At odd moments, as I pace around the deck of a ferry perhaps, I still find myself humming “Come, Holy Spirit Come.”
It’s a Sunday at sea and I’m in the crew’s dayroom on board the CSCL Felixstowe, a containership taking us all the way to China.. A loud keyboard, drums and clashing cymbals complete the picture.
“Sing louder!” the captain urges. He leads us in rip-roaring Catholic hymns as we sail across an empty Pacific. He’s the star of the show – the guardian of the ship and our souls.
I’m not religious but the deep-throated singing of officers and crew is now firmly entrenched in my DNA.
Come Holy Spirit Come
Come Holy Spirit Come
* *
Before I sailed across the Pacific, I pictured scary adventures, giant waves and feeling seasick. But what stays with me is the camaraderie: playing cards with six-year-old Annette, eating biryanis with the Indian officers, chatting with the two Praveens on the bridge – and the live band on Sundays.
It’s 2004 and Seaspan Ship Management has invited me to join a containership they manage and charter out to their sister company. I write about shipping for a living so I jump at the chance, of course.
This story replaces older articles first published in Marine Digest magazine, Shipping and Trade News (Japan) and a radio documentary that aired on CBC Radio’s Outfront
After a few scheduling hiccups, I fly down from Vancouver BC to the port complex of L.A./Long Beach. Dodging bombcarts shuttling containers within the terminal, I reach the CSCL Felixstowe and gaze up at my floating home for the next two weeks. The bright green hull is stacked high with roughly 2,000 pale green and brown containers.
The 20 officers and crew are all men. No surprises there. But at the top of the gangway, first officer Rodney Noronha is waiting to greet me with his wife Jina and their six-year-old daughter. Family members sometimes sail with the officers and Jina and Annette have been travelling with Rodney for four months, and off and on ships since Annette was a toddler.
“It’s too lonely at home by myself. Here, I can be with my husband all the time,” Jina tells me later, pleased to have another woman around. Annette, a shy girl with a wide grin, nods when I ask if she plays cards. We quickly become friends, bonding over the Memory Game and Eights. Later I meet Kiranpreet, the wife of second engineer Ravi, and their two-year-old son, also on board.
The two wives, the two kids and myself are listed as Supernumeraries, an archaic word that also applies to actors who appear but have no lines to speak. On this trip, I’ll be the Fifth Supernumerary.
Containerships are the racehorses of the ocean and as such, rarely carry outsiders. For insurance reasons, I’m not allowed to pay my way, so ask Capt. Alfred Gomez in advance if the crew would like presents. I laugh at his email reply. “We would love to have a basic drum set and a guitar pick up/amplifier”.
Before leaving port, at a huge Sam Ash Music Store I buy a four-piece drum set with cymbals and drumsticks, keyboard adapter, acoustic guitar “pick up” with amp/speaker, acoustic guitar tuner and tambourine.
The following day, three pelicans fly overhead as we sail out of harbor. Outside the breakwater, our pilot climbs down the ladder hanging from the side of the ship, hops onto the waiting pilot boat and waves a cheerful goodbye. A slight motion lifts the ship for the first time and my cellphone starts to lose its signal. We’re on our way.
* *
Outside, it’s misty and wet underfoot as I slog up and down ladders behind the captain, protected in an orange boiler suit, safety helmet and gloves. The wind screams through narrow gaps separating the containers, which are stacked seven high below deck and six high above. As the boxes jostle together, they sound like animals dying.
The ship has a cruising speed of 24 knots and we’re taking the Great Circle route to Qingdao in northern China, more than 5,800 nautical miles away. We’ll skirt the Aleutian Islands off Alaska before arching across the Pacific to Japan, round the bottom of South Korea, and finally northwest across the Yellow Sea to Qingdao.
Most of the time, we’re safe inside. I sleep in the spare officer’s cabin on E deck and during the day, spent much of the time clambering up and down five flights to the bridge, getting to know the crew.
Third officer Praveen Prabhu is on watch now. He’s a friendly guy of 27, and we chat about cricket and the latest troubles in Kashmir as the marine radio crackles in the background.
My strange need to idealize this way of life receives a cold dose of salty water from the officers and crew. I’m looking for adventure while they’re looking for their floating office to run as smoothly as possible.
Second officer Praveen Menon – another Praveen –– laughs when I ask if being at sea is a romantic life. “No, I don’t think so. …. here the atmosphere is not romantic at all. It’s purely work.”
But not all the time. It’s my second evening on board the Felixstowe, and we’re gathered in the crew’s dayroom for Sunday prayers. Capt. Alfred Gomez has exchanged his smart uniform for casual black pants and a beige shirt as he leads us in prayers mixed with hymns.
He’s the star of the show: the guardian of not just the ship but our souls as well. With short, dark hair and a tidy moustache, the captain radiates quiet competency and a serious manner most of the time. But now he lets rip with a microphone in his hand, bending to the music as he leads us in rip-roaring hymns.
I stand next to little Annette as we sing her favorite, “The Lord is my Tower”. A big grin on her face, she stamps her feet and waves her arms in choreographed unity.
For the Lord is my tower
And it gives me the power…
Eduardo ‘Edward’ Moratalla is banging away on the new drums, with Reggie Victoria on guitar, and Gaudioso Blancaver (a.k.a. Alan), on keyboards. Erwin Zarate is on hand drums, with Warren Bilog and Jovie Villaluz as back-up.
In between the hymns, the captain adapts prayers suitable for those at sea: “Even though we are in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, Lord, we know we are not alone.”
He has a special interpretation to a passage in Ephesians about wives submitting to their husbands. “There’s God’s ordained order in every place. In the government we have order, in the ship we have order, so also there’s God’s ordained order that wives submit. Not be a slave, but submit. If something is wrong in your house, men, it’s your responsibility”.
I love the singing, camaraderie and the captain’s way with words. But I’m also quietly steaming over this view of a woman’s place in the world.
The crew share a mixture of Catholic, Sikh and Hindu religions but they’re clearly in support. Band member Reggie Victoria tells me afterward: “This bible-sharing lifts our hearts.”
The hymns stay with me and over the next few days, I hum “This is the Day” as I clamber up and down the stairs to the bridge.
This is the day that the Lord has made
I will rejoice and be glad in it,
Rejoice in the Lord…
* *
It’s five full days at sea before we see another ship. I watch the little dot on the horizon grow closer and closer and second officer Praveen Menon checks the AIS identification system. It’s the containership Independence, heading on a reciprocal course for L.A. I wave madly, knowing it’s a futile gesture as she’s a nautical mile away on our starboard side. The Pacific is much emptier than I expected.
Food is a huge part of the trip: Nick the cook has to cater two separate menus to the Indian officers who don’t eat beef and some don’t eat pork, while the Filipino crew don’t like spicy Indian curries. The Indian officers’ favourite dish is biriani, served on Sundays.
The days of heavy drinking and daily tots of rum at sea are long gone, forbidden by international law for four hours before a watch and 24 hours before arrival and departure. But the story-telling tradition continues. During curry lunches, the captain, chief engineer and third officer trade tales about the Suez Canal, nicknamed the Marlboro Canal. Where if you don’t ply the pilots with cigarettes, they won’t move the ship.
* *
As we close in on Japan, tension builds as a Super Hurricane builds up in the southwest. I’m having breakfast with Anil, the chief engineer, when the captain comes in. “We’re going to be changing course because of the hurricane, go south of Japan,” he says.
The crew ties down chairs in the ship’s office and later, I play cards on the bridge with Annette, watching the bow rise and fall in front of us, and sing an old English sea shanty to fight down nausea.
While the raging seas did roar,
And the stormy winds did blow
And we jolly sailor boys were sitting up above
And the landlubbers lying down below, below, below…
That night, I lie in my bunk sweating as Force 8 winds howl through the porthole. The Felixstowe is pitching back and forward like a bucking bronco as waves slam into the bow and it’s difficult to sleep. The next morning, winds have died slightly but the sea is still an inky blue with whitecaps, our wake powerful, white and turquoise.
* *
After 11 days at sea, I go to the bridge at 5:30 a.m., hoping for my first view of China. But we’re immersed in heavy fog. Rodney is tense as he and Erwin at the wheel alter course to avoid a fishing vessel travelling too fast. It’s warm and muggy, like being immersed in a long hot bath.
We drop anchor off Qingdao and wait for the fog to lift. A few hours later, we’re cleared to move and I finally have my first sight of land. Two little cone-shaped islands, Wuding Jiao and Dagong Dao, emerge from the mist on the starboard side.
I find myself singing out loud:
All heaven declares, the glory of the risen Lord
Who can compare, with the beauty of the Lord.
Forever he will be, for-eh-eh-ever, a lamb upon the throne.
* See Drums Ahoy! Part 2: Sailing into Shanghai at dawn
Alison Bate 