st some general photos of the boat, but I'm a bit pressed for time today since I have quite a bit of preparatory reading to do before we're on station--assuming we leave port at all. I'll get to the photo ops in a later post, after we've returned. For now, just some facts.We've been stuck here for quite some time now, since Wednesday at least, with nagging little maintenance issues popping up in series, like a perfectly-spaced line of cars that just keeps you from pulling out onto the road (and sends me into conniptions when it happens--just ask Kate. It seems I'm getting as ornery behind the wheel as Dad used to be, but let's just forget that for now).
Let's roll back to two weeks ago, when I first got word that I might be heading down here, on a Thursday. Packed my bag and was ready...but the boat wasn't. Something vague about crew problems on the sister ship, so the Ridley Thomas was held up at dock...Thursday became Sunday, became the Monday a week later...and finally, I was on a plane. Monday was actually my smoothest travel day in memory, actually, from a nice leisurely breakfast, a quiet ride to Portland with my little bengal (and Eva was fast asleep when I got out of the car, so I didn't want to wake her), and two quick flights to Baltimore and then New Orleans, followed by an easy car ride to Houma. If only all travel could be so simple.
I've described the day or two in between a bit already. Wednesday we had a big briefing, 50 of so of us crammed into a trailer out behind BP's gigantic training center, getting a description of the mission. That afternoon I drove down to Fourchon with the crew chief, Eric, and here we've waited ever since. The gremlins are seeing to that. To list the little maintenance issues which have prevented us from leaving, since Thursday morning until now: a broken backup generator; broken AC; broken oil separator for the bilge pump (one crew member observed: who cares if we're dumping a bit of oil? We're going to work in an oil slick!); and now, broken strobe light warning system for the engine room. Of all those, the AC is the one we could live without, and just make do with a bit of discomfort. But the other three are Coast Guard-mandated fixes, so here we sit as we wait for the special strobes to fit the British electrical system on board this non-American boat.
And on the other side of events? The year's first tropical storm, christened just last night, Alex. It's still in the Caribbean as I type, its winds just topped out over 40 mph as I slept, and the likely storm track has it heading west of here. But one never knows. The Coast Guard has estimated
that it will need five days to clear ground zero of vessels should a tropical depression-or-stronger type storm approach. I imagine it's going to be a tense watch for BP/Coast Guard mission control
today, as they monitor that thing. Little scatterbug boats like us are fine, as long as we don't blunder straight into the storm. But the big, slow, ungainly ships need to untether and get away from each other, and try to make it to a port well out of the storm's path. (And I assume that includes the square drilling platforms--those things are most definitely not immune to storms.)
So the recovery operation is looking a bit precarious right now, for the next week or two, and our own role hinges on installing a few lightbulbs.
How many engineers again, how does that joke go? It's not funny, whatever the punchline is.
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