Radar speed & position input
Time to breathe some life back into this blog as promised in last years final posting. January was not a great month for me so I wasn’t in the mood for any attempts at wit on the internet, I took a few photos which will be put up here eventually. So the end of February is the start of the new decade for this periodically updated blog, I’m back at sea my home from home with my second family, who welcomed me back like the prodigal son without the slaughter of any fatted calf but with plenty of enthusiasm which warmed the cockles of my heart and brought a hint of a tear to my glass eye. A karaoke session was ordered and plenty crooning ensued, murdering many an Engelbert Humperdink ballad and a few versions of the now apparently dangerous “My way”.
For all the great welcome I received coming back the farewells were hard on leaving my home and the mood on the way to airport early on a cold January morning was low. My fellow passengers on the transport bus to the plane were mostly men, middle aged and bored looking, until the last minute when 8 55+ gold chained slick backed tanned white toothed Rolex wearing chaps fell onto the bus laughing and grunting all half drunk at 7 in the am, there appeared to be one leader who was more tanned and had more hair oil and a bigger Rolex than the rest he was a good foot shorter than his com padres and seemed to have a Napoleon complex, he proceeded to tell jokes and the others howled with unfunny cackles that had the empty echo of canned laughter. Their high spirits didn’t raise mine. On the plane one of them wanted my newspaper, he said “you can give me that when you’re finished with it” near suffocating me in whisky fumes and cigar breath, anyone else in the world and I would have gladly obliged but some divil rose up inside of me and refused, he looked momentarily perplexed, but he moved on down to his seat. I should have just given him the stupid paper, I got more annoyed by him than he by me.
The plane was late taking off prompting the French air hostess to move me to the very front of the plane so I’d be first off because of my short connection, she gave me instructions and said you’ll have to move quickly or you might miss your connection, so when the ground staff finally got the stairs to the door of the plane in Paris I was off like a bat outta hell, of course the next flight was from another terminal meaning a bus ride, I arrived at the passport control and they ushered me through, another staff member showed me to the bus and there I waited for it to move away. And waited. Until it filled up with all of my fellow passengers, and waited until my 8 shiny friends finished their cigars and climbed on all happy out.I probably would never have made it with or without the Las Vegas 8.
I duly missed my connection at Paris CDG so I had a 6 hours of terminal 2 watching the world go by. The world literally passed by, all shapes and sizes colours and creeds going to the four corners of the planet. I took photos of the architecture and the furniture and a few people too…
Baggage trolleys awaiting usage
Young Japanese woman avoiding the airport air.
Eventually I got my connection and I have sea views as I write. OK that’s it for today, more installments on the way!
Just in on the Navigation warnings satellite printer, a Blockade planned by French Fishermen, it reads,
Quote
“NAVAREA TWO
091/09 - DOVER STRAIT TRAFFIC SEPARATION SCHEME
A GROUP OF FRENCH FISHING VESSELS INTENDS TO BLOCKADE AND/OR HAMPER
SHIPPING PROCEEDING IN THE DOVER STRAIT TRAFFIC SEPARATION SCHEME
NORTH EAST LANE.
- HAZARDOUS BEHAVIORS INCLUDING COURSES STEERED OPPOSITE TO THE LANE
DIRECTION AND/OR ZIGZAGS IN OPPOSITE DIRECTION ACROSS THE LANE WIDTH
ARE EXPECTED.
-THIS INDUSTRIAL ACTION COULD START IN THE NIGHT FROM THE 13 TO 14
APRIL.
-FISHING VESSELS INVOLVED ARE LIABLE TO SWITCH OFF THEIR NAVIGATION
LIGHTS.”
Unquote
Bound to be some nasty scenes there. And I thought we were safe up here in Northern Europe from piracy on the high seas, or “industrial action” as it is being called by the French (the message was broadcast by France Telecom).
Well if I see anything I’ll have the cameras rolling, later folks…….
Night time operations, once you get started on them the whole tour ends up happening at night. We were heading into Dunkerque fortunately in ballast condition, the ship being easier to handle when light. The first hazard was at the breakwater a 90 degree turn with an easterly current, so you have to put on some power and turn into the current, but not too much power because you don’t want to end up half way across the basin and miss the lock entrance, then you could find yourself in all kinds of trouble. All the talking stopped when we made the first turn, all that could be heard was the background buzz of radars and the occasional blast of VHF traffic, I eased the engines and she started to turn nicely for the locks, no other helm or thrust was required, the pilot remarked ” she knows the way”, I said “yeah she’s been here more times than I have”. Once we were lined up for the lock I angled the bow towards the quay wall on the port side and gave a quick burst astern, she started to move in to the lock wall a bit too quickly so I gave the rudder hard to port and half ahead which stopped the advance towards the wall, then another belt astern and she sat nicely on the tyre fenders. The mooring ropes were already out and the pilot said “position”, so I said position to fore and aft.
After the lock we crept out and got ready for the first turn “hard to port, half ahead, full thrust to port” and she started swinging on the first 180 degree turn, she came around nicely and we made our way up the “Chenal Brocquaire” we needed to have some speed for steering but not too much that would make the next swing difficult, a balancing act, anyway the ship is right handed so when it was time to turn I gave an unmerciful kick astern to kill the way, the entire ship juddered as she came to a halt then “hard to starboard, half ahead, and full thrust to starboard”, and she gently came around and we came up to the pier and made fast. There were only about 2 or three sentences exchanged in the entire manoeuvre, and inaudible sighs of relief once alongside, then off to change underclothes! Not entirely text book, but they don’t mention the adrenaline rush in the textbook or the cold sweat dripping, and the silent tension, and I don’t think an astern manoeuvre is called unmerciful in the books either, but if you don’t give a savage kick astern you’ll end up in the next parish.
The entire manoeuvre was tracked nicely on the chartlet above. The curved red line is the actual track and the orange lines the intended. You can see where the southerly wind pushed us up to the north in the “Chenal” but we made it in the end as one pilot from Lancashire once said to me “without twatting anything”!
One rule, 2 countries, 2 interpretations. In Rotterdam I couldn’t set foot off the ship without incurring great expense and hassle, and my bicycle was blacklisted, In Dunkerque, there was a free bus laid on to take us up to the Mission to Seafarers, free, gratis and we were treated with great respect. France 1 Holland 0. The French are enlightened. Vive La France!
The Mission itself (featured above in the photo) was no great shakes to be honest but it was not the decor we were there to admire, it was a bit of a change of scenery the Gallic bonhomie a few of beers and a game of pool. There were 2 out of tune pianos, 2 pool tables with worn out cloths and the cushions were like wood, but it didn’t matter. There was also a full size billiards table in one corner, I don’t think anyone else there apart from myself had ever played billiards or knew what it was….proficiency at billiards, sign of a misspent youth…..I’m crap at billiards, pool, snooker, the lads used to call me harpoon when I’d take a shot, my cuing action was that bad.
I was there with the deck cadet and the 3rd engineer, the poor cadet was what it seemed to me to be in a perpetual state of fear and looked like he was going to shit himself or cry every time I addressed him, and he answered “yessir” the whole time. He must have had it rough in the academy. We drank a couple of cold ones played a few frames of pool, warped cues and wooden cushions aside. The place filled up with seamen from around the globe, I was the only westerner in the place, apart from the staff, and I was getting looks from some people as if to say are you really on a ship? One crew had just arrived from Port Hedland, Australia. Their voyage was as long as my entire tour, 4 weeks.
Some of the guests had been shopping for food, eggs and milk, corned beef and sardines. I was thinking I won’t be complaining about the food again on my ship.
One of the staff was a living advertisement for Gitanes, he went out to the smoking area every few minutes to smoke a fag and cough up half a lung in the process and hack up and gob a few times on the ground before uttering something in French which could be translated as “Jesus, Mary and Joseph” then he pulled out a paisley patterned handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his brow from the exertion, and snorted heftily before stuffing it back in his back pocket. Then back to the bar for another swig of Vino. Lovely, it nearly put me off my beer, but not quite.
One of the other staff could speak about 5 languages apart from French and English, and was conversing away with the Filipinos in Tagalog much to their delight, then the VHF set on the wall hummed to life and another bus was sent out to collect more thirsty seafarers.
Most of the visitors wanted to avail of the cheap phonecalls home, I could see them sitting behind the smoked glass cubicles calling their loved ones somewhere in the world. Hard auld life for some of these lads, but the Mission provides some solace for them.
On the way in…..A photo of the towns name, directly opposite on the far side of the road was the exit sign for the town.
I didn’t do much more than cycle in and out and do some shopping at the local supermarché. I tried doing a few arty shots at the local abandoned SNCF station more of that on the fotoblog.
On the way out….with one stop off here….which had the odd name of Le Mutant, the wine was cheap and the clientèle were all giving me the “who’s the foreigner with the camera bag” look. A few eyebrows were Gallically raised as I said “cheers luv” to the check out girl. I heard later that the Mutant was a really mega discount store that normal people usually didn’t frequent. I wonder if they mean their customers are Mutants or that the prices are mutated or they sell lots of GMO which will turn you into a Mutant….is this the opposite of ECO shopping? €2 for a Bordeaux Superior says it’s OK for me anyway!
A genetically modified customer pushes a trolley…..
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