The best plans can be laid to waste. A storm can kick up unexpectedly and ruin a good run of fishing, or get somebody hurt. A bit of alcohol can toss a wrench in a plan. In the words used for every great mishap: “stuff” happens.
We have a machine on board that regulates the hot water in the living spaces—or should, if it worked. It is the job of the engineers on watch to monitor the temperature and turn a valve to make it hotter or colder, depending on the temperature that requires adjustment. If you climb in the shower during a cold spell (say 90 degrees or so), you will make it the quickest shower ever, I guarantee! Murphy’s law enjoys messing with sailors in the simplest ways.
During our last watch rotation in Charlie Company, we got chewed out twice for some accidents that happened in some of the systems. Somebody “accidentally” closed a valve in the cooling water system, and the temperature in the main engine shot up to dangerous levels. Another occasion saw a valve mysteriously close in another cooling water line, and the propellor shaft’s thrust bearing (which distributes the propellor’s power to the hull) got too hot for safety. Stuff happens; sometimes it’s the fault of some watch-standing midshipmen, and sometimes Murphy comes by and gives us a smile and a wink.
Health is all important in the industry. If your potential boss learns you have a health problem such as epilepsy or anemia or something that could affect your safety at sea, he is less likely to hire you; after all, there is no hospital nearby when you are at sea. Furthermore, everyone on board has a set of jobs to do, and only they are there to do them; therefore, if you get sick, someone else has to do your work, and nobody is happy.
Murphy takes his opportunities here, as well, and this week I write to you not from my stateroom on the TS State of Maine, but from Johns Hopkins Hospital. Living in close quarters with lots of other young men (creatures who still haven’t learned quite enough from our mothers about hygiene) can get you sick. My kidneys had a serious reaction to a mild case of strep throat, and when the doctor aboard figured this out, he decided it was safer to stick me ashore. After all, 200 miles offshore is a lousy place to have kidney problems, and the only one who might have fun would be the Coast Guard helicopter pilot. So here I am in a hospital bed with a few holes in my side after a biopsy, and Murphy is sitting in the chair in the corner giving me his coy old smile. If he comes a step closer I am going to slap him.
See, we sailors know Murphy’s Law quite well, and part of our training is to learn how to cope with it. Things happen at sea; things break, things fall, somebody forgets their steel toes and loses a toe, someone sneezes on the chow, a sewage tank catches fire (hail Carnival Cruise Lines!), or the clutch on your main engine disengages from low air pressure. Sometimes you have to kick someone off the ship for one reason or another, but at Maine Maritime Academy, everyone receives the practice and the training in taking Murphy’s Law and showing it how resourceful humans truly are.
Thank you for following so far, readers. I will be ashore for the remainder of the cruise, unfortunately. However, I can promise you more material, for there are vast quantities waiting to be told that I have not shared yet. Stay aboard, and enjoy what we can give you!
Benjamin Stevens is a Maine Maritime Academy sophomore from Islesford and a participant in the Island Institute/Working Waterfront’s student journalism program, funded in part by the Eaton Foundation.