Over some number of days, LCM 6334, a 56 foot 34 ton twin diesel landing craft, has had her tanks filled with diesel fuel, spares checked, and wooden plugs driven into exhaust ports, and other possible entry ports for seawater examined and sealed. Shes tied up in Busan (we called it Pusan) harbor alongside a seagoing tug roughly half her length, with a towing halter made up and ready to string out. My crew, which consists of my engineer, a line handler and myself as skipper, is camped out on the floor of the tugs galley, cramped quarters to say the least.
It is, lets say, a Saturday, and one attempt has been made to clear the breakwater and get out to sea, only to retreat in the face of a stubborn storm which has been hanging out for a day or two along the coast. Were supposed to be towed up the coast to Ulsan, which in 1968 was not much of a city, to provide lighter service to an oil tanker which is to offload at a particular buoy near the shoreline. Sometime in the afternoon we clear the dock, make another try, and manage to clear the harbor. The tugs crew, in confused seas, casts off the lines securing the landing craft and lets out the hawser to tow astern at whatever passes as a comfortable length in a storm in the strait between the East China and Japan seas.
Today, itd take about two and a half hours to drive from Busan to Ulsan. By sea, it takes us, I dont know, maybe twelve hours in heavy seas, with the Mike boat sometimes visible, sometimes not, when there is light to see it. When we have eaten and it gets to be night, we sack out on the deck, which is a little difficult as its nothing like level at any point in time and tends to propel us into table legs, the stove, or a bulkhead.
Sometime in the early morning we seem to encounter a really big wave which pretty much manages to put the tug on her beam ends. I wake up just in time to catch some dishes and whatnot which had slid off the table just as it was about to bean my line handler. As this is happening, there is a symphony of crashing objects; all the drawers in the captains cabin, adjacent to the gallery, slide out, depositing their contents on the deck.
Sometime that day we arrive off Ulsan, reel in our tow, remove plugs, get mooring lines and whatnot out of the lazarette, and determine that the engines still run. Sometime after dark, the tanker makes its rendezvous, having been anchored off the coast waiting out the storm and for us to arrive. We bring the Mike boat out to meet her, receive mooring lines and make them up to the buoy, then the offloading hoses. Contact with our client is via shouting back and forth and by radio. Once shes unloading comfortably, we make various runs from the tanker up a narrow and completely unfamiliar inlet carrying supplies and a few people.
The tanker, of course, has a crew to operate 24 hours a day. I have my small band who have had little sleep the prior night and have been working their asses off all day, but we work into the early morning. At some point about 4 AM we make a run back to the tug with the idea of resting, during which I realize that Im starting to hallucinate. We about get tied up and the radio blurts out a message from the tanker that they need another run. I reply that were taking a few hours off so we dont run into something in the dark.
Skippers of merchant marine ships are an irascible lot. They run their own small world as dictators and theyre used to having their way. So, the captain gets on the radio and insists that we make another run. I politely decline. He radios Samba Du in Busan and gets my commanding officer out of bed. My CO radios me back, and tells me to make the run. I politely decline. Peters, this is a direct order! Sir, I am responsible for the safety of this boat and its crew. We have been operating for a day and a half without sleep. We are taking a rest break and will resume operations in four hours. At this point I turn off the radio, ask the tug crew to wake us up at eight, and join my crew, already sleeping.
We are woken at eight and eat breakfast. I turn the radio back on and report in. We finish out the day, assist the tanker in its departure, and by dark are headed south with our boat in tow.
Sometime in mid-morning we make Busan Harbor and tie up at Samba Du. We stumble off the tug with our gear. I have happily not shaved for however many days we have been gone, nobody to bitch at me for not doing so. An NCO I know comes up to me and suggests that I might want to clean up some because Im supposed to appear before a promotion review board at noon. I shower and shave and review some of the doctrine Im supposed to be able to parrot, and go to meet the board.
It is, lets say, a Saturday, and one attempt has been made to clear the breakwater and get out to sea, only to retreat in the face of a stubborn storm which has been hanging out for a day or two along the coast. Were supposed to be towed up the coast to Ulsan, which in 1968 was not much of a city, to provide lighter service to an oil tanker which is to offload at a particular buoy near the shoreline. Sometime in the afternoon we clear the dock, make another try, and manage to clear the harbor. The tugs crew, in confused seas, casts off the lines securing the landing craft and lets out the hawser to tow astern at whatever passes as a comfortable length in a storm in the strait between the East China and Japan seas.
Today, itd take about two and a half hours to drive from Busan to Ulsan. By sea, it takes us, I dont know, maybe twelve hours in heavy seas, with the Mike boat sometimes visible, sometimes not, when there is light to see it. When we have eaten and it gets to be night, we sack out on the deck, which is a little difficult as its nothing like level at any point in time and tends to propel us into table legs, the stove, or a bulkhead.
Sometime in the early morning we seem to encounter a really big wave which pretty much manages to put the tug on her beam ends. I wake up just in time to catch some dishes and whatnot which had slid off the table just as it was about to bean my line handler. As this is happening, there is a symphony of crashing objects; all the drawers in the captains cabin, adjacent to the gallery, slide out, depositing their contents on the deck.
Sometime that day we arrive off Ulsan, reel in our tow, remove plugs, get mooring lines and whatnot out of the lazarette, and determine that the engines still run. Sometime after dark, the tanker makes its rendezvous, having been anchored off the coast waiting out the storm and for us to arrive. We bring the Mike boat out to meet her, receive mooring lines and make them up to the buoy, then the offloading hoses. Contact with our client is via shouting back and forth and by radio. Once shes unloading comfortably, we make various runs from the tanker up a narrow and completely unfamiliar inlet carrying supplies and a few people.
The tanker, of course, has a crew to operate 24 hours a day. I have my small band who have had little sleep the prior night and have been working their asses off all day, but we work into the early morning. At some point about 4 AM we make a run back to the tug with the idea of resting, during which I realize that Im starting to hallucinate. We about get tied up and the radio blurts out a message from the tanker that they need another run. I reply that were taking a few hours off so we dont run into something in the dark.
Skippers of merchant marine ships are an irascible lot. They run their own small world as dictators and theyre used to having their way. So, the captain gets on the radio and insists that we make another run. I politely decline. He radios Samba Du in Busan and gets my commanding officer out of bed. My CO radios me back, and tells me to make the run. I politely decline. Peters, this is a direct order! Sir, I am responsible for the safety of this boat and its crew. We have been operating for a day and a half without sleep. We are taking a rest break and will resume operations in four hours. At this point I turn off the radio, ask the tug crew to wake us up at eight, and join my crew, already sleeping.
We are woken at eight and eat breakfast. I turn the radio back on and report in. We finish out the day, assist the tanker in its departure, and by dark are headed south with our boat in tow.
Sometime in mid-morning we make Busan Harbor and tie up at Samba Du. We stumble off the tug with our gear. I have happily not shaved for however many days we have been gone, nobody to bitch at me for not doing so. An NCO I know comes up to me and suggests that I might want to clean up some because Im supposed to appear before a promotion review board at noon. I shower and shave and review some of the doctrine Im supposed to be able to parrot, and go to meet the board.
