Gremlins on the Tow Boats

Saturday, January 17, 2009
Yesterday was different by occurrences. I lost one of two GPS units to clock error. The redundant system was fine, but it becomes a sob story when all your electronic where-are-we devices fail. The electrical technicians were up to the chore and got things repaired after an hour or two. The Sherpa lost a generator and blacked out, and we quickly began to overrun him. It was very dark outside, and he was, too. His emergency radio may have been the difference between his survival today and having been sent to the bottom by us during the night. It was necessary to quickly stop the E7500, which is not an easy sudden job, as recounted earlier. He is evaluating damage and has so far found some disturbing things. The flashed generator not only took out his lights, but also the fuel heaters. He runs on heavy oil which is too thick to pump unless heated and made less viscous. Right now, he is burning diesel which belongs to us, and we do not know what other ailments he may discover. He has about four days to his point-of-no-return to either stay with us—at the risk of going dead in the water 2500 miles from land—or to go to land now for fuel and repairs. Unhappily, it is our fuel being consumed. That not being enough, the other boat, Alpine, has sustained a plugged or damaged injector on his number three engine. For crying out loud: I may end up pulling those two boats to a safe haven somewhere. Added to this sob story is our own minor struggles, to wit: two thrusters which are apparently bored with producing thrust.

I stood outside the squadron commander’s office, waiting to see him about a personnel problem. He had a second lieutenant in at the moment, and it amused me to hear him say: “I know I told you to keep that evacuation safety plan brief, Lieutenant, but I expected a bit more than ‘RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! “ He waited for the lieutenant to say something, which finally came as a tiny “yes, sir.” Then the Lt. Colonel added, “ and HEAD FOR THE HILLS, won’t do, either.”

I have been using the term “sob story.” During the BMEWS days, the US had a radar station squarely in the middle of the ice pack of Greenland. When they saw an airplane coming, they started talking…about anything. They were so lonely and so remote that it made no difference to them who you were: they just wanted a piece of the outside world. Each man there had a chance at the radio. Its name was Sob Story Radar.

At 6:45 pm tonight, we are at 9° 31.5’N and 49° 10’ west, doing 8.8 knots, a good rate. Moony had rib eye steaks, grilled chicken, brussels sprouts, hot rolls, cheese sauce, mush rooms, baked and fried potatoes and a salad and dessert bar. Don’t you wish you were here?