Hong Kong to Sydney

I wondered why the ship was so quiet on the way down to Sydney. 10 days at sea through the South China, Flores, Celebes, and Timor seas, through the Torres Strait and inside the Great Barrier Reef. Interesting places for the navigationally-minded but at the time I knew the barest basics of maritime getting about, so was clueless as to where we were most of the time. The reason for the ship being quiet, I was later to find, was that since we "drank ourselves stupid round the Aussie coast and shagged ourselves stupid around south east Asia", the trips from Hong Kong to Sydney and Fremantle to Singapore were the only rest and recuperation periods we got.

If sea-time means seeing plenty of sea then I certainly got some in that trip. Due to a major fault with the auto-pilot, we spent most of the time hand steering and to save paying a quartermaster 4 hours overtime a day, I was put on the wheel on the 4 to 8 watch and racked up over 200 hours steering in a very short time. The requirement for a steering ticket was 20 hours, so if I learned nothing else that first trip, I learned how to steer. There's a certain zen to steering the same course for a full hour and trying not to deviate more than half a degree off the course line. The ability to focus the mind whilst steering is an art form that I accidentally acquired and still have when it comes to steering ships but only recently have I started to try to apply it to other aspects of life.

My opposite number (oppo) on the 4-8 was a Hong Kong Chinese quartermaster called Chiang Kai Shing whose English vocabulary consisted of "Fack", "Fack off" and "Faaackin' bastard", all delivered with a broad, slant-eyed, big teeth smile. Despite the obvious shortcomings in the communication field, Kai Shing and I had some full-on discussions over the relative quality of our steering ability as we examined the course recorder at the end of the watch. He'd look at it and  if he thought I'd done better than him, which was rarely the case, he'd point at the recorder and say "Fack off!", point at me, wag his finger and say "Faaackin' bastard!". On the far more common occasions when he had faired better, he would again look at the recorder, say "Fack!" then thumb his chest and declare himself the "Faaackin' bastard!" for the previous watch.

He took great pride in his ability to communicate with me and would often greet me with a friendly "Fack off, faaaking bastard" when he was in the company of his crew-mates on board ship or ashore. This would always be accompanied by the big smile, a handshake, slap on the back or combination thereof. Ashore, especially in south East Asian ports, I could never buy him a beer no matter how hard I tried whilst he, and to be fair most of the Chinese deckhands, put their best efforts into getting me pissed and laid before I returned to the ship. These guys were well paid by Hong Kong  standards at the time and they were prepared to invest heavily in the life education of a young man that obviously needed it. Regrettably, I resisted or avoided both temptations since due to an accursed Catholic upbringing, I could both take my drink and maintain high moral standards at the same time. Much as I now regret the missed opportunities, I probably avoided a few interesting medical phenomena of the genitalia in the process.

Still haven't got to Sydney yet, have we?