Thursday, 18 February 1999
As of 0800, the Empire State was located at 39 degrees and 20 minutes North latitude, 070 degrees and 21.5 minutes West longitude, steering a course of 041 degrees true, at a speed of 10.8 knots. Atlantic City, New Jersey is 185 nm to the west. The air temperature is 58 degrees F. Water temperature is 53 degrees. The skies are partly cloudy. Winds are out of the southeast at 10 knots with a sea state of 2 (3 feet). Water depth is 8892 feet. Barometric pressure is 1012 millibars and falling.
CAPTAIN'S LOG: As the EMPIRE STATE slowly but inexorably makes her way northward, the 1999 training cruise is quietly winding down. "Channel Fever", although sporadically evident in the ship's officers, has yet to surface in the Cadet corps. A few are looking for the lume of Cape Cod Light though (several hundred miles away). The sky is overcast, the sea is calm, and the weather is beginning to remind us that winter "Is just over the horizon". The "At Sea" uniform is stoically being worn by a few diehard but most have switched to the long sleeves or succumbed to the need to don sweatshirts.
Out on the bridge wing, we scan the horizon with binoculars looking for other ships or points of land that may present a danger to our ship. We use a sextant to fix our position, double-checking it with the GPS (global position satellite) location. Cadets stand at the helm, guiding the ship as she lumbers up the East Coast, pushed by the Gulf Stream. The Cadet Officer of the watch is in constant motion, pacing between the radar, the navigation table, and the bridge wing. He resembles a captured jungle cat walking the confines of his cage. For the duration of his four-hour watch, he is always watching, anticipating, avoiding or correcting the inevitable problems that accompany complex operations.
A visitor to this ship would think that the Bridge is the nerve center of this moving city. Certainly the eyes of the ship are here and many would say that it contains the brains of the operation. In truth, the real action is far below and out of sight. There, men and women toil in perpetual light, high heat, and deafening noise. It is there, in the engine room, surrounded by danger, that the magic of movement happens. Like Dr. Frankenstein working over a lifeless form, the engineers miraculously animate this ship of cold, dead steel.
Two screaming turbo generators as big as Volkswagens, power all the lights. Hot lube oil courses through the veins, keeping the temperatures of each complex machine within tolerances. Cold ocean water is gulped through a huge steel straw in the ship's side. It cools the power plant and is then exhaled overboard. Movement is everywhere. Pumps hum, steam hisses, liquids gush past sight Glasses in a hurried rush to go where they are needed. But despite these distractions, a visitor to the "Pit" is soon drawn to the two huge, hulking boilers that dominate the cavernous engine room. Bright silver, and bigger than a two-car garage, each have four flickering eyes, two inch circles that allows one to peer into their souls, the blue hell of the combustion chambers. There, the heated black fuel oil explodes into super heated flames that heats water until it flashes into steam.
Cadets constantly walk the engine room monitoring the temperatures and pressures of every piece of equipment. They resemble monkeys clad in dark blue coveralls as they climb up to the canopy, scuttle along the cat walk, and duck under the piping. They observe gauges and record the numbers while the engineer of the watch, like an organ grinder, plays the tunes and dictates their movements. Everyone, however, seems to pay homage at the temple of the boilers and to know that these monsters are not to be trifled with. Four or five cadets and at least one officer constantly tend to the boilers needs, knowing that if the four little blue eyes wink and go out, the ship will stop and go dark.
If that happens, the mates, standing on the Bridge in their pressed uniforms, can forget the helm and the GPS and their illusion of control. The ship will become a drifting, dead hulk.
My favorite part of the engine room is far from the boilers. Down at the very lowest part of the ship, twenty feet below the surface of the sea, is the Shaft Alley. A cool, dark tunnel where one can see power in motion . Here, you can actually touch power. Passing 200 feet down the spine of the ship, is a steel shaft, always turning in its bed of bearings. You can lay your hand on it and feel the raw energy spinning the propeller and pushing 18,000 tons of metal through wind and wave at speeds up to 20 knots, day after day.
After spending time in the engine room it is easy to understand why two thirds of our Cadets choose to be marine engineers. It is a complex, challenging career that demands concentration, logic, stamina, and knowledge. We are lucky to have so many skilled engineers on this voyage and their ability to work magic down in the "pit" is a wonder to behold. Thank goodness, they are pushing us home. Three and a wake up. See you tomorrow.