Ahoy
It had been my first trip ever down the Ohio, my cousin Brian being a father and husband couldn't make this trip on Thanksgiving. A job was hard to get on a barge, and harder to keep. Once you moved your meat you could lose your seat so to speak. I was taking his place on this trip to hold his spot, the Captain didn't mind as long as I pulled my weight and stayed out of his way. It was a good gig for someone like me, 4 weeks out on the Ohio river. Noone was pining away for me by the fire at home, no dogs to feed. The barge was manned by my types, all of them rootless and untethered. None of us were really talkative or outgoing. Just said what was needed when it was needed, looks and nods filled in the blanks. I fit right in.
It paid 100 bucks a day, and we sailed to and from Louisiana with barges full of ore. You got picked up at a certain spot and then dropped where a van full of replacements piled out, clean shaven and fresh. It was a never ending cycle up and down the muddy waters. My job was anything they asked of me, I learned as I went. Time in between loading and unloading at different spots was spent unplugging toilets, swabbing the deck, and walking the piles to check the cunt lines for breaks. The Tug master was hardly ever seen, just caught wafts of pipe tobacco every now and then. Maybe because it was my only voyage did not seem inclined to know me.
Not many people were allowed in the wheel house, the first mate ocaisionally relieved the Captain for his few hours of sleep but otherwise he was a solitary figure barking orders over a pa system. Chow was decent, my job was in the skullery being the low man, I watched the shore roll by through the porthole as I washed. Being so late in Novemeber the hills were bloodless and brown. No leaves remained, mud flats and log jams only added to the monotone desolation. The world around me was utterly dead, apart from a stray stag, or circling hawk. My demeanor matched the low grey sky, and I was allowed to wallow in it as much as I wanted. Noone here was going to try and cheer me up, ask me about my feelings, or offer a shoulder to cry on. It was liberating.
I had come to a breaking point a few days earlier. Life had taken one too many notches from my hide, I needed to step away from it. People tell me you can't run away from your problems, that may be true. I didn't consider myself a runaway, more like taking a vacation. It gets difficult. You try and deal with one thing, and before you can another issue piles on. It's easy for one to get buried under the avalanche. The delivery man kept bringing them, and you can't cancel your subscription. I was sure to find a pile on my porch when I got back, but for now I only had to deal with the now.
My troubles begin with thinking. Being left to the devices of my grey matter magnifies things exponentially. I thought of her sometimes, but did my best to steer clear of that topic. It was still a bitter wound, and thinking about it only made it hurt worse. Mostly I turned my eye inward. People had a habit of leaving me, actually everyone I had cared about had. I was going to use this time to figure out why. Was I too needy? Did I demand too much loyalty? Was I loyal to a fault? I always made the mistake of getting too attached, like the least bit of affection from someone made me gullible in a way. Maybe I was too nice? People disregard nice people, you know that they are limited to their moral boundaries. You could walk all over them. I definately felt doormatish.
The cold wind didn't distract me, even when it formed ice on my growing beard. the muddy smell of the water only reminded me of the time we spent at the lake. Then that ache that twisted my stomach in knots would come back, I felt like such a sucker. Pining away for someone who could care less, someone who had forgotten all about me.
I decided to sing to myself, in my head that is. Every now and then would belt out a couple of lines so that others could hear. "The Captain is a one armed dwarf, he throwing dice along the warf. In the land where the blind or one eyed man is king." The guys seemed to apreciate it, and it shut my brain down temporarily.
The weather got warmer as we went, so we only had to dread the trip back up in December. The creaking of steel cables and clang of metal hulls bumping together became unoticeable by the time we hit the Mississipi. I started to get the system down of things, especially going through the locks. It was disgusting the things that float through with you, dirty diapers and such. It had been a flood year so lots of kids toys could be spotted amidst the log jams, plastic bags fluttering in trees like a buckshot flag. it was hard to stay in my Mark Twain frame of mind with such modern reminders.
Cities rolled past, some had names, some looked like they didn't require one. Being only a few nestled buildings fallen to ruin. The Mississipi river seemd alot friendlier, less grey and hard. As we ventured south it rained a little more but the tempurature was pleasant, and on occaision when we had to slow to a crawl you could fish for a little while. The Captain himself came down to drown a worm once, he had a favorite spot we were passing and he made it a tradition to drop a line on every trip. He spat on his bait and sure enough caught a nice catfish within a matter of moments, then back to the wheel house he went.
Thanksgiving day we stopped in Greenville Mississipi for a short while, the first mate went ashore and came back with dinner. We had spiral ham and lots of sides, plus a couple of beers each. We told jokes and played poker that night, everyone seemed a little less grim for a bit. The Captain and first mate supervised the loading and unloading so we were off duty for a while, free to sleep off the meal or gamble for beers. They quit calling me rube after that night.
2 a.m. we were back on the warpath, dark water slid smoothly underneath and I was feeling a little less broken. Mississipi went by as a jagged black silhouette against the clear starry sky. The breeze was calming and soft, enticing me to shrug off my pea coat. For once in a long time I was relaxed and happy, my thoughts still and had not a care in the world. It wasn't lasting, but the moment was good enough. The rest of my trip downwards was great, we did alot of loading and worked long hours, but it felt good at the end of the day.
The trip back up was a test of will and nerves. Pushing against currents so strong that all but the wheelhouse was submerged . After an engine problem we took only half loads, then the weather hit. My beard protected some of my face, but would freeze solid after a few seconds. The cold spray pelted you at regular intervals, but took your breath out til you got used to it. Once or twice guys made the mistake of grabbing metal only to find themselves stuck to it. I had the distinction of cleaning off the wheelhouse windows every few hours, it looked warm and inviting in there as the captain nodded a good job at me. I also de-iced the antenna up top, having gained my sea legs this wasn't hard even with the sheets of ice. Below deck was a little warm but not what you'd call comfortable. The days were alot shorter so were tempers. It wasn't ideal conditions for pleasant thinking, or cheery spirits. The cold and wet got inside your head a little.
The Captain called one hour for crew change. I was already semi-packed so I took bar pilot to give the guy time to grab his gear. Anything left behind was fair game to the next crew. I learned to bar pilot back at the ohio basin, but here there were no worries, it was deep and wide with no threat of sand bars so I couldn't fuck this up. Cincinnati soon rolled into view and I felt a kind of dread. Hard as it was I liked life on the river. I had always had my call to the sea somewhat, not to be a pirate or anything, maybe a salvage or merchant vessel. Sailing with salty dogs to exotic ports. I don't imagine that with todays computer technology and modern means of sailing the seas it wouldn't satisfy my sense of romance and adventure.
We tossed the monkey fist and were finally ashore.
The new crew looked like the old, just not as weathered or unshaven. Not more than a nod was exchanged as we passed. My cousin would resume his post after Christmas, it was my maiden and final voyage. I was glad to hold his spot for him, I could see why he was afraid to lose it. The paycheck really didn't even matter.
My heartbreak wasn't gone, nor had I any answers, but things were lessened by a great deal. I felt like alot had been lifted off of my shoulders, and was looking forward to getting back to my life. I would miss sailing the Ohio, and felt my adventure should have continued. Deep down I knew that I was just a tourist, that path wasn't meant for me. I was glad for the experience, it was the first time that losing my baggage on a trip was a good thing.
It paid 100 bucks a day, and we sailed to and from Louisiana with barges full of ore. You got picked up at a certain spot and then dropped where a van full of replacements piled out, clean shaven and fresh. It was a never ending cycle up and down the muddy waters. My job was anything they asked of me, I learned as I went. Time in between loading and unloading at different spots was spent unplugging toilets, swabbing the deck, and walking the piles to check the cunt lines for breaks. The Tug master was hardly ever seen, just caught wafts of pipe tobacco every now and then. Maybe because it was my only voyage did not seem inclined to know me.
Not many people were allowed in the wheel house, the first mate ocaisionally relieved the Captain for his few hours of sleep but otherwise he was a solitary figure barking orders over a pa system. Chow was decent, my job was in the skullery being the low man, I watched the shore roll by through the porthole as I washed. Being so late in Novemeber the hills were bloodless and brown. No leaves remained, mud flats and log jams only added to the monotone desolation. The world around me was utterly dead, apart from a stray stag, or circling hawk. My demeanor matched the low grey sky, and I was allowed to wallow in it as much as I wanted. Noone here was going to try and cheer me up, ask me about my feelings, or offer a shoulder to cry on. It was liberating.
I had come to a breaking point a few days earlier. Life had taken one too many notches from my hide, I needed to step away from it. People tell me you can't run away from your problems, that may be true. I didn't consider myself a runaway, more like taking a vacation. It gets difficult. You try and deal with one thing, and before you can another issue piles on. It's easy for one to get buried under the avalanche. The delivery man kept bringing them, and you can't cancel your subscription. I was sure to find a pile on my porch when I got back, but for now I only had to deal with the now.
My troubles begin with thinking. Being left to the devices of my grey matter magnifies things exponentially. I thought of her sometimes, but did my best to steer clear of that topic. It was still a bitter wound, and thinking about it only made it hurt worse. Mostly I turned my eye inward. People had a habit of leaving me, actually everyone I had cared about had. I was going to use this time to figure out why. Was I too needy? Did I demand too much loyalty? Was I loyal to a fault? I always made the mistake of getting too attached, like the least bit of affection from someone made me gullible in a way. Maybe I was too nice? People disregard nice people, you know that they are limited to their moral boundaries. You could walk all over them. I definately felt doormatish.
The cold wind didn't distract me, even when it formed ice on my growing beard. the muddy smell of the water only reminded me of the time we spent at the lake. Then that ache that twisted my stomach in knots would come back, I felt like such a sucker. Pining away for someone who could care less, someone who had forgotten all about me.
I decided to sing to myself, in my head that is. Every now and then would belt out a couple of lines so that others could hear. "The Captain is a one armed dwarf, he throwing dice along the warf. In the land where the blind or one eyed man is king." The guys seemed to apreciate it, and it shut my brain down temporarily.
The weather got warmer as we went, so we only had to dread the trip back up in December. The creaking of steel cables and clang of metal hulls bumping together became unoticeable by the time we hit the Mississipi. I started to get the system down of things, especially going through the locks. It was disgusting the things that float through with you, dirty diapers and such. It had been a flood year so lots of kids toys could be spotted amidst the log jams, plastic bags fluttering in trees like a buckshot flag. it was hard to stay in my Mark Twain frame of mind with such modern reminders.
Cities rolled past, some had names, some looked like they didn't require one. Being only a few nestled buildings fallen to ruin. The Mississipi river seemd alot friendlier, less grey and hard. As we ventured south it rained a little more but the tempurature was pleasant, and on occaision when we had to slow to a crawl you could fish for a little while. The Captain himself came down to drown a worm once, he had a favorite spot we were passing and he made it a tradition to drop a line on every trip. He spat on his bait and sure enough caught a nice catfish within a matter of moments, then back to the wheel house he went.
Thanksgiving day we stopped in Greenville Mississipi for a short while, the first mate went ashore and came back with dinner. We had spiral ham and lots of sides, plus a couple of beers each. We told jokes and played poker that night, everyone seemed a little less grim for a bit. The Captain and first mate supervised the loading and unloading so we were off duty for a while, free to sleep off the meal or gamble for beers. They quit calling me rube after that night.
2 a.m. we were back on the warpath, dark water slid smoothly underneath and I was feeling a little less broken. Mississipi went by as a jagged black silhouette against the clear starry sky. The breeze was calming and soft, enticing me to shrug off my pea coat. For once in a long time I was relaxed and happy, my thoughts still and had not a care in the world. It wasn't lasting, but the moment was good enough. The rest of my trip downwards was great, we did alot of loading and worked long hours, but it felt good at the end of the day.
The trip back up was a test of will and nerves. Pushing against currents so strong that all but the wheelhouse was submerged . After an engine problem we took only half loads, then the weather hit. My beard protected some of my face, but would freeze solid after a few seconds. The cold spray pelted you at regular intervals, but took your breath out til you got used to it. Once or twice guys made the mistake of grabbing metal only to find themselves stuck to it. I had the distinction of cleaning off the wheelhouse windows every few hours, it looked warm and inviting in there as the captain nodded a good job at me. I also de-iced the antenna up top, having gained my sea legs this wasn't hard even with the sheets of ice. Below deck was a little warm but not what you'd call comfortable. The days were alot shorter so were tempers. It wasn't ideal conditions for pleasant thinking, or cheery spirits. The cold and wet got inside your head a little.
The Captain called one hour for crew change. I was already semi-packed so I took bar pilot to give the guy time to grab his gear. Anything left behind was fair game to the next crew. I learned to bar pilot back at the ohio basin, but here there were no worries, it was deep and wide with no threat of sand bars so I couldn't fuck this up. Cincinnati soon rolled into view and I felt a kind of dread. Hard as it was I liked life on the river. I had always had my call to the sea somewhat, not to be a pirate or anything, maybe a salvage or merchant vessel. Sailing with salty dogs to exotic ports. I don't imagine that with todays computer technology and modern means of sailing the seas it wouldn't satisfy my sense of romance and adventure.
We tossed the monkey fist and were finally ashore.
The new crew looked like the old, just not as weathered or unshaven. Not more than a nod was exchanged as we passed. My cousin would resume his post after Christmas, it was my maiden and final voyage. I was glad to hold his spot for him, I could see why he was afraid to lose it. The paycheck really didn't even matter.
My heartbreak wasn't gone, nor had I any answers, but things were lessened by a great deal. I felt like alot had been lifted off of my shoulders, and was looking forward to getting back to my life. I would miss sailing the Ohio, and felt my adventure should have continued. Deep down I knew that I was just a tourist, that path wasn't meant for me. I was glad for the experience, it was the first time that losing my baggage on a trip was a good thing.