It was going to happen eventually – after a Christmas break and a hectic house move I got the call telling me to join the Hurst Point at Marchwood. Luckily I’d stuck most of my sea gear in a single box when packing for the move so it was simply a case of sorting my clothes, saying my goodbyes and throwing everything in my suitcase/backpack combo!
The first part of this trip was hectic – we pretty much immediately set sail for America via a quick stop off in Scotland. The Scottish highlands look beautiful in the sun but the temperature left something to be desired!
Whilst the uk leg of the trip was fine, the Atlantic in winter was far less accommodating, providing us with a reliable ten or so days of high waves and low visability. The only positive that comes with rough weather is the deep sleep that follows multiple nights of rolling. Still, we eventually reached the Gulf Of Mexico for our first stop – Belize!
I can’t really say much for Belize – the port was too small to take us so we anchored up and begun to build the mexefloat. After a good three to four hours of using the ships crane to lower each section into the water we lowered the stern ramp, allowing the loading crew to slowly but surely load the vehicles and ferry them to land. All in all it was a pretty long day, the highlights being the dolphin which spent a good hour keep an eye on progress and the barracudas which rise from the deep when a flash light is shone upon the ocean at night. They are as ugly as the nature documentaries suggest. Still, the pilotage was enoyable – I asked if I could jump on the wheel to navigate the various small island-come-private-hotels in the carribean whilst the pilot filled us in on all the gossip. That was good fun.
Next stop was Corpus Christi, Texas. This was a new one for us, being both a port we don’t generally service and seeing a camera crew pointed at the ship as we arrive (check out the local story here). I had quite a good time in Texas – after spending the morning supervising the container discharge and joking with the local loading crew (who were, to a man, absolute giants) I struck out to explore. In all honesty, the surrounding area felt like every Lifter Puller song you’ve ever heard, with closed down businesses, faded store signs and hardly anyone hitting the pavement. After wandering around for a couple of hours I decided to camp out at one of the seaside bars with $1 cans and chat to the locals. Turns out that we were a few weeks early for spring break and the town was still in winter mode, which was a bit of a shame. Still, the beer was cheap and the locals friendly so it was an enjoyable enough afternoon.
I didn’t stay for too long though as I promised to be back on ship by 6 – at the time of leaving, we were unsure if we’d be departing the same day. Luckily the work dragged on so, come six, everyone knocked off and got ready for a night on the town. We started off at a bar within a warehouse – thing every Texan stereotype you can. Country band, lots of beer, big steaks and super long tables. We had a good time but we (the second mate and I) ended up splitting from the group when they decided to call it a night and head back to the ship. We eventually (via a couple more bars) found ourselves at a Country Club which, as strange as it was, was actually really good fun. Imagine a small town UK club which plays country music and encourages line dancing...yes, it was very, very Texan.
Next up was Canada where I truly learnt the meaning of the word Cold. The journey to port featured three days (each way) of sailing through ice. To be fair, it was quite a spectacular sight, and the moonlight shining from the surface meant that night watches were considerably more interesting. However, this beauty caused us a number of problems once we reached the berth – an ice block took out our bow thruster, the speed it was forming stopped us from dropping anchors and the wind kept us off the berth, meaning we had to utilise two tugs to keep us alongside. Mooring up took close to five hours.
Cargo was not the most enjoyable experience as you can probably imagine. Even with multiple shirts, trousers, tees and a specialist snow suit the cold was biting. Believe me, when it hits -25 degrees C, you’re going to feel it EVERYWHERE. I’d still love to visit Canada in the summer though – sadly I’ll have to chalk this stop up as all work and no play. Saying that, the 10 hour pilotage outbound was very pleasant – the pilot felt more like a tour guide, filling us in on the local history of the areas we passed. I do have a soft spot for the times when the local pilots are happy to fill us in on the area.
Following this we hugged the coast back down south to Sunny Point. As much as I would have enjoyed a night out in town by the time we all finished working I didn’t feel like it was worth the $120 return taxi and two hours travel so I stayed behind to get my bunkering tasks signed off. Gregg, one of the motormen I got on with, was on bunker watch for most of it so it wasn’t a bad night really, trading stories from the punk and rave scenes.
After crossing the Atlantic we had the joy of spending the best part of a month anchored off the Isle of Wight whilst the powers that be bickered over Brexit. The rumour was that we were to become a cross channel ferry service to help relieve the inevitable congestion that Brexit will entail but eventually we got the word that it was being delayed (for the first time of many) and we were to return to Marchwood. Honestly, it dragged. The chief mate and I agreed that I wasn’t really gaining anything from being onboard and, seeing as the Hartland Point actually had scheduled voyages coming up, we decided that I should change ships so I could finish my TRB (which was mostly cargo based at this point). Still, the anchor watches gave me plenty of time to break the back of my dissertation so it wasn’t all bad.
All in all though, I struggled with my time on the Hurst. The overall uncertainty caused by Brexit, the frustration of extended anchorage and the general mid cadetship slump hit me hard. By the time I had swapped ship I had spent 7 of the last 8 ½ months at sea and believe me, that will affect you. A lot of the old seamen will hit back with ‘well, back in my day we did 14 months trips, you have it easy blah blah blah’ but they’ve still been enjoying the 3 on / 3 off life for the last fifteen odd years so y’know, what they did in their twenties becomes pretty irrelevant really. Also, communication with the outside world can be a double edged sword – I think that, after most of phase three being spent in quick turnover commercial ports and Duqm’s desert car park, I was starting to feel that I was missing out on a lot, especially hearing about classmates getting time off in glamorous ports, friends hitting festivals and everything else we take for granted when we’re at home. It definitely can lead to an overbearing feeling of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ when you hear about everyone’s lives and you’re unable to contribute anything to the equation. Ofcourse, everyone wants to hear stories of the high seas when you’re back, but it’s surprising how quickly you drop of the radar whilst you’re actually away. I’m fully aware that this sounds like I’m having a bit of a moan here (because, you know, I suppose I am) but ever since starting this blog I’ve been clear that I don’t want to simply push the marketing line of ‘earn high and experience the world!’ - I want to give a realistic account of my time as a cadet, and sometimes that means talking about the negatives.
