Nine Norwegians, 13 Spaniards—and one Kiwi

Press, 20 September 1978, Page 7

Nine Norwegians, 13 Spaniards— and one Kiwi

(From 808 McCORMICK, on board the Norwegian bulk carrier Baynes.) Trying to take a shower while this huge bulk carrier wallows her way out of ttie Tasman into the Pacific with an incessant 10 roll is my qualification for claiming that even in this era of computer ship control and satellite navigation the sea is by no means conquered. In spite of her 19,200 (gross) tons and 20,000 tonnes of water ballast, Baynes prefers to tackle the swell with a corkscrew like motion rather than ploughing straight through.

The ship is riding light with her massive hull (32,400 tons deadweight) well out of the water with the extra top weight of five decks of accommodation 25m high above the engine room.

The accommodation and engine room areas occupy only 31m of the entire

ship’s length of 180 m. The remaining length contains five big hatches—giving 1,502,747 cu. ft of storage. The articles for this voyage of the Liberianregistered Baynes list a crew of 23—nine Norwegian, 13 Spanish, and one New Zealander (myself).

Each crew member is listed by name, age and rank, and I have the dubious distinction of being the oldest on board, and with the rank of “supernumerary.”

For the eight days I am signed on, I get 55 Norwegian ore a day—about 10c. To collect this I have to sign off in Norway, but I am not arguing with the captain about this.

He is a traditional Norwegian seaman—a big, tall commanding figure, Captain Leif Hansen, 42 years of age. By his sheer size and the respect he commands, not many people would have won arguments with him. His officers tell of a story many years ago when the ship’s bosun was conspicuous by his absence when he should have been

tain found him in a darkened cabin, drinking beer. He “invited” the bosun up to his cabin, and as the pair walked through the door the captain locked it behind him. He then applied summary jurisdiction. The bosun came to about an hour later and picked himself off the floor. Captain Hansen told me that the only alternative method he could have used to deal with the incident would have meant the end of a sea career for the seaman. As it is, the bosun is now a senior officer in the company, in fact, I rather suspect that the officer who told me about the incident was the bosun. Norwegian seamen are highly disciplined, and this probably accounts for the ease in which foreign crews—Spanish in this case —quickly fall into line. The ship’s bar is open only two nights a week, between 7 p.m. and 10 p.m., Saturday and Wed-

working at sea. The capnesday, whether at sea or in port. However, with the potent Spanish red wine served at all meals the bar hours are plenty. My supernumerary duties have been confined to watch-keeping and in the navigation room — admittedly only making the coffee.

It appears though that my length of service in that latter job is going to be limited: My watered-down version of the Norwegian coffee apparently does not compare with the syrup the officers make. It seems that for the sake of harmony on the ship the captain is sidetracking me into a new job. I now write down the bearings he calls out from the noon sextant sights on the sun, and in the evenings on the stars. This ship only uses other navigational aids as guides and the true position is checked out by the sextant. Translating the loud, broken English commands from the captain is no mean task.

My mistakes must have been few though, because each day the temperature is soaring, and according to the other officers we

must be heading in the right direction because the atmospheric changes are appropriate as we move into the Tropic of Capricorn.

The ship is heading for Gladstone, Northern Queensland, to pick up a cargo of alumina for Tacoma and Long Beach, on the west coast of the United States.

On her previous voyage she went from China to Nauru Island, and loaded phosphate for Hobart. From other east coast Australian ports she loaded petroleum coke for the Tiwai aluminium smelter at Bluff.

I boarded her at Bluff, where, after disgorging 22,000 tonnes of petroleum coke, she was to go to Nauru and load phosphate for Australian ports.

However — as is typical with the biggest bulk carrier specialists in the world, Jebsens of Norway — the ship at sea is only

one of a giant network of more than 70 bulk carriers plying trade routes in all parts of the world. She is ready to be sent to any place, at any time. I get a good idea of this because I am occupying the pilot’s cabin. On the same deck is the captain’s suite, and on the other side of my quarters is the radio cabin. The 24-hour traffic from the ship’s radio —- all in morse — relaying messages from the company’s headquarters in Bergen, Norway, through offices in all parts of the world, demonstrates the size of the project. Jebsens has always run only bulk carriers, except for two offshore oil rigs now in the North Sea. The company works on contracts of affreightment from one to three years, guaranteeing to keep a company’s raw material stockpiled so that it will never fall below a certain tonnage. This was the motivation for our diversion from Nauru to Gladstone; phosphate stocks were high in Australia, and alumina stocks starting to dwindle in the United States.

Ships are programmed accordingly and directed by telex or ship’s radio from a vast control centre at Bergen. Baynes is only two years old and like all the Jebsens fleet built to a design for the task ahead of it. Mr Atle Jebsen sees the

role of the company “as a conveyor belt, moving the raw materials from the places where they are mined to the factories where they are processed.” This part of the conveyor belt, Baynes, seems to be a non-stop operation. Most of the time at sea is spent cleaning out the holds after the cargo of petrol soaked petroleum coke for the white alumina cargo. The holds have to be perfectly clean, with no signs of moisture. In Australian ports the crew is not allowed to carry out this task; it is done by shore contractors, at a cost of between $25,000 and $26,000. More than four days have been spent so far on the cleaning process, and another hatch has to be cleaned before we reach port.

After a long inspection of the engine room, unmanned at nights and in the week-ends, the chief engin-

eer noticed my interest in the gauges indicating fuel stocks. He left me assured. The ship carries sufficient fuel for 60 days at sea, and depending on weather conditions uses between 32 and 61 tonnes a day. Heavy oil fuel costs $B5 a tonne, and diesel oil for generators $l6l a tonne. Food on board is a mixture of Norwegian and Spanish, but after six days on this ship in the appetite-producing sea air the quantity of food is almost more important than the country of origin.

The officers speak broken English, otherwise there is very little in common between the Spanish and Norwegian conversations throughout the ship. The chief officer speaks good English, but because he keeps the traditional chief’s watch — 4 a.m. to 8 a.m. and 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. — I have seen the sun rise over the Tasman on several mornings while holding conversation with this 38-year-old officer. My moment of glory on this ship though is when the ship’s movies are shown. They are American films with Norwegian and Spanish titles dubbed in.

The space required for the dubbing in left only Robert Mitchum’s head showing in one film. I was about the only one who knew what he was saying and doing.