especially since too often I blog as therapy -- in lieu of punching somebody in the face or throwing small appliances overboard.

Challenges? We still have some. We're still trying to carve out adequate couple time. We still have some big bills to pay.  We're still not sure how we're going to match the energy of a 6-year-old and a 4-year-old over a long, hot summer.

But I'm hyper-aware I have friends and loved ones dealing with much worse, and I am so grateful, on a day like this, to be where we are as we tackle that stuff.

*cool Harbor Bridge photo by my brother.

Happy Dance in the Wheelhouse

Well, the designated examiner never did show up to the last boat. Five hitches with fill-ins and long days on the mate's watch, and I wondered -- not for the first time -- if I would ever be done.

The good news is that I got to work with some terrific guys, and I got to practice my boat-handling. A lot.

The better news is that this past watch I got shunted over to another boat, one with a DE (and a bunch of other cool guys), and on day three of this past hitch I completed my TOAR. In 20-kt (gusting to 30) winds.

It was nerve-wracking. And exhilarating. And a huge relief when I was done.

My company's policy is that a port captain comes down to the boat and quizzes me -- maybe even observes me work -- before making it all official. That still has to happen. But so long as I'm even halfway on the ball, that part is pretty much pro forma.

Even then, I'm not done. We operate six or seven different classes of boats, and I'll need to get signed-off on at least one, preferably more, before I can start building seniority as a mate. The first one (twin screw flanking rudder, where I've been the past six weeks) should go really fast, and I've already made a good start on the last one (the formal z-drive assessments).

So, there's still a lot to learn. But, now, I am completely confident that I can do it. More importantly, so is my DE, and he's been doing this for 35 years.

Getting my TOAR done, finally, was a great moment. There was an even better one, though, this last hitch.

I caught an inbound tanker, coming alongside on an unfriendly quarter in a narrow channel. It was a one-tug job as it was a smallish ship with a bow thruster.

There also was 20 kts. of wind on the beam, and then the bow thruster took a crap.

For me, that meant a lot of maneuvering, from push to pull at various angles, jockying the ship into position at the dock.

When we were done, the pilot called me on the radio: "That was a really fine job. Thank you. You're very easy to work with, and I hope to see you on the next one."

That. That right there.

After my number one priority of not getting any of my guys hurt, and my number two priority of not banging up my boat, getting the ship to the dock safely and efficiently without unduly worrying the pilot is what it's all about.

The Joy is Back (Six Weeks Ago ...)

Entonces, so am I.

Coming to the end of the second watch (Again, folks here call their hitches "watches." They call their duty shifts "watches," too. It's only occasionally confusing.) on a new boat -- my fourth in the past six months, and I'm getting lots of wheel time.

This watch I've handled four dockings soup to nuts. Coming alongside an inbound ship at somewhere between six and eight knots is one of the more challenging things we do here; well, it's sometimes challenging to do it gently and on-target and timely, anyhow.

It's the first chance I've had to do that since I was on the big Z-Tech last year. So far so good.

Another really fun evolution is maintaining a 90(ish)-degree angle while a ship is backing down, often at over a knot. At higher speeds astern it's only possible by maintaining a "cheating angle" and balancing fore-and-aft thrust while twisting the tug. Kinda basic twin-screw stuff, but going sideways, and either pushing or pulling on the ship or being careful to do neither.

Flanking rudders -- and this boat has them -- theoretically should make it easier. Fat, square sterns -- and this boat has one of those, too -- don't. I found out yesterday, too, that if you get enough water moving across the flanking rudders fast enough, they're going to stay there until you come off the throttles. I'm guessing the steering pump is a little underpowered.

There is no permanently assigned DE on this boat, so my TOAR languishes at just under 90 percent complete. Same place it's been for the past two months. Hopefully one will parachute in next watch. In the meantime, I'm happy to take advantage of the opportunity to practice.

And for all this, nature is never spent

Being both a native Texan and a lover of wild things is probably something akin to a gentle version of multiple personality disorder.

Texas is grand, and by that mostly I mean large. More than a quarter million square miles of forests (pine trees cover an area the size of New England), deserts (the Chihuahuan Desert is, according to the World Wildlife Fund, the most biologically diverse in the world), mountains (more than 90 over a mile high) and beaches (367 miles of them), plains, rivers, and lakes (more than 5,600 square miles of inland water, first in the lower 48).

Our beaches are not the whitest, our mountains are not the highest, and our rivers are not the most awe-inspiring ... I like to say we have a little of everything, but we don't have the best of anything.

Texas also leads the nation in crude oil and natural gas production (as well as wind energy) and refines about one-third of all the petroleum used in the country.

More than 80 percent of the land in Texas is in agricultural production, and the state leads the nation in cattle, horses, cotton, hay, sheep, goats and mohair. Mohair!

Six of the 20 largest U.S. cities (and three of the top 10) are in Texas. But there are still vast, unpeopled stretches.

In fact, the human population of the entire world could fit inside of Texas with almost exactly the same population density as New York City (scale-up Central Park, while you're at it).

All that to say, again, that Texas is big. And diverse. And well-used -- often hard-used. And despite that, wildness abounds in the most unlikely places.

Standing on the bridge deck of a tugboat smack in the middle of the Houston Ship Channel last week, I was reminded, yet again, of the words of the Victorian poet and Jesuit priest, Gerard Manley Hopkins. In God's Grandeur, he writes:

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

    And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

    And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;

    There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

It's true. Thrill to the peregrine falcon, stooping on a dove above a grain dock. 

See the hooded merganser happily fishing the banks of the country's busiest commercial waterway. 

Allow your heart to leap with the bottlenose dolphins hitching a ride on a boat's bow pressure wave.

All of this, in spite of our disregard, and even abuse. Nature just keeps on naturing.

*Hooded merganser and peregrine falcon photos by Aaron Gralnik, used with permission.

TOAR Up

"Tore up" is idiomatic in certain parts of this United States for "wasted, drunk" or "messed-up" ... in short, "not right."

"TOAR" is an acronym for Towing Officer Assessment Record. By conflating the two, I hope you get a sense of how I feel about the latter.

TOARs are completed on real, live tugs (or, in part, on approved simulators) by candidates for mate or master of towing under the eagle eyes of Designated Examiners, or DEs.

DEs are experienced masters of towing with an additional Coast Guard endorsement that allows them to assess applicants for towing licenses on the Coast Guard's behalf.

In a nutshell, and probably glossing over some arcana in the parallel universe that is the Coast Guard's licensing scheme, there are two routes to a towing endorsement. One involves an apprentice steersman course and some ridiculous number of days working strictly on towing vessels.

The other involves a license of 500 GRT or higher, a minimum of 30 days training and observation on the appropriate route, and the TOAR.

It is generally considered the most direct route to Master or Mate of Towing, and the people who pursue that route are sometimes derisively callled "30-day Wonders."

But, "direct" is of course relative.

There are a number of ways to complete a TOAR. The time-honored, and probably most common, method is to start on deck as an OS or AB (with or without a deck officer's license) and spend most of one's off-watch hours in the wheelhouse with an amenable master or seasoned mate.

Some maritime academies offer cadets the opportunity to complete a TOAR before they graduate (they usually still have to do the 30 days of training and observation).

I've heard rumors of an outfit in Florida that promises a completed TOAR in a week, which sounds a lot like pencil-whipping to me.

And at least one company offers training and assessments on a real tug and barge on the Hudson River -- reportedly the real deal -- for a price.

A few of the (mostly larger) tug companies periodically post a handful of positions earmarked for "Mate-Training and Observation." These positions are meant to be filled by folks with the appropriate deck license but minus the TOAR and required 30 days of training and observation.

I was lucky enough to be selected for one of those; in other words, I get paid to train and am "the extra man" on the boat.

I was told during new hire orientation that I should expect the TOAR to take 3-6 months (no 30-day wonders here). With 40-something of my 77 assessments signed-off at the 11-week mark,

I'm hoping to finish in five months. But it will be a close thing. (*Update: I'm hoping to finish before I'm eligible for retirement.)

Partly because it's a lot to learn -- not just the towing part, but also a new propulsion system for me (z-drives) and the intricacies of "shipwork."

Also because the  master of the vessel I'm assigned to, my DE, is .... well, let's say he's thorough and has very high standards.

In the end, that's okay with me, because he is an excellent boat handler and really knows his stuff. He wants me to be an excellent boat handler and to really know my stuff. I can live with that.

A couple of quirky things about the TOAR: there's one for Great Lakes and Inland Waters (that's the one I'm completing), one for Near Coastal/Ocean routes, and one for Western Rivers.

There are common elements to all three, so to add a route requires only 30 more days on that route plus the assessments one has not already completed.

Some of the common elements are head-scratchers, like: plot a position on a chart, or use a VHF radio, or conduct a fire drill (all things anyone with the appropriate licenses already should be very familiar with).

Also, the towing portion is all about barges. And the towing I'm learning to do is all about ships.

Unless I change companies, I will likely never get close to a barge that is not an ocean-going unit connected to a really big tug, or a stationary bunkering barge I'm receiving fuel from.

Because the Coast Guard requires it, we do the barge part just for the TOAR.

And because the company I work for has learned a thing or two over the last 80-something years, there's a completely separate assessment for each class of boats we operate, one that covers things like demonstrating a powered indirect or transverse arrest or keeping the tug on a 90-degree angle while a ship is making sternway or headway.

It's a slog. I keep reminding myself there's cheese at the end.

*Update*

So ... I started writing this post more than a month ago. In the time since then, I completed every bit of my TOAR I could on a z-drive boat (the actual towing, by local custom, must be done on a conventional boat).

I spent two hitches on a flanking rudder, twin-screw boat (with a master who is not a DE but a great trainer), and now I'm on a twin-screw tug -- actually the largest boat of any type in our fleet -- with the most experienced DE at our company.

I've gotten a few more assessments signed-off -- according to our crew coordinator, I was at "76.3 percent complete" before the most recent update. It's still a slog.

The Marine Corps, at the end of basic training, put recruits through a 54-hour field exercise (sleep deprivation is a key feature) called "The Crucible."

Make it through that, I hear, and you've earned the right to call yourself a Marine.

I kind of feel like that's where I am now. In the crucible.

And it's weird, and humbling, because I already earned "Captain," and that was it's own slog. I've managed vessels and trained crews and been responsible for tens of millions of dollars of equipment and dozens of lives.

Now I just want the title "Mate (of Towing)."

Not even for the extra $100 a day, really. Just stop cussing me, give me my own room and let me catch more than five hours of sleep every 24. That would make me happy.

To kick this off, let's fire-up the wayback machine

The year is 1974. The setting: a tidy, green-and-white mobile home separated from the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway by a stand of windswept oaks, a quiet two-lane blacktop and a broad expanse of mudflats and spartina marsh.

Inside, a towheaded, freckle-faced boy hunches over a record player, a book in his hands. The scratchy LP and the book bear the same title, and the boy follows along as the record plays Little Toot.

The story of the feckless tugboat that saved the day and learned the value of hard work, thus earning the respect of his father and all of the other tugs in the harbor, absolutely captivated me for more than an entire year.

Who knows where a thing gets its start?

I do know, for sure, that I wore out several styluses on that old record. And, rather to my surprise more than four decades later, I find myself working on a harbor tug.

There were lots of other experiences and boats and places and wrong turns and necessary detours along the way, but this somehow seems right and familiar.

That kid in South Texas also spent a lot of time looking up at docks and ships (usually while fishing at the oil terminal where his father worked). Today, I still spend a lot of time looking (mostly, but not always, up) at docks and ships. Like I said, familiar.

But also waaaay different than some other segments of the industry in which I've worked.

So, this is about that.

If you'd like to read about some of the other stuff, please stop by Crewboat Chronicles or Water Wilderness. It's all of a piece, more or less.