Chapter 12: On Tow

It is nine AM in Ybor City. We have to leave before ten, because we arrived at ten yesterday. There is tension and stress on board Speedy, and Mr. Tynsall and myself are the sources and most concerned. We share the same anxiety, that the spare steering ram and the ram seal kits won’t arrive before we have to leave. We are tensely waiting. Mr. Tynsall is more worried than I am, though I am very unhappy the parts have not yet arrived. I gave Mr. Tynsall an ultimatum yesterday. No ram, no seals, no sail. If we don’t sail before ten, it will create a great financial loss for Mr. Tynsall. Not only the expense of getting new clearances for the voyage to Africa, but additional delays. The delays in readying the equipment for this voyage have already used up almost all the extra time built into the contract. There is a must deliver by date. Penalties begin with late delivery, and increase ever day we are late thereafter. We, Mr. Tynsall, cannot afford more delays. The penalties eat up profit.

“Warm em up Chief.”

This wasn’t verbal, I just circled my finger in the air. Warren nodded, understood and headed for the engine room.

“Have you relented, captain? Will you sail without the ram and seals?”

Mr. Tynsall’s eyes are damp. He is that distressed. Desperate.

“Now is the time to start the engines. If we are to leave just minutes before ten, we can’t wait until later to start. They won’t be warmed enough, and may stall or suffer damage if I engage them while cold.”

“I’m begging you captain! Go even if the stuff you need doesn’t arrive in time. I’ll have it trans-shipped to San Juan. It will definitely be waiting for you at the fuel dock. I promise! Puerto Rico isn’t a long voyage. And, there are tugs within hailing distance that can assist you if necessary. I understand, crossing the Atlantic, you won’t risk going without the parts needed to rescue yourselves. Surely, you can accept the minor risk going to Puerto Rico? Aid is close by”

“We have over a half hour yet. I’m still hoping the gear arrives in time. Keep your finger’s crossed, and pray if you do that.”

He does have a point. We’ll run the clock out. I’ve made up my mind. We will sail with or without the parts, just before ten. I’m letting Mr. Tynsall sweat on purpose. Teach him an important lesson. When I say something is important, don’t dare relabel it optional! This is his fault. A captain is responsible for the performance of his crew and a CEO is captain of his company. The same responsibility applies. I’m walking toward the ladders to ascend to the bridge. Mr Tynsalls eyes are boring holes in the back of my head. I feel them on me. I ignore him.

“Stand by your lines.”

My hands stand at the bits, the line handlers on the dock prepare to cast us off. Without turning to look at my boss, my voice carries back to him.

“All ashore that’s going ashore.”

I reach the bridge, check for traffic, stand at the stern controls and order, “Take in your lines.”

Everyone jumps into action. Mr Tynsall jumps ashore, stumbling a little. One of the line handlers the dock provided, steadies him.

Lines on Speedy and the barge/liftboat combo come aboard simultaneously and soon are stowed away, lashed down. ABs run from the barge and leap aboard. Tiger waves at me from the deck. All aboard. Kick the bow out with the bowthruster, momentarily clutch the outboard engine. Back to neutral. Speedy glides her way into the center of the channel.

Spider is slowly playing out cable laying it on the bottom of the channel. We have coasted to a stop from the drag of the tow wire in the mud. Tiger begins slowly reeling in the wire. We work together. I use a minimum of engines to prevent being pulled astern. In and out of gear. The cable lying in the muddy bottom acts like a railroad track. The liftboat and the barge lashed behind it, slowly peel off the dock and follow the exact track of the cable we carefully laid on the channel bottom. When the tow gets closer to us, I clutch one engine ahead. As the wire lifts clear of the water, becoming taut, I clutch both engines ahead. Underway, on tow, dead slow. Still a few minutes before ten. Mr Tynsall stands on the dock and watches us leave. He doesn’t wave, nor I. His pockets are not empty. His hands are in his pockets Here comes the pilot, driving up to the dock. Late.

Mr. Tynsall signs the pilot’s book so he gets paid anyway. Before too long, a pilot boat will come alongside, and the next of the three remaining pilots we require, will board us. Everybody will pretend that late pilot did not miss the boat.

After nine hours of running all the channel cuts in Tampa Bay, each with a letter. F cut, D cut, B cut, ect. We dropped our final pilot just outside the Sunshine bridge. We still have to go out Egmont Key entrance channel, another hour trip at least, but it’s considered something I can safely do. The pilot is anxious to get back to base and be reassigned another vessel. The more vessels he pilots, the more money he makes. Piloting is a competitive business.

Tiger relieves me at the seabuoy. We are headed south along Florida’s west coast. The liftboat barge combo is riding nicely 1500 feet behind us and we are making eight knots. We will pick up more speed as we get deeper into the current. The sun has set, I’m hungry and tired. Francine left me a foil covered plate in the galley. Has a red and white spiral dinner mint sitting on top. Thoughtful of her.