A Snapshot into the Future: Voyage 231 of the Containership Compliance
A work of fiction…
Offshore Hampton Roads, VA (September 2016): The radio crackled a scratchy arrival call from another inbound vessel as Captain Lars Andersen eased out of his chair on the bridge of the M/V “Compliance.” A quick peek into the Radar screen satisfied him for the moment that he was in no immediate danger of hitting anything and he disappeared behind the chart table to ensure that the vessel was indeed cruising at the National Marine Fisheries Service (NMFS), National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) mandated speed restrictions of no more than 10 knots. The rule, in force since 2008, applied to all vessels 65 ft (19.8 m) or greater in overall length in certain locations and at certain times of the year along the east coast of the U.S. Atlantic seaboard. The regulations, intended to lessen the chance of “ship strikes” on Right Whales, had been implemented on the basis of less than precise science and, eight years later, had yet to deliver any real data on the value of such efforts.
Tonight, the speed restrictions would serve to delay the vessel for more than 32 hours, because the reduced transit speed would cause the vessel to miss a critical high tide window enroute to the superport of Norfolk, VA. Andersen was, of course, alone in the wheelhouse of the mammoth, 11,000 TEU containership. With Third Mates long since eliminated from the manning certificate of this and most other deep draft merchant vessels, ship’s Masters were now routinely – among other new duties – standing the 8-to-12 watch. This, combined with the nightmare of regulatory paperwork that threatened to overwhelm his “off” hours, made for an increasingly tedious way of life on board. Tonight, Andersen carefully monitored the speed of his vessel, having slowed down well prior to the mandated speed limited area, knowing full well his progress was being tracked via AIS signature. Any deviation from the rules would, he knew, result in fines for the ship owner and the omnipresent potential for criminalization of his actions.
Less than two hours prior to arrival at the pilot station, Chief Mate Parker Jackson arrived on the bridge to relieve the Master. An American mariner from King’s Point, Jackson was just one of many Americans now sailing on foreign flag, registered tonnage. The worldwide shortage of mariners had not yet abated despite a myriad of international efforts to do just that. Jackson already had his Master’s ticket despite having graduated from the Merchant Marine Academy just four years earlier. Any numbers of sailing opportunities were available to him and he had taken advantage of the times. Tonight, and as the midwatch began, he nevertheless lamented the fact that he had already been on board this particular vessel for more than three months and his planned relief at Norfolk had been nixed by the company due to a lack of suitable candidates. He would have to make at least three more trips, they said.
With the promise of a Master’s job dangling just out of his reach, Jackson knew better than to get anyone mad at him at the home office. But just four years into his seagoing career, he was already weary of the grind. He had already missed his daughter’s third birthday and although he was lucky enough to catch part of it on a video stream via internet connection in his cabin, the event had been cut off in mid-stream because he had (apparently) exceeded his “bandwidth allowance” as dictated by company broadband rules. As he checked the ship’s position and began preparations for arrival at the sea buoy, he also made a mental note to provide payment to the company to ensure that he would still have Internet access for the balance of the month. That job in the broker’s office in Stamford was starting to look mighty good…
By 2010, the advent of the Coast Guard’s new NAVIC (04-08) on medical standards had taken its toll on previously thought-to-be-healthy mariners, at least on the American side of the equation. Although originally published as a “guideline” the NAVIC had in reality been strictly enforced. Mariners therefore usually erred on the side of caution, not wanting to be caught in the unintentional position of “lying” on their license applications, where – again – the criminalization of this behavior was becoming more than commonplace. By 2015, the new medical standards had contributed to the further erosion of the American merchant mariner pool. And because of this, waivers to employ foreign nationals on U.S. flag vessels were also becoming the rule, and not the exception.
Also on board the M/V “Compliance,” Second Mate Xing Tau was perfectly aware of the metrics in play in today’s merchant fleets. And, although this was a pretty good gig on board the sleek and virtually brand new containership, his real goal was a berth on an American vessel, where someday, he hoped to parlay that into a work visa, a Green Card and eventually, U.S. citizenship. The Chinese national and well-regarded mariner was a product of the exchange program between his maritime academy and the Massachusetts Maritime Academy in Buzzard’s Bay, MA. And, the Second Mate liked America.
Started years before, the exchange training program in another era might have been considered controversial, but with lagging graduation rates for licensed mariners at all of the so-called U.S.-based “maritime academies,” the collaborative effort had served to boost licensing rates to more than 60 percent of all graduates, from the low of just under 49 percent – the nadir achieved in 2010. Back then, even the tripling of MARAD-sponsored student incentive payments (SIP) to state school students had failed to produce the desired effect.
As the giant vessel neared the pilot boarding station, Chief Engineer Roger Cotswold carefully monitored engine performance and prepared for the inbound transit. One of only two licensed engineers on board, he and his Croatian First Assistant Engineer split duties and maintenance in the unmanned engine room. Well prior to reaching the twenty-five mile line of demarcation between open seas and that which required a “green” engine approach to shore, the British national had carefully switched over to his “no-sulphur” bunker supplies from the standard MDO tanks used for ocean passages. Eventually, he knew the “independent inspectors” would board the vessel at the berth to survey and sample all of his bunker supplies. The procedure, paid for by the ship owner, was a statutory requirement which verified that the green diesel had not only been used as required, but also met local specifications.
Like the Captain, Cotswold also knew that any deviation from the rules – in actual practice or in documentation – might result in his removal from the vessel in handcuffs. As he prepared to make the proper entries in his logbook(s), an obscure warning alarm sounded just as maneuvering commenced. The event absorbed his attention for at least thirty minutes.
The vessel’s tier 2 compliant engines, fitted with the latest in scrubber technology purred quietly as the bridge throttled down in preparations for the pilot embarkation. The Bermuda-based shipping company was still trying to calculate how long it would take to fully amortize the cost of the cleaner and more efficient engines, installed at no small cost when the vessel was built. Three years after her maiden voyage, that metric had not yet been achieved. But, the vessel was fully compliant with the letter of the law…
Following the virtually unheard of anchoring of a regularly scheduled container liner because of a combination of factors, the “Compliance” was finally inbound to the berth. On board was a full contingent of U.S. Coast Guard security personnel, the pilot and an EPA technician, whose sole function was to monitor stack emissions during the inbound transit. The Coast Guard presence was due entirely to the DHS determination that the ship was a “ship of interest,” owing to sloppy documentation of just three containers at the otherwise tight port of Rotterdam. The shoreside personnel complement dwarfed the ten man crew, every one of which was called out for mooring stations.
While the mooring operation went smoothly enough, it was clear that there were not enough personnel on board for these sorts of extraordinary evolutions. This fact was also painfully evident on deck, where coating failure was obvious everywhere. Even with the new and improved, environmentally sound marine coatings in use, Chief Mate Jackson also knew that the best paint, improperly applied to unprepared surfaces in the shipyard, would eventually fail. And, Jackson had no manpower with which to keep up with even the simplest and most routine of coating repairs.
As he directed the deployment of mooring wires forward and stood by the anchor windlass, Parker also knew that at least two roller chocks on the vessel were frozen due to lack of maintenance and had reported this fact to the home office at least twice. As they finished tying up, he noted to himself sourly that the requested repair personnel were nowhere to be seen on the pier.
The predictable dog-and-pony show over the three suspect containers took at least three hours to resolve and finally revealed an innocuous cargo of women’s garments, several hundred thousand disposable diapers and a container full of household goods from an ex-patriot banking executive returning from seven years abroad. The balance of the port call took but six hours, during which the TWIC-certified shore-based custodian crew boarded the vessel to clean the interior spaces. The steward’s department had, of course, long since been eliminated from the budget. For most of the ten mariners on board, however, their cabins stayed tightly locked during the port call. No one, apparently, cared to trust a cleaning crew they didn’t know and probably wouldn’t ever see again.
With the port call seemingly all-but-done, Parker Jackson prepared to trudge to the bow for undocking, but was suddenly called back to the house by the Master. As he raised the handheld radio to his mouth to ask why, he noted the unhappy departure of the Chief Engineer in the company of two Coast Guard personnel. Lars Andersen would later confide to his Chief Mate that some aspect of Cotswold’s documentation was apparently not to the liking of the local authorities.
The vessel would not sail until another Chief Engineer could be flown in and the bond demanded by local officials paid. Back in the home office, the claims staff was in full panic mode, preparing to respond to the inevitable plethora of demurrage and cargo claims which were sure to follow. And, back in his cabin, Parker Jackson used the unexpected lull in the action to tidy up his CV and then fired off his E-mail job application to Connecticut. – MarEx.
Joseph Keefe is the Managing Editor of THE MARITIME EXECUTIVE. This article is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any living person is purely coincidental and unintentional. The events of this fictional port call might seem unbelievable. Experienced mariners and ship operators know otherwise. Keefe can be reached at [email protected] with questions or comments on this or any other article in this e-newsletter.