Minding the Helm by Gilheany Kevin P.;

Author:Gilheany, Kevin P.;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of North Texas Press

Rabbit Island was a spot in the marsh off the Intracoastal Waterway near the Mississippi-Louisiana border. It was a good protected spot to spud down for the night. Since Senior Chief's secret map showed no bars in the area, he had made sure to bring the beer with him. After a night of Senior Chief and the few young guys drinking on the pilings on the barge, the crew was up and ready to go at 0600. The engineers had lit off the engines and we were ready to pick up the spuds and go.

“Go tell Senior Chief we're ready to go,” the XPO told me.

I went down the ladder to the deck below and knocked on Senior Chief's cabin door. There was no answer. I knocked again and went in. In accordance with tradition, the Officer in Charge had a nice big cabin all to himself, which was the entire width of the boat. We lived in one berthing area on the main deck with twelve racks and lockers. Senior Chief was dead asleep under the covers. After calling him a number of times, I had to shake him. He finally stirred.

“Senior Chief, the engines are lit off and we're ready to go.”

“No,” he grumbled, “regular workday.”

Regular workday? We were in the middle of the marsh. He obviously said whatever came to mind to make me go away and leave him alone.

“Senior Chief says regular workday,” I reported to the XPO and chief engineer back on the bridge.

“Are you shittin’ me?” said the chief engineer, leaning his left elbow on the port window frame—people who weren't used to me often had trouble figuring out if I was serious or kidding. The chief engineer, Chief Walker, was an Alabama redneck through and through. He liked to play the part, too, but he was very intelligent and an excellent engineer. He was in his mid-thirties, had blonde hair, and glasses. But his most prominent feature was his large belly, which made one wonder how he passed his annual weigh-in. His eyes were fixed on me. He grinned subtly while slapping his can of Skoal on his left hand.

“You have got to be shittin’ me,” said the chief, half laughing with disbelief.

“What are we supposed to do out here?” said the frustrated XPO.

“This is the most fucked up thing I have ever seen in my entire career,” said the chief.

“Should I tell them to shut down the engines?” I asked, looking down at the crew out on the barge, who were looking up and wondering why we hadn't given the command to pick up the spuds.

The bitching and Senior Chief bashing went on for the next four hours on the bridge as we waited for Senior Chief to sleep it off. The truth is we could have gotten underway with the Senior Chief in the rack as we had done many times before. There was no prohibition against it. But since he had declared a “regular workday,” we had to stay put. Neither the XPO, nor the chief, dared to go down below and share their thoughts with Senior Chief.

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