Parity

When I first started working on tugs, I was the only woman on the boat. It was three years before I had the opportunity to work on the same vessel as another woman. There were other women in the fleet, and I got to meet them and talk in passing, but working together is an entirely different thing. 

The first woman I ever worked with, L, was a cook. Our cooks are also expected to work on deck when making up to ships, tying up at the dock, or working with barges. L was a few years older than I, and had been in the industry for about five years. I was a second mate. L impressed me with her no-nonsense approach to her job. She was there to work and she did a great job. I was apprehensive about working with another woman at first, because some of us (myself included, admittedly) tend to be very territorial and competitive with one another. I didn’t have that problem with L. We bonded quickly and found that having another woman to work with was a great experience; that we are each other’s cheerleaders and not each other’s foes. I still have her recipe for honey mustard vinaigrette dressing taped to my refrigerator at home. 

Then there’s M. I have never actually worked with M on the same boat. She’s a cook, getting close to retirement, and has been working on boats for an indeterminate but long amount of time.  We were talking a few weeks ago and she said to me “when I started in the industry, the only way a woman could get on a boat was to be a cook. And even then, you had to be related to somebody.” She is tough as nails and takes flak from nobody. She continued, “I’m just so proud of you. When I started, women couldn’t be mates, and they definitely couldn’t be captains. It makes me so happy to see you guys climb the ranks.” Women like M are the reason I am on the boats today. She was one of those women who got her foot in the door and then kept that door open for the rest for us. 

I am currently the only female captain in the fleet, but I am not the first. The first was M, different from the M above. She is the human embodiment of unbridled joie de vivre. She was a captain here when I first came into the fleet, and left for other endeavors a few years ago. Funnily enough, I am currently assigned to the same vessel she was – and it means so much to me to finally be on a boat where I am not her first female captain. When I first started working, M was one of my role models. Someone who, without saying as much, let me know that she was always in my corner and that I could do what she’s doing. I wouldn’t have to break that glass ceiling, because she already did it for me. 

Earlier this year, I found myself working with not one, but two other women as part of a crew of 10.  Incidentally, that was the first vessel my company ever had with women at the top of all their departments – the captain (me), the chief engineer, and the chief steward. Granted, the chief steward was the only person in the steward’s department, but I’m not letting that slow me down from celebrating how far we’ve come. Those of you who sail know there is often an “us versus them” mentality between the deck and engine departments. When I was working with K, my female chief engineer, there was no battle of egos between us. We worked well together and she was always up front about what was going on in the engine room and what she needed from me. The best word I can think of to describe it is “easy.” Everything was just so easy. 

This past month, I was part of a crew that comprised three women and three men. The captain (me), the second mate (who I will call J) and the cook (who I will call A) are the women who made up half the crew.  It might not sound like a big deal, but here’s the surprising thing: It totally wasn’t a big deal. 

J did her job well and was organized and thoughtful. A made incredible meals for us and was always in a good mood. The thing is – these are qualities I would expect in my crew no matter their gender (or any other identifying factor like race, religion, political affiliation, or who they’re rooting for in the World Cup). Nobody on board made a big deal about us all being on board together. Nobody pointed out that any of us were doing a good job “ya know, for a GIRL.” I don’t think anybody noticed that we had a crew with equal numbers of men and women. 

And that is, to me, the real victory here. 

In some of my previous experiences, while the fleet as a whole supported having women on board and wanted us to excel, there was always someone who just HAD to make a comment when there were multiple women on a crew, or when there was a woman in a high-ranking position aboard. Comments alluding to our menstrual cycles matching up, calling us the “estrogen boat,” or assuming all we would do is sit around and gossip. When I first got promoted to captain, a crew member from another boat (a man, obviously) called me to ask, “You’re in charge over there, right? Do they call you Mistress, since Master is a masculine term?” Captain. They call me Captain.

But not this time. 

This time, while there was certainly plenty of estrogen to go around on board, nobody felt the need to make jokes about it. The male members of my crew treated me, J, and A as they would any other captain, second mate, and cook. The chief mate argued with me over petty things – as he does with everyone. The engineer would ask for the second mate’s help moving some things around in the engine room – as he would have with a male second mate. And the AB kept busy and also took out the cook’s trash at night – as he always does. None of them treated us with disrespect, not even a comment like “well, I would make a joke but we’re in mixed company.”  

I look forward to the day that this is the norm. The day that my crew is just another tugboat crew doing tugboat stuff. The day that your worth on board is only determined by your ability and your attitude, not by what’s going on in your pants or in your bedroom. While my experience this hitch has been a good one, it is not a typical one for us tugboaters. But it’s a step in the right direction. 

Danielle

I'm sorry for your loss.

I heard those words so many times in October of 2015. Friends, family, coworkers, and classmates all reached out as the news slowly trickled in about the wreck of the El Faro. At first, it seemed maybe it was just a communication glitch, or an effect from the hurricane. But as the days passed with no contact from the ship, those of us with friends and family members aboard huddled close to each other, standing a constant vigil hoping for news. Any news.

I was at work in Alaska when the ship disappeared. It was a normal day in October, quiet and calm, but a slight chill in the air indicating that winter wasn’t too far away. The “termination dust” was already moving its way down the mountains. Danielle’s mother had posted on Facebook, saying that her daughter’s ship had been in some heavy weather and had not been heard from in 24 hours. I thought it was scary, but no real need to panic, right? We’ve all had moments of distress at sea, and I tried to reason it through in my head. Perhaps they just lost their generators and have no electrical power for their communication equipment. Maybe the antennas snapped in the wind. Maybe they’re on their way into port right now and the next Facebook post will be a joyous one. That, of course, never happened.  Her mother would update us every few hours, with no real change for days. Reality started to set in for all of us that the ship may be lost, along with her crew. 

Before I go further, let me tell you about Danielle. I was 17 when I met her. But even before that, I had gotten a letter from Maine Maritime Academy. Two letters, actually. The first was my acceptance letter. I was going to be a midshipman in the fall of 2000! I was ecstatic. The second letter was from the Housing Department, telling me I had been paired with a girl from Rockland, Maine for my roommate. Her name was Danielle. I spoke to her on the phone once before we both headed to the Academy for our freshman year. She told me she had once visited Washington DC, which is not far from my home, and I told her I’d only been to Maine once in middle school and didn’t remember much about it. I told her how involved I was with the band at my high school, and she giggled that she also was in band. She played the flute.

Move-in day for the freshman class at MMA was as hectic as you would expect. My parents and I had driven for two days to get to Maine, in a minivan packed full of everything my mother thought I might need at school (and then some). I swear, we started packing for the fall semester in February. We arrived at MMA and stood in the check-in line to pick up my room keys and student ID. Then we ascended to my new digs on the third floor. I entered the room to find Danielle and her family had already arrived and were unpacking. She was there with her parents: her mother was a bubbly redhead with a huge heart; her father a quiet, stoic man on the surface but just a big softy underneath. Her younger brother, with whom I became good friends in the following years, was running around the room. He reminded me of my own little brother in many ways.  

So off we went on our freshman year. Danielle and I hit it off immediately, and remained close throughout school, even though we only roomed together for one year. We weren’t without our differences, but we could always work them out in the end. Her family treated me as one of their own.  MMA tends to attract students mostly from New England, and many of them would go home on the weekends. Being from Virginia, I was stuck on campus until Christmas break. Danielle would take me with her to Rockland, and we’d spend the weekend at her house. I’d beat her brother at Nintendo, and she and I would stay up a little too late talking about boys and school, until her dad barked at us to get to bed. They even threw me my 18th birthday party.

After we graduated, Danielle and I remained in contact. As every sailor knows, making time to see your maritime friends is difficult when you take into account geography and different work schedules. Still, Danielle and I were able to get together every few years. I always appreciated how we remained good friends even though our careers took us to different sides of the earth, sometimes to places with little or no means of regular communication, and even though we had differing (and fierce) opinions on things like politics and religion, she was always there to listen to my problems and offer advice or at least a beer. 

Danielle was such a vibrant force of nature. She did exactly as she pleased, and ran over anything that stood in her path. She was tough and sweet and enigmatic. We worked through school together, and then went stumbling into “real life,” laughing the entire time. And then it was all over.

I remember the day it really hit me that there wasn’t going to be any rescue mission for the El Faro. The Coast Guard had called off the search. I hadn’t been sleeping much that week, except for the times I’d passed out from pure exhaustion. So many of my friends and family had called or messaged me to express their condolences. The crew of my vessel was exceptionally supportive. I had stayed as strong as I could on the outside, but as I lay there in my bunk on that October night, I suddenly found myself in tears. Not the weepy sad tears you get from watching a sappy movie, but the violent, gushing, deep sobbing that comes when you know you’ve lost something dear to your heart.

I am extremely fortunate that the company I work for allowed me to travel home for Danielle’s memorial service. There were so many people there to pay their respects and support her family. There was a large picture of Danielle in the front by the podium. It was her graduation picture from Maine Maritime. It was probably one of the happiest moments of her life - all she had ever wanted to do was sail the seas. I like to think she’ll be doing that forever now. 

The maritime industry is no stranger to disaster and tragedy. Sadly, that’s when policies and regulations get put into place – after something terrible happens. I personally have known four people who have died while at work on the water. Two of them, including Danielle, were casualties or accidents (the other two were illness and suicide). We survivors are left to ask “How could this even happen?” and “How can we prevent this in the future?” and “What if that had been me?” But the reason Danielle stands out among this group to me is because she was a woman. For some strange reason, I almost never expected a woman to die at sea. Of course, Danielle isn’t the first one, nor will she be the last. Women will die at sea, because there are more of them going to sea every day. But again, for some reason, this time it feels different. I keep thinking it’s because of the fact that now she won’t be able to tell her kids sea stories, or because she’ll never get married, but that’s true of any young person gone too soon.  

One of the things I remember very vividly from the time around the loss of the El Faro was receiving a phone call from my father.  He has always been supportive of my decision to work in a dangerous environment, while also being protective of his “baby girl.”  He called me right before I was scheduled to go on watch, and I stepped out on the bridge wing to take the call.  The sadness and fear and straight-up exasperation in his voice was something I had never heard before.  He’s the type of person who conceals his negative emotions for the sake of others, but that day he couldn’t hold back; because every time he saw Danielle’s face on the news, he also saw mine.

It has slowly dawned on me as to why I feel so strongly about the loss of Danielle. It’s because for the first time, maritime tragedy hit very, very close to home. I like to think that I am just like Danielle: a strong and tough and exceptional woman. And yet, the sea took her. That could have been me out there, as it could have been any of us. For the first time, I suddenly felt very vulnerable. I went through a period of self-doubt. If the years of experience and toughness of the crew of the El Faro wasn’t enough to save them, what’s stopping the angry sea from swallowing me whole, too?  

Survivor’s guilt seems to be common to the maritime industry as well.  We’ve all had our close calls, our emergency situations, we all read the NTSB report after a maritime casualty. We ask ourselves what we can do to prevent things like this from happening in the future. We think about the people lost on the water who, due to one small mistake, will never set foot on dry land again. We often think “that could have been me.” It is vastly important to learn from the mistakes made by others in this industry.  

I haven’t been able to bring myself to listen to the tapes from the NTSB reports and investigations on the El Faro. I know there are recordings of the ship’s final moments – the captain calling the Coast Guard on the radio asking for help, and I know you can hear Danielle’s voice in the background amid the pandemonium. I’m not ready for that. 

That’s the thing about death in general, isn’t it? We all grieve differently, we all feel differently about the loss, and none of us is right or wrong. I still don’t know why this time it feels different, but it certainly does. Maybe it’s because seafarers are traditionally men; we’re more accustomed to seeing memorials for the loss of men at sea - not women at sea. But like Danielle, I am also a woman at sea, and I would never want my friends and family to go through what we all experienced from the loss of the El Faro. I’ll miss Danielle for the rest of my life, but I am grateful for the time I did get to spend with her.

I’m sorry for your loss.

There it was again, as I returned to work from Danielle’s memorial. I turned to the person who’d said it and thanked them for their kindness. But in my mind, I thought “this isn’t just my loss. This is your loss, and her family’s loss, and her friends’ loss. It’s everyone’s loss.” It’s mine because I have lost a dear friend and confidant. It’s her family’s because they no longer have a daughter and a sister. And so many others lost a dear friend. It’s yours because now you will never get the chance to meet her and know her like I did. So I, too, am sorry for your loss. 

What to Pack?

Knowing what to bring with you on a journey is a challenge no matter where you’re going. In the maritime industry it’s even tougher because once you’re on that boat or ship, you might not be able to get off to go to the store and pick up things you forgot. Planning ahead is crucial, but so is knowing what you need and where to get it.  One of the problems I continually run into is that the gear that I need for work can’t always be easily found in a store near where I live. The internet is your friend in such cases. 

The bag 

First off, you need to figure out what to put all your gear in. I have a large duffel bag to keep all my sea-going stuff in. It’s easier to store an empty duffel on a boat than it is to stash a hard-sided suitcase. But you want a duffel that can stand up to being dragged across non-skid decks, thrown into crane baskets, and otherwise moved around on and between boats. Don’t go for any old gym bag type duffel - it will most likely get trashed. I’ve had good luck with the ones from Cabela’s. I’d also recommend getting one in an uncommon color or pattern – just so it’s easier to keep track of on crew change day. 

If you’re sailing internationally, a hard-sided suitcase might be a better option to protect against the wear-and-tear of overseas air travel. Also, invest in some baggage locks, and maybe a baggage tracker (a small GPS unit you put in your bag, which pairs with an app for your smartphone so you can track where your bag is in case it gets lost). 

As far as size goes, I find it’s better to have two medium-sized bags rather than one large one.  This helps with airline stuff – the really heavy bags sometimes don’t make it onto the plane because of weight restrictions, and it makes crew change day easier if you and your shipmates don’t have to lug around really heavy bags. I live by the rule of “if I can’t fit in in the bag, I probably don’t need it. And if I need it, I’ll find a way to fit it in the bag.” The most important stuff goes in first, and then the less-essential things. This is where making a packing list is very important – you don’t want to fill up your bag then realize you forgot to put your boots in there. If I have room for one more book, or that little teddy bear my husband gave me years ago, then it gets squished in last. 

The basics 

The stuff you use every day is sometimes the easiest to forget, simply because you aren’t thinking about it. I once made it to a boat with two pairs of socks, counting the ones I had on.  Here’s a list of the basic stuff I keep in my bag at all times: 

• A week’s worth of work clothes: shirts, pants, underthings, socks, and a belt if you need one.

• A set of “go home clothes”: these are the clothes that I don’t allow myself to wear at work, lest they get dirty or smelling of diesel, so I have a set of clean clothes to wear on the long plane ride home.

• A set of pajamas: these are a bit different from the pajamas I would wear at home. On the boat it’s a shirt and pair of yoga pants that would allow me to be up and out the door in about 30 seconds in case of an emergency.

• A set of cold weather clothes: A thermal top and bottom to go under my regular clothes in the winter, a fleece jacket for on top, and some extra-thick socks and a fleece hat. Obviously I work in a cold climate, and would not bring this stuff if I worked in warmer places.

• Toiletry bag: I've got a little waterproof zip-top bag that I use for my toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, lotion, razor, hair brush, shampoo, nail clippers, and mouthwash. Space saver tip: buy the 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner stuff so you only have to pack one bottle instead of two. Travel sized bottles of things like lotion help save space. Also, pack a hitch’s worth of tampons/pads/whatever you use, because there is nothing more embarrassing than running out of that stuff. Oh, and hair ties. Get some quality hair elastics (Goody brand is my favorite) and get a bunch of them. I have a small baggie with probably 100 hair ties in it, plus a few clips and bobby pins for extra windy days. I hate working with my hair in my face, so that all helps.

• Footwear: I have a pair of steel-toed work boots (a requirement on any ship), a pair of flip-flops (shower shoes), a pair of “inside” shoes (sneakers, or a pair of leather slip-on/hush puppy-type shoes also works), and a pair of rain boots.

• Rain gear: I have a set of good quality rain pants and a jacket. The kind of rain gear you want will depend on where you’re working. I’ve had the same set of Grundens for about 15 years – and they have served me well. However, if you are working in warmer climes, you will probably want something less heavy that will keep you dry without making you sweat.

Safety gear 

Most companies will provide you with basic safety gear (hard hat, pfd, safety glasses, gloves, etc), but there are a few things you may want to bring with you. Your employer will probably provide a life jacket-style pfd or work vest, but in colder climates this is not the most practical thing for working outside. 

A float coat is ideal for being outside in extreme cold weather. For working in warmer areas, you might want to look into getting a self-inflating pfd (assuming the company you work for allows them), which allows you to move more freely, and sweat less. 

I also bring two good-quality pocket knives (a small one for everyday use, and a meatier one for bigger jobs like working on lines), a small pocket flashlight (LED is ideal), and a couple pairs of gloves I like. I have dainty little hands and the gloves provided by the company I work for tend to run kind of large, so I invest in my own gloves, because it’s worth it to me to have a pair that fit well (the kind with the Velcro around the wrist are great!) 

A good idea but not essential

• A “bug out bag” container: This would be a small container or bag that contains everything you’d need to take with you in an emergency – as in “we need to get off this boat right now.” It should contain a few days’ worth of any medication you take, your driver’s license and/or passport, space for your cell phone, personal hygiene supplies, and anything else you might need. Mine also has my wedding ring in it, as I don’t wear it on the boat. This bag should be somewhat small so it can fit into your survival suit with you or be thrown into a life raft.

• Glasses: if you wear glasses, take at least two pairs with you. You never know when your primary pair might go missing, and it’s always nice to have a backup. You might also want to get a pair of prescription sunglasses. I did so a few years back and it has made a huge difference during sunny day watches.

• Towel and Sheets: I bring my own bath towel (it’s enormous and has happy green sea turtles on it!) and a set of flannel sheets. Most companies will provide basic linens for you, but I prefer to bring my own because they provide that added comfort. I know guys who also bring their own egg crate or memory foam mattress pad, but I don’t have room for that in my bag.

• Sunscreen/Bug spray: if you’re working in a very sunny place and you’ll be out on deck a lot – bring some sunscreen, preferably the kind that is waterproof. You’ll get sunburnt faster on the water than on land – because the sun reflects off the water, so you're getting it from two different directions. If you’re working in a buggy place, like on a river or in the Gulf of Mexico or Alaska in the summer, you might want to invest in some bug spray, too. It’s possible the boat will already have these things on board, but if you bring your own you can get the kind that works best for your skin, etc.

Other stuff 

• Hobbies: You’ll probably have some down time on the boat, and it’s nice to have a way to relax. If you have a hobby that doesn’t take up too much space or make a bunch of noise, pack enough to keep you occupied for your hitch. This could be reading, knitting, writing, watching movies/tv, drawing, or what have you. I’d advise against bringing anything that requires big, bulky equipment or supplies, or anything that has to be transported delicately. Musical instruments are a bit of a grey area – historically you’d always find an instrument or two on a ship, but on boats with smaller spaces and the fact that there’s always someone trying to sleep, you may want to leave your xylophone at home. Some boats are friendlier than others about that, though.

• Water bottle/coffee mug: I have a 32-oz screw-top water bottle that I carry around with me everywhere. It’s important to stay hydrated when you’re working, and having water with me prevents me from drinking less healthy stuff like soda. I personally don’t bring a coffee mug, mainly because I don’t drink coffee, but plenty of other people do. Your best bet is the “travel” mug style with a lid that closes to prevent spills.

• I also carry a couple little notebooks that fit into my pocket; I use them to make notes throughout the work day.

• I pack a little treat or two for myself (something like a small bar of really good chocolate), because every now and then you just need a little pick-me-up, right?

So there you have a pretty good idea of what I bring with me. It took me a while to get it down, and to finally come to terms with the idea that I need to make checklists for these things. It’s easy to be overwhelmed by packing for your first hitch. Just remember: the longer you go to sea, the easier it becomes to figure out what to bring with you and how much you need. And in a few years, you’ll think back to what a frazzled mess you were trying to get everything in order for that first trip, and you’ll realize how much you’ve learned since then... and then also wonder if you remembered to bring your hairbrush with you. 

Not that I’ve ever shown up to work without my hairbrush. 

"How did you get started in the maritime industry?"

I am different from many seafarers, in that I did not grow up near the water, nor did I have a family member in the maritime industry.  Well, not one I remember, anyway.  My grandfather sailed for years, but he died when I was very young and I don’t really remember him.  For many of us out there, working on the water is a tradition passed down from parent to child, from one generation to the next. So many sailors have been on the water since they were big enough to wear a life jacket, fishing with their dad or cruising around in a party boat.  But in my case it didn’t work out that way.  I kept my feet firmly planted on the moss-covered ground of the Shenandoah Valley, although not intentionally.  It’s not that going to sea wasn’t an option for me, it just never really crossed my mind.

One day, while on vacation with my family, we went on a whale-watching trip.  I was maybe 14 years old at the time.  My mother was absolutely convinced I was going to be seasick, having never been on a boat of any sort before.  She packed extra grocery bags and seasick pills for the inevitable trauma I would be experiencing... and then promptly gave it all to my dad, who apparently gets seasick just looking at a boat.  I, on the other hand, spent that time running from one side of the boat to the other to look at the wildlife, gaze out at the horizon, and breathe in the sea air.  I had never smelled anything like it before, musty and salty yet deliciously satisfying. 

At that point, I decided I was going to be a marine biologist when I grew up.  My parents were supportive, but probably rolled their eyes when I wasn’t looking.  By the time high school rolled around, I was still stuck on the idea of saving the whales.  So, my mother enrolled me in a couple summer sessions that dealt with marine life and also the maritime industry.  During one of these sessions, I found myself alongside a dozen other teenagers, cruising around on a tugboat for the day.  She was small by tugboat standards, but she was powerful and pretty.  I got to put my hands on the steering wheel and throttles, and I was hooked.  I wanted to be a sailor.  I knew this was what I was meant to do.

This led to me to Maine Maritime Academy, where I graduated with a degree in Marine Transportation, and an Unlimited 3rd mates license.  I have since upgraded that to a 2nd mates license, as well as a 1600-ton master, and master of towing.  I have sailed on large ships, oil spill response vessels, and tugboats all over the US, as well as Europe, South America, and the Caribbean.  I always knew I wanted to work on tugs, but I went for the Unlimited license in case I changed my mind and decided to go deep sea.  It’s nice to give yourself some options.  I ended up in Alaska 12 years ago and fell in love with the place, and with the work I was doing there.

So here I am, almost 20 years after my first experience on a tug, still working on them.  Some days, I hate it.  Some days we have bad weather, or we’re working hard, or I’m just having an off day.  I’ll want to go home, which is still nestled in the hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, far away from the water.  But most days, the people I work with and the boat I work on make it all OK.  I love driving boats.  As we cruise around the bay or out in Prince William Sound, I’ll step outside the wheelhouse and just take a big deep breath.  I’ll gaze up at the stars, wave to a passing vessel, or smile at the porpoises playing in our bow wave.  And for a moment I am transported back to the time I first smelled that salt air. 

I like to think my old salt of a grandfather is looking down and smiling, too.