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November 16th, 2009 – At Sea, 06 57N, 054 27W
by Herb McCormick
There’s an old axiom much bandied about by sailors and mariners known as Murphy’s Law. This nautical commandment, by definition, at least, is the height of simplicity: What can go wrong will go wrong. (In practice, of course, the decree is nothing but simple, for maritime calamities are often compounded by Murphy’s ally and co-conspirator, the Domino Effect, where one rather innocuous mishap leads to more complicated matters, in exponential fashion, until some poor sap winds up closely involved with a toppled mast, a holed vessel or a long swim.)
Of course, Murphy’s Law extends beyond the sea, and all sorts of people have been slain (some quite literally) by the evil, vindictive edict. And yes, once again, there’s a point, and yes, once again, I’m getting around to it.
But first:
On Monday afternoon, Ocean Watch was well under 200 nautical miles from Cayenne, French Guiana, our next, previously unscheduled, port of call. With the aid of many shore-side friends and supporters, we’ve begun to do some research on Cayenne, and it looks like a fascinating place. Tomorrow we’ll discuss it in greater detail. But for now, an extremely recent bit of drama aboard Ocean Watch pre-empts that tale of travel and history. And of course, it has to do with Murphy’s Law.
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| No one depends more on their computer for their livelihood, art, craft – in short, for their very existence than photographer David Thoreson. Photo by Herb McCormick. |
But first:
Aboard Ocean Watch, no one, and I mean no one, depends more on their computer for their livelihood, art, craft – in short, for their very existence – than our superb photographer, David Thoreson. (Oddly, Dave Logan, who kidded us all about our slavish devotion to the blinking beasts at the outset of this voyage, now runs a close second, but that’s a story for another day.) In fact, David T’s 17-inch MacBook Pro is almost an extension of his very being, and during our months at sea so far, it’s no exaggeration to say he’s spent weeks – like, 24/7 weeks – working on his computer, editing photos and maintaining correspondence.
Furthermore, David and I, both professional journalists, spent many long hours before setting forth discussing our technical requirements, and we both came to the conclusion that a computer failure would be more or less a disaster anywhere, but that we’d probably be able to deal with it at any point until we set forth south of the Equator and into the distant destinations known as Patagonia, the Roaring 40s and Cape Horn. You know, where we are right now.
Can you begin to see where I’m going with this?
Now, close readers of this blog will know that in recent days our journey south has been conducted in rather severe heat, and that the below-decks accommodation aboard Ocean Watch have been warmish, at best, and something akin to the deepest fiery reaches of crimson Hades, at worst. So, at times, for completely understandable reasons, someone will crack a deck hatch for at least a semblance of ventilation. Of course, open hatches, given the right conditions, will not only allow the ingress of wonderful, clean, fresh air, but also salty, briny, flowing seas.
Honestly, are you getting even the smallest hint?
I know something about saltwater and sensitive electronics. I once left a port light open at a highly inopportune moment and doused friend and photographer Billy Black’s laptop on a charter trip to Thailand. (Happily, Billy and I are once again on speaking terms, but it took a while.)More recently, the favor was returned here last week when someone left a port open and my computer took a small, but luckily inconsequential bath here on Ocean Watch. So, I’ve become something of a Hatch Nazi, and close anything I see open all of the time. Yes, I currently smell like a goat. But my computer’s dry.
Well, until yesterday.
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| Murphy’s Law has tempered David’s upbeat world view. Photo by Herb McCormick. |
In Puerto Rico, to help combat the heat, first mate Logan commissioned a series of detachable canvas shades for each of the large deck hatches. It was a very good idea and helps keep the sun out for long stretches of the day, thus keeping the interior cooler. But: If you’re down below, you can’t tell if the hatches over you are open or closed.
(Calling Mr. Murphy!)
So yesterday afternoon, late in the day, on our respective deadlines for these daily stories, David and I found ourselves at the big saloon table in the central cabin where we do much of our labor. I’d closed the hatch above the table earlier that day, of that I was certain. But it had been a long day, and the cabin was hot…
(Mr. Murphy, you’ve got an appointment!)
None of us knew the hatch above us was open. That’s when the one and only wave of the day rolled up over the bow of the boat, and cascaded down the decks. When it hit the hatch, a big dollop slipped over the shade and hit my MacBook partially in the screen, and presented me with a nice little shower instead. But it was a glancing blow. For the bulk of the wave nestled in the scoop for just a moment, long enough for David to look up and see it, but not quite long enough for him to do anything about it. The boat rolled. The wave toppled down below. For David, the scene unfolded as if in slow motion, as if directed by the great Sam Peckinpah himself.
Remember that 17-inch MacBook Pro we were discussing earlier? Guess where it landed?
(There you are, Mr. Murphy! We’ve been waiting!)
Skipper Mark Schrader also addressed this topic in his most recent Skipper’s Log. Here’s his take on the Day’s Merry Festivities:
“Herb and David T. work at the main saloon table. It’s their workstation at least for the afternoon and then it’s vacated for the evening meal. DT organizes his images and gets something ready to match the daily story while Herb cranks it out along with several other articles he has in the works. While they were happily working away I was in the cockpit doing something when I heard more high-decibel, expletive-rich yelling than I’ve ever heard on OW. You guessed it. The only wave of the day to make it onboard headed right for the previously mentioned improperly closed hatch and deposited itself on computers, table, cushions, papers and two stunned and very upset people.
“They both immediately disconnected their power supplies, turned their computers over and attempted to drain the water out of each. Herb’s took less of a hit and continued to work. DT’s, after 24 hours of fans, heat, alcohol, vacuuming and more heat refuses to boot up. The good news, most of his images had been saved to an external hard-drive, but the licensed software, documents and other material plus the computer are, as they say, toast. They also say, stuff happens, and in this case it certainly did. That they both can keep a perspective and maintain their senses of humor while trying to salvage whatever they could is quite remarkable and admirable. I’m looking down the companionway from the aft cabin where I’m writing this and there they are, working out today’s postings and smiling!
“Fortunately for us Jennifer Price, quite the accomplished amateur photographer herself, brought a new Mac with some good photo software with her and has offered it to DT for his use until we can get a replacement to him. He has taken something like 22,000 images in the course of this voyage and I expect will probably take at least that many more before we are home. You’ve seen some of them, they are extraordinary. So, if any of you have a new 17″ Mac Book Pro and would like to donate it to the cause, please let me know. We can get it to Rio.”
Again, tomorrow we’ll preview our upcoming stop in French Guiana, but for now, perhaps all you need to know on the topic is that we’re heading there for fuel…and we’ve just learned that in Cayenne, there is no fuel dock.
Mr. Murphy? Oh, Mr. Murphy???
- Herb McCormick. Lead photo of David with his Mac by Rick Fleischman
This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos
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