Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Explaining the Boss
Leah: Part 2
“Ms. Sheffield?” Stanley broke the silence, “Allow me to help you with your locker, we’ll take it below to your cabin.”
“Thanks,” she took one end of the heavy locker while Stanley took the other.
“Pardon me for being forward, but your accent suggests Australia?”
“Yes ma’am, you have a good ear. Care to guess what part?”
“Oh, I haven’t a clue. How about Sydney?”
“Well that’s a good guess ma’am, especially considering its such a large city, but no, I’m originally from Brisbane, but I spent much of my teen years and beyond around Cairns. Did a lot of sailing on the Coral Sea and around the Great Barrier Reef.”
“I should have known, spent some time in Cairns myself.” They worked their way down the companionway ladder and forward toward the awaiting cabin. Negotiating the tight passage was difficult. The locker barely fit through the narrow door into the cabin.
“Clifton Beach, that’s where I stayed when I was doing an assignment there once.”
“Yes ma’am, I know the area. A bit upscale for a roustabout like me.”
Leah answered back with only a smile, no words being necessary to unduly emphasize the difference between a big-city bred world traveler and small town adventurer.
The cabin was tight, but efficient. A narrow berth lined the right side of the cabin. Above it was storage, and to the foot of the berth was a small closet, more of a vertical locker. At the head of the bunk was an ‘L’ shaped desk that was secured against the starboard hull and continued across the opposite side of the cabin from the bed. Above the counter was more secure storage and below was just enough room to stow the foot-locker full of equipment that Leah had brought. The entire cabin was no larger than eight feet deep and six feet wide. Cozy was the right word.
And yet, the cabin had a certain warmth, photographs in frames were secured to the teak paneling with screws. An overhead lamp directed light toward the floor, keeping the ceiling dark and causing the corners to fall off into darkness at night. During the day, as it was now, two 12 inch portals allowed the exterior light to stream across the room.
“It’s warm this time of year and you’re not likely to need more than a sheet, but there are blankets and pillows on the top shelf of the locker,” Stanley pointed to the locker behind the door.
“We have a wet locker on the aft deck to stow your mask, fins, wetsuit, and anything else you got that’s wet.”
Stanley gave a thoughtful look before he continued, “Boss seemed kind of edgy when you came aboard. Don’t put too much into that, he’s usually in a jovial mood. But he do like for everyone to be doing their job. Hasn’t got much patience for incompetence, but on the other side, if you win his respect, you have his loyalty for life.”
“How long have you been with Mr. Packer?”
“Seventh year, ma’am. No two alike, always an adventure.”
“I’ll bet it is.”
“Ma’am, would you like a quick story?”
“Sure, Stanley, go on.”
“Six years ago—I hadn’t been with Mr. Packer all that long—we were diving the wall at Pittstown Point, Bahamas. Well, that wall just drops and goes down to the murky depths. It freaks some people out just being over it.”
“Uh huh.”
“Packer had a half dozen guests on board, two couples and a couple of buddies, they all knew each other through some club. They were all novices, but Packer let ‘em suit up and head into the water.
“It was just Packer and me havin’ to keep an eye an all these folks. Packer gave ‘em plenty of instruction, showed ‘em how all the equipment worked. Explained the buddy system, and went over in detail the currents and what they could do.
“Things went pretty smoothly till one o’ the dames,” Stanley caught himself, smiled, and continued, “excuse me, one of the ladies decided she wanted to see what was over that wall. She just went swimming off by herself all unconcerned. Packer saw she was moving out into an area of current and started after her. We were 50 feet down and he turned and gave me the signal to wrap it up. I got the other folks to understand we were heading back to the boat, time was up on the tanks, and the current was starting to run.
“By the time Ol’ man Packer catches up with her, she’s out in the current and being swept out to sea. She gets over the wall and takes a long, long look down and can’t see anything but deep, deep blue and she starts to panic. Only she can’t get back to the boat or shore because she’s so far out and can’t make progress against the current.
“Packer grabs her and starts to calm her down—signals to start up, then she sees two makos not more than fifty feet away, cruising the wall. It can’t get too much worse, Packer‘s got a panicky swimmer, she sees a pair of sharks, now she wants to go straight up. Packer’s holding her down so she don’t get the bends, keeping an eye on the makos, watching his time piece timing the ascent and trying to calm the lady all at the same time.
“Well all the thrashing is attracting the attention of the makos, which under usual conditions will just leave you alone. They start to circle, not so much to feed but out of curiosity. They’re just dumb fish, what do you expect them to do?
“At this point they’re only ten feet from the surface, but they still need a couple more minutes decompression time. He knows he’s got to keep her mind off the fish so he grabs her air and hands her his own air. Now why the hell would he do that? What’s the difference, you might ask? Well, it’s so distracting having your air yanked out of your mouth that now all she can think of is breathing. He’s not trying to drown her, but there’s something unnatural about not sucking on your own air. Now she’s tethered to him by panic and he doesn’t have to worry about her swimming off or thrashing about. She’s holding that air with all the strength she’s got.
“As they approach the surface, them makos is so close they bump ‘em when they pass. Ol’ man Packer’s got a big knife strapped to his leg, but the last thing he wants is blood in the water, so he keeps his knife sheathed. He gets the lady’s arms behind her back and positions the two of them so they’re facing in opposite directions. There’s only two sharks and they ain’t working the situation real hard, just hard enough to keep the lady in thorough panic. Packer keeps himself facing the sharks and keeps the lady facing away, hoping she’ll calm down a little.
“He puts his legs stiff-out and shoves these beasts when they pass. Must’ve pissed off one of ‘em because the shark takes a big bite out of his left dive fin.
“’Bout that time I can see ‘em bobbing in the water and I pull the ship alongside. I tossed the ladder over the side then jumped in and helped push that large-bottomed woman up the ladder. She hit the deck and just fell over faint.
“Packer wouldn’t get out of the water until I was up and safe, then he boarded. Know what he said when he got his mask off?”
Leah shook her head.
“He says, ‘I think it’s my turn to cook, better get started, I’m a little on the hungry side.’”
“I doubt his pulse was ever more than 60 beats per minute through the whole thing.”
Leah looked at Stanley in an inquisitive sort of way, not sure whether to believe every word, or call Stanley a damned-good story teller and an even better liar.
Stanley finished and looked at Leah. “You can’t tell whether I’m just givin’ you one, well right there on the wall is that old pair of flippers.” Stanley pointed to the wall opposite the bunk where pictures and memorabilia were nailed to the wall. In the far left corner was nailed one full flipper and a second with the undeniable shape of a bite out of the end.
“Packer said they wasn’t good for much anymore and he needed a new pair anyway, so he just nailed ‘em to the wall and forgot about ‘em.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes,” Leah answered in a small voice.
“Don’t judge the ol’ man too harshly on first impressions. He’s got a heart made out of pure gold, and if you’re ever in a tight fix, he’s the one you want beside you.”
Leah smiled demurely and thanked Stanley for the help and for the story.
“Dinner’s in 15, look forward to seeing you there, ma’am.”
Faithfully submitted,
Teddy Packer
“Ms. Sheffield?” Stanley broke the silence, “Allow me to help you with your locker, we’ll take it below to your cabin.”
“Thanks,” she took one end of the heavy locker while Stanley took the other.
“Pardon me for being forward, but your accent suggests Australia?”
“Yes ma’am, you have a good ear. Care to guess what part?”
“Oh, I haven’t a clue. How about Sydney?”
“Well that’s a good guess ma’am, especially considering its such a large city, but no, I’m originally from Brisbane, but I spent much of my teen years and beyond around Cairns. Did a lot of sailing on the Coral Sea and around the Great Barrier Reef.”
“I should have known, spent some time in Cairns myself.” They worked their way down the companionway ladder and forward toward the awaiting cabin. Negotiating the tight passage was difficult. The locker barely fit through the narrow door into the cabin.
“Clifton Beach, that’s where I stayed when I was doing an assignment there once.”
“Yes ma’am, I know the area. A bit upscale for a roustabout like me.”
Leah answered back with only a smile, no words being necessary to unduly emphasize the difference between a big-city bred world traveler and small town adventurer.
The cabin was tight, but efficient. A narrow berth lined the right side of the cabin. Above it was storage, and to the foot of the berth was a small closet, more of a vertical locker. At the head of the bunk was an ‘L’ shaped desk that was secured against the starboard hull and continued across the opposite side of the cabin from the bed. Above the counter was more secure storage and below was just enough room to stow the foot-locker full of equipment that Leah had brought. The entire cabin was no larger than eight feet deep and six feet wide. Cozy was the right word.
And yet, the cabin had a certain warmth, photographs in frames were secured to the teak paneling with screws. An overhead lamp directed light toward the floor, keeping the ceiling dark and causing the corners to fall off into darkness at night. During the day, as it was now, two 12 inch portals allowed the exterior light to stream across the room.
“It’s warm this time of year and you’re not likely to need more than a sheet, but there are blankets and pillows on the top shelf of the locker,” Stanley pointed to the locker behind the door.
“We have a wet locker on the aft deck to stow your mask, fins, wetsuit, and anything else you got that’s wet.”
Stanley gave a thoughtful look before he continued, “Boss seemed kind of edgy when you came aboard. Don’t put too much into that, he’s usually in a jovial mood. But he do like for everyone to be doing their job. Hasn’t got much patience for incompetence, but on the other side, if you win his respect, you have his loyalty for life.”
“How long have you been with Mr. Packer?”
“Seventh year, ma’am. No two alike, always an adventure.”
“I’ll bet it is.”
“Ma’am, would you like a quick story?”
“Sure, Stanley, go on.”
“Six years ago—I hadn’t been with Mr. Packer all that long—we were diving the wall at Pittstown Point, Bahamas. Well, that wall just drops and goes down to the murky depths. It freaks some people out just being over it.”
“Uh huh.”
“Packer had a half dozen guests on board, two couples and a couple of buddies, they all knew each other through some club. They were all novices, but Packer let ‘em suit up and head into the water.
“It was just Packer and me havin’ to keep an eye an all these folks. Packer gave ‘em plenty of instruction, showed ‘em how all the equipment worked. Explained the buddy system, and went over in detail the currents and what they could do.
“Things went pretty smoothly till one o’ the dames,” Stanley caught himself, smiled, and continued, “excuse me, one of the ladies decided she wanted to see what was over that wall. She just went swimming off by herself all unconcerned. Packer saw she was moving out into an area of current and started after her. We were 50 feet down and he turned and gave me the signal to wrap it up. I got the other folks to understand we were heading back to the boat, time was up on the tanks, and the current was starting to run.
“By the time Ol’ man Packer catches up with her, she’s out in the current and being swept out to sea. She gets over the wall and takes a long, long look down and can’t see anything but deep, deep blue and she starts to panic. Only she can’t get back to the boat or shore because she’s so far out and can’t make progress against the current.
“Packer grabs her and starts to calm her down—signals to start up, then she sees two makos not more than fifty feet away, cruising the wall. It can’t get too much worse, Packer‘s got a panicky swimmer, she sees a pair of sharks, now she wants to go straight up. Packer’s holding her down so she don’t get the bends, keeping an eye on the makos, watching his time piece timing the ascent and trying to calm the lady all at the same time.
“Well all the thrashing is attracting the attention of the makos, which under usual conditions will just leave you alone. They start to circle, not so much to feed but out of curiosity. They’re just dumb fish, what do you expect them to do?
“At this point they’re only ten feet from the surface, but they still need a couple more minutes decompression time. He knows he’s got to keep her mind off the fish so he grabs her air and hands her his own air. Now why the hell would he do that? What’s the difference, you might ask? Well, it’s so distracting having your air yanked out of your mouth that now all she can think of is breathing. He’s not trying to drown her, but there’s something unnatural about not sucking on your own air. Now she’s tethered to him by panic and he doesn’t have to worry about her swimming off or thrashing about. She’s holding that air with all the strength she’s got.
“As they approach the surface, them makos is so close they bump ‘em when they pass. Ol’ man Packer’s got a big knife strapped to his leg, but the last thing he wants is blood in the water, so he keeps his knife sheathed. He gets the lady’s arms behind her back and positions the two of them so they’re facing in opposite directions. There’s only two sharks and they ain’t working the situation real hard, just hard enough to keep the lady in thorough panic. Packer keeps himself facing the sharks and keeps the lady facing away, hoping she’ll calm down a little.
“He puts his legs stiff-out and shoves these beasts when they pass. Must’ve pissed off one of ‘em because the shark takes a big bite out of his left dive fin.
“’Bout that time I can see ‘em bobbing in the water and I pull the ship alongside. I tossed the ladder over the side then jumped in and helped push that large-bottomed woman up the ladder. She hit the deck and just fell over faint.
“Packer wouldn’t get out of the water until I was up and safe, then he boarded. Know what he said when he got his mask off?”
Leah shook her head.
“He says, ‘I think it’s my turn to cook, better get started, I’m a little on the hungry side.’”
“I doubt his pulse was ever more than 60 beats per minute through the whole thing.”
Leah looked at Stanley in an inquisitive sort of way, not sure whether to believe every word, or call Stanley a damned-good story teller and an even better liar.
Stanley finished and looked at Leah. “You can’t tell whether I’m just givin’ you one, well right there on the wall is that old pair of flippers.” Stanley pointed to the wall opposite the bunk where pictures and memorabilia were nailed to the wall. In the far left corner was nailed one full flipper and a second with the undeniable shape of a bite out of the end.
“Packer said they wasn’t good for much anymore and he needed a new pair anyway, so he just nailed ‘em to the wall and forgot about ‘em.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes,” Leah answered in a small voice.
“Don’t judge the ol’ man too harshly on first impressions. He’s got a heart made out of pure gold, and if you’re ever in a tight fix, he’s the one you want beside you.”
Leah smiled demurely and thanked Stanley for the help and for the story.
“Dinner’s in 15, look forward to seeing you there, ma’am.”
Faithfully submitted,
Teddy Packer
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Wooden Pier
Leah: part 1
I've never felt I needed to tell my life in order. I've chosen to start telling the present. This is my account of recent events.
Thick, humid air carried with it a subtle fragrance of sea, salt, distant flowers, and the ever-present smell of boats. A steady breeze kicked up a salt spray from the bay and dampened her skin, leaving behind its thin, briny covering. Afternoon rains had ended and left the air thick. The sky was a magnificent mix of towering cumulus punctuated with bits of brilliant blue sky.
She walked the wood pier out to ‘Sunray Jubilation’, or just ‘Sunny’ to those of us who sailed her. A converted shrimp boat, her 70 feet would ply the waters slowly, but her construction was rugged and she would do well in heavy seas. She was a good, sturdy ship.
Over her shoulder was heavy dive equipment: twin tanks and regulators, buoyancy compensation vest, and regulators. Behind her Frederick seemed to effortlessly carry the large locker over his shoulder, body slanted in one direction to center the load over his six foot, 3 inch frame. Frederick ran the dive shop and had supplied the dive equipment that was not brought in from Europe; after all, tanks are heavy and ubiquitous, why ship them when they are easily rented in every popular dive spot on the face of the earth.
In the locker was the personal equipment that could not be rented: cameras with underwater housing, both still and movie; a mask that was specially made to fit her face. Off-the-rack masks too uncomfortable to wear for any length of time. She had paid an exorbitant amount of money to have a specially-made mask from Bowstone.
The locker also contained dive watches, a film camera, a stock of batteries, re-chargers, memory cards by the gigabyte, and assorted other necessities for the task at hand.
A second trip back down the pier would be required to grab the duffels of clothes she would need.
“Ms. Sheffield?” the questioning voice came from a tall, slim, weathered man of about mid-forty. He wore a hard-billed, soft cap typical of skippers through the ages.
“Mr. Packer?” Leah queried.
“No ma’am, I’m Stanley, skipper of the boat.”
Of course. His deeply tanned and sun-worn skin spoke of life at sea. Mr. Packer would surely be a softer-appearing man, likely without all the sun. Perhaps soft hands and soft muscles, as befits an older man, an owner of this company.
“I’m sure when Mr. Packer realizes you’ve arrived he’ll be up straight-away to greet you.
“Your cabin is below, just aft of the fo’c’sle. A bit cozy, but I think you’ll find it comfortable and functional.
Frederick lowered the locker to the deck easily, a locker that Leah found difficult to lift, much less toss around.
A sea gull landed on the bow rail, stretched her feathers, delicately tucked them to her sides, and proceeded to gaze toward Leah. Other gulls circled in a noisy cacophony of calls and cackles.
Frederick finished the second trip with the duffels, setting them on deck next to the locker.
“Shall I help get them below ma’am.”
“No, thank you, you’ve been so very kind to bring them this far.”
“Very well ma’am. Enjoy your sail. We’ll see you when you get back.”
Frederick gave an informal salute, a smile, a nod of the head, and then turning, he jaunted back to the dive shop.
“You must be that European photographer,” my voice boomed out from the open bridge above.
Leah looked up. I stood there, hands on the rail, ball cap worn slightly back on my head. Not soft-looking at all, but a hardened veteran of adventuring. Of course, she recognized me now from pictures she had seen. Only in this setting, and viewed from below, she would tell me later, I seemed ever so much bigger than life.
Giving a bit of a scowl I started, “It might get rough out there. Got sharks in the water in this part of the world. You sure you’re up to it?”
My tone was penetrating and questioning.
“I’ve dived the Adriatic, the Mediterranean, the Black Sea, The Maldives, the coast of Madagascar, Tahiti, Leyete Gulf, Palau, the Great Barrier Reef, and the North Sea in a full heated suit. I think I can handle Belize.”
I didn’t give her the satisfaction of changing my expression but continued to study her.
“Most days we’ve got two good hours in the morning and two good hours in the afternoon. Outside of high and low tides the current runs so fast we’ll have to send a powerboat after you if you get caught in one. And when the current starts to run, the Makos come in to feed. Just don’t get cocky and think you know these waters.”
“I’m not so arrogant that I would refuse local knowledge of the waters, nor am I so inexperienced that I need a lecture on the basics.”
Her words bit.
“Very well. I trust you’ll be able to get your work done. Truth be known, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t highly recommended. Where’s your assistant?”
“He’s on a different flight. Coming from Atlanta. Should arrive this evening.”
She paused momentarily then added, “You do have separate accommodations for him, I trust? We’re not bunk mates.”
“Exactly as promised, Ms. Sheffield, exactly as promised.”
Our eyes locked. From the way she described it later, my face had a gruff demeanor which said one thing, but my eyes spoke another story. They had a hint of humor, a touch of warmth, and they held indications of secret knowledge, of stories untold and secrets closely held. I gave her a wink.
“Welcome aboard, Ms Sheffield. Dinner is at 6:00.”
I spun and disappeared from the bridge.
Faithfully submitted,
Teddy Packer
I've never felt I needed to tell my life in order. I've chosen to start telling the present. This is my account of recent events.
Thick, humid air carried with it a subtle fragrance of sea, salt, distant flowers, and the ever-present smell of boats. A steady breeze kicked up a salt spray from the bay and dampened her skin, leaving behind its thin, briny covering. Afternoon rains had ended and left the air thick. The sky was a magnificent mix of towering cumulus punctuated with bits of brilliant blue sky.
She walked the wood pier out to ‘Sunray Jubilation’, or just ‘Sunny’ to those of us who sailed her. A converted shrimp boat, her 70 feet would ply the waters slowly, but her construction was rugged and she would do well in heavy seas. She was a good, sturdy ship.
Over her shoulder was heavy dive equipment: twin tanks and regulators, buoyancy compensation vest, and regulators. Behind her Frederick seemed to effortlessly carry the large locker over his shoulder, body slanted in one direction to center the load over his six foot, 3 inch frame. Frederick ran the dive shop and had supplied the dive equipment that was not brought in from Europe; after all, tanks are heavy and ubiquitous, why ship them when they are easily rented in every popular dive spot on the face of the earth.
In the locker was the personal equipment that could not be rented: cameras with underwater housing, both still and movie; a mask that was specially made to fit her face. Off-the-rack masks too uncomfortable to wear for any length of time. She had paid an exorbitant amount of money to have a specially-made mask from Bowstone.
The locker also contained dive watches, a film camera, a stock of batteries, re-chargers, memory cards by the gigabyte, and assorted other necessities for the task at hand.
A second trip back down the pier would be required to grab the duffels of clothes she would need.
“Ms. Sheffield?” the questioning voice came from a tall, slim, weathered man of about mid-forty. He wore a hard-billed, soft cap typical of skippers through the ages.
“Mr. Packer?” Leah queried.
“No ma’am, I’m Stanley, skipper of the boat.”
Of course. His deeply tanned and sun-worn skin spoke of life at sea. Mr. Packer would surely be a softer-appearing man, likely without all the sun. Perhaps soft hands and soft muscles, as befits an older man, an owner of this company.
“I’m sure when Mr. Packer realizes you’ve arrived he’ll be up straight-away to greet you.
“Your cabin is below, just aft of the fo’c’sle. A bit cozy, but I think you’ll find it comfortable and functional.
Frederick lowered the locker to the deck easily, a locker that Leah found difficult to lift, much less toss around.
A sea gull landed on the bow rail, stretched her feathers, delicately tucked them to her sides, and proceeded to gaze toward Leah. Other gulls circled in a noisy cacophony of calls and cackles.
Frederick finished the second trip with the duffels, setting them on deck next to the locker.
“Shall I help get them below ma’am.”
“No, thank you, you’ve been so very kind to bring them this far.”
“Very well ma’am. Enjoy your sail. We’ll see you when you get back.”
Frederick gave an informal salute, a smile, a nod of the head, and then turning, he jaunted back to the dive shop.
“You must be that European photographer,” my voice boomed out from the open bridge above.
Leah looked up. I stood there, hands on the rail, ball cap worn slightly back on my head. Not soft-looking at all, but a hardened veteran of adventuring. Of course, she recognized me now from pictures she had seen. Only in this setting, and viewed from below, she would tell me later, I seemed ever so much bigger than life.
Giving a bit of a scowl I started, “It might get rough out there. Got sharks in the water in this part of the world. You sure you’re up to it?”
My tone was penetrating and questioning.
“I’ve dived the Adriatic, the Mediterranean, the Black Sea, The Maldives, the coast of Madagascar, Tahiti, Leyete Gulf, Palau, the Great Barrier Reef, and the North Sea in a full heated suit. I think I can handle Belize.”
I didn’t give her the satisfaction of changing my expression but continued to study her.
“Most days we’ve got two good hours in the morning and two good hours in the afternoon. Outside of high and low tides the current runs so fast we’ll have to send a powerboat after you if you get caught in one. And when the current starts to run, the Makos come in to feed. Just don’t get cocky and think you know these waters.”
“I’m not so arrogant that I would refuse local knowledge of the waters, nor am I so inexperienced that I need a lecture on the basics.”
Her words bit.
“Very well. I trust you’ll be able to get your work done. Truth be known, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t highly recommended. Where’s your assistant?”
“He’s on a different flight. Coming from Atlanta. Should arrive this evening.”
She paused momentarily then added, “You do have separate accommodations for him, I trust? We’re not bunk mates.”
“Exactly as promised, Ms. Sheffield, exactly as promised.”
Our eyes locked. From the way she described it later, my face had a gruff demeanor which said one thing, but my eyes spoke another story. They had a hint of humor, a touch of warmth, and they held indications of secret knowledge, of stories untold and secrets closely held. I gave her a wink.
“Welcome aboard, Ms Sheffield. Dinner is at 6:00.”
I spun and disappeared from the bridge.
Faithfully submitted,
Teddy Packer
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