"We're on a collision course!"
Oct. 9th, 2005 12:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
peristaltorAfter working boats now for almost 15 years, it's time I shared one of the most spetacular near-miss accidents that I witnessed, involving a grain freighter and the aircraft carrier USS Nimitz.
I was piloting the Spirit of Seattle on a clear, calm evening. To kill three hours and give the passengers lovely sights, we usually cruise out of Seattle's Elliott Bay, cross Puget Sound, and dip into whatever coves and bays the time and the conditions will allow. That night I decided to cross the Sound toward Blake Island.
Puget Sounds waters are some of the most travelled in the country. As a result, the Coast Guard has established a vessel traffic system called Seattle Traffic. This is a series of radar and radio broadcast towers positioned along the Sound to moniter and assist the half million or so ship passages each year. According to the regulations, larger commercial vessels must check into the system to alert Traffic to their proposed travel and work plans. In return the vessels are advised about other boats, weather conditions special circumstances, or any of a variety of goings-on along the route. It's quite handy.
So, before crossing the busy shipping lanes to the west side of the Sound, I checked in. I was advised that the aircraft carrier Nimitz would be leaving her home port at the Bremerton Naval Shipyards and proceeding out to sea.
My deckhand that evening was a bit bored. She suggested we head into Rich Passage and see the Nimitz up close and personal. Just for chuckles, I headed that way.
Now, Rich Pass, the waterway toward Bremerton, is one very narrow passage indeed. The Spirit was small enough that we could easily shift our 110 feet off to one of the small bays alongside pass and enthrall the passengers with the bulky and ponderous maneauvering of over a thousand feet of steel and weapons. It sounded like the perfect diversion to a boring night. By the time we got to the entrance to the pass, however, the Nimitz was nowhere to be seen. It was one thing to hang out at the pass entrance; it was another thing altogether to dip into the pass -- into the very narrow portion of the pass -- and either get the way of the carrier's ninety degree dogleg between Bainbridge Island and the Kitsap Pennisula, or be stuck behind the carrier as it made that turn and delay the cruise by hours, pissing off everyone who had to get back home to pay the babysitters. So instead, we blew off the carrier and turned south toward Manchester and Southworth on the west side of Blake Island.
Before crossing eastward, I again called Traffic. I was informed that the Nimitz was finally making her way out of the pass, and that the freighter Quan Xi Hei (the spelling may incorrect) was at Three Tree Point steaming north. The freighter had the right of way over my Spirit of Seattle for many reasons:
a) It was following the traffic lanes, a pathway in Puget Sound creating north and south lanes of travel, marked by buoys at the turning points;
b) As it was traveling north and I east, it was therefore to my right, giving it automatic right-of-way over my vessel even if the lanes did not exist; and
c) It was a much huger vessel than mine, meaning that, in a collision, it could crush me like a pop can under a logger's boot.
Please note that the final reason for avoiding a conflicted passage with the Quan Xi Hei is not specified in the Rules of the Road, as are the first two reasons. Reason c) is what we mariners half-jokingly call the Law of Tonnage. It is a common-sense admition that, no matter how big your boat is, you have to respect boats that are bigger. Invoking the Law of Tonnage is to simply ignore smaller boats in confusing crossing situations, always keeping an eye on the little guys in case they haven't heard of the Rule and decide to commit suicide by stupidity or stubborness.
Three Tree Point was several miles south of me, but the freighter was making good time and I estimated, would be approximately where I would be later in the crossing. Some of the guys would head straight through, then stop in the lanes and call the pilot to reassure him that he could proceed. Some would be oblivious or dickish and try to beat the freighter. Though I didn't have to, I diverted a few degees south, just to let the pilot know that I would be yielding, without needing to call and inform him. It was just polite.
I'm glad I did.
Just about the time we started our crossing, we were buzzed by two naval helicopters. This told me the Nimitz was making its way out of the pass and had sent some scout choppers to make sure no bad guys were lurking about. The choppers buzzed by once and headed north again, presumably to land, secure, and await the quicker trip out to sea.
The choppers did not head down toward Three Tree Point.
Just after the choppers left, I heard the radioman on the Nimitz inform Traffic that they were clear of Manchester and would shortly reach Restoration Point and head north. Traffic informed Nimitz only of the Quan Xi Hei (since I was already out of the way of the Nimitz).
Now, plotting a course is really quite easy. I usually do this visually, since I was rarely very far from land. You can also plot on your radar. Most radars have what is called a moveable bearing marker. You simply place the marker on a blip and observe what it does. The marker is a line extending outward from the center of the round screen. You are the center of the screen. If the blip falls off the line and deviates in a direction other than on the marker line, chances are good that you will not have to worry. If, however, the blip follows the line toward the center of the screen (your boat), you have what is referred to in the industry as a CBDR, a continuous bearing with diminishing range, or, in the vernacular, a collision course.
To plot my yielding course to the freighter, for example, I simply aimed my forward bearing marker toward the ship, then deviated a few degrees to the right and set the compass course on the autopilot. The freighter pilot would undoubtably see my blip, put a moveable bearing marker on it, see that my blip fell quickly away from the marker, and know that I was probably nothing to worry about. Easy as pie.
The Nimitz, though. . . .
Just after the Nimitz had its conversation with Traffic and recalled its choppers, the pilot of the Quan Xi Hei tried to hail the carrier. He tried on the bridge-to-bridge channel 13, a channel all commercial vessels are to moniter. He tried repeatedly. And got nothing.
So he tried 14, Seattle Traffic's official channel. All vessels checked in with Traffic are required to keep a radio watch monitering 14. Again, he tried repeatedly and again, he got nothing.
He tried on Channel 16, the International Hailing and Distress Channel. The name should say it all. Where ever you go in the world with a marine radio, you are to moniter this channel. This way, if someone needs to reach you with a question about your boat's wine cellar or a concern that they are on fire and sinking, you can respond. Still nothing.
That's when things started to look a bit hectic.
You see, I had finally come abeam of the Quan Xi Hei and watched her pass by bow. I then steered north following in her path. I had also been able to see the Nimitz for some time. The Foss tractor tugs that had assisted the Nimitz had cast off their lines and were steaming off to port. The carrier was sailing free and clear, and could presumably maneauver. And she was. She was slowly creeping passed Bainbridge Island on a perfect west to east passage. . . directly into the path of the Quan Xi Hei.
At this point the radio silence from the behemoth was rattling everyone on the radio.
I was scanning as fast as I could. The pilot hailed the tugs, went to the tugboat working frequency, 19 alpha, and tried the Nimitz there. Traffic was hailing on every frequency not being tried by the freighter. From the initial hail on 13 to the first responce, it was ten minutes of radio pandamonium.
I seem to remember Traffic able to hail and directing the Nimitz to respond on ship-to-ship.
"Quan Xi Hei, this is the Nimitz."
"Nimitz, Quan Xi Hei. I am northbound in the Traffic Lanes to your starboard." (Remember what I said about the Rules of the Road? No subtle dig, that.) "What are your intentions?"
"Quan Xi Hei, Nimitz. We are proceeding to Buoy Tango and north to sea."
Buoy Tango, or "T" as it is marked, is something of an intersection at sea. It marks the crossing between Bremerton and Seattle east to west, and marks a slight turn of direction for vessels in the traffic lanes. Just like a traffic island on the roads, you keep Buoy Tango to your port side, no matter which path you are following, just so no one gets in trouble during passing situations.
I'm sure somewhere on the bridge of the Nimitz, two or three people were standing about marking the current location of Tango. Once the officer in charge of the helm, probably the First Mate, learned that Tango had passed safely astern of the carrier's pivot point -- the theoretical pivot of the vessel -- the helm would be directed to turn the ship to whatever degrees to port and they would leave the buoy unscathed to their port side.
Which would put them directly in the path of the freighter.
I hope the above explanation gave a sense of some time passing, because time indeed passed. After that most pregnant of pauses, the radio again:
"Nimitz, Quan Xi Hei.
"Quan Xi Hei, Nimitz."
"Sir, do you have me on radar?"
(Pause)
"Quan Xi Hei, Nimitz, that's a negative."
"WELL I DON'T SEE HOW YOU COULD MISS ME. I'M DAMNED NEAR 900 FEET LONG! NOW, WATCH YOUR RADAR. WE'RE ON A COLLISION COURSE!!!"
Mind you, shouting on the radio is considered rude. You are supposed to remain calm and professional during radio exchanges, cordial even. But the freighter was traveling too fast to stop or even slow down in time. The pilot could not divert to the east, away from the carrier, until he passed Alki Point, directly east of Buoy Tango.
So he had good reason to shout.
My deckhand and I watched with amazement as the two ships got closer and closer. I was traveling north, trailing the freighter about a quarter mile from her stern, close enough to read the name clearly, even at night. The carrier was less than a mile from me, huge and looming. That meant the two ships, each just under a half-mile in length, were less than a quarter mile from each other.
Finally, two things happened simultaneously. The Quan Xi Hei passed abeam of Alki Point, and radioed Traffic:
"Traffic, Quan Xi Hei, diverting into Elliott Bay to avoid collision."
The carrier also passed its pivot marker, started veering to port, presumedly bending around Tango.
She was about at about forty five degrees to Tango -- and parallel to the diverting freighter -- when she took off.
The bioluminescent plankton helped quite a bit in lighting the scene ahead. This plankton, when active, glows when agitated. Splash your hand in the Sound at night and you will see the splash itself. The water splashed will glow with an eerie greenish hue, and then slowly fade from view. Observe for a moment my LJ user icon, with the propeller. With intense plankton activity, you can see this pattern yourself in real life -- one of the reasons I chose it for my icon. Go to the stern of your vessel underway on such a bioluminescent evening and you will see in green those same iconic cavitation patterns at the tips and center of your propeller lighting the waters behind you as you motor into the night.
I don't know much about aircraft carriers because I don't care. I have heard a few little snippets here and there that might help to put the sight I saw that night in perspective.
Carriers of the Nimitz class have four steam tubine driven propeller shafts turning massive props and powered by up to nine nuclear reactors. Along with this official description of the drive system comes an official top speed of "+33 knots", meaning that is as fast as the navy will admit to them being able to travel. That number is on the low end. I heard from an engineer serving on the Nimitz back in college that under maximum acceleration -- say, from a near dead stop in Puget Sound to full ahead -- those lengthy shafts deliver so much torque to the props that they twist one and one half revolutions difference from the head of the shaft to the prop.
I saw those props roil a mountain of water brightly lit by the night's abundant plankton, water that exploded from the waterline and shot half way up the transom, a sheer, flat steel wall that rises well over a hundred feet from the waterline. In three minutes the carrier was over a mile farther away and nearly out of sight.
After the terror had passed, there were a few witty rejoinders over the radio. One wit shouted "God Loves the Navy!" The best was from the Traffic controller on duty:
"Nimitz, Seattle Traffic."
"Traffic, the Nimitz."
"Nimitz, do you have a land-line available?"
Hee hee. Those conversations that can't take place over the public airways continue on cell. That Captain was about to get his ass reamed by no one other than the Commandant of the 13th Coast Guard District, the director of Seattle Traffic and the guy with the direct line to that carrier captain's immediate superior.
What the controller meant to say but couldn't was probably "Numbnutz, exactly what the fuck were you thinking?"
I doubted anyone would believe my first-hand encounter with arrogance at the helm of a carrier, so I requested the transcripts from Traffic under the Freedom of Information Act. For some reason, they never arrived, even after three requests. Sounds like someone had some pull. Hey, I wasn't trying to stir up trouble.
I just wanted to post the whole thing on the internet. . . .
I was piloting the Spirit of Seattle on a clear, calm evening. To kill three hours and give the passengers lovely sights, we usually cruise out of Seattle's Elliott Bay, cross Puget Sound, and dip into whatever coves and bays the time and the conditions will allow. That night I decided to cross the Sound toward Blake Island.
Puget Sounds waters are some of the most travelled in the country. As a result, the Coast Guard has established a vessel traffic system called Seattle Traffic. This is a series of radar and radio broadcast towers positioned along the Sound to moniter and assist the half million or so ship passages each year. According to the regulations, larger commercial vessels must check into the system to alert Traffic to their proposed travel and work plans. In return the vessels are advised about other boats, weather conditions special circumstances, or any of a variety of goings-on along the route. It's quite handy.
So, before crossing the busy shipping lanes to the west side of the Sound, I checked in. I was advised that the aircraft carrier Nimitz would be leaving her home port at the Bremerton Naval Shipyards and proceeding out to sea.
My deckhand that evening was a bit bored. She suggested we head into Rich Passage and see the Nimitz up close and personal. Just for chuckles, I headed that way.
Now, Rich Pass, the waterway toward Bremerton, is one very narrow passage indeed. The Spirit was small enough that we could easily shift our 110 feet off to one of the small bays alongside pass and enthrall the passengers with the bulky and ponderous maneauvering of over a thousand feet of steel and weapons. It sounded like the perfect diversion to a boring night. By the time we got to the entrance to the pass, however, the Nimitz was nowhere to be seen. It was one thing to hang out at the pass entrance; it was another thing altogether to dip into the pass -- into the very narrow portion of the pass -- and either get the way of the carrier's ninety degree dogleg between Bainbridge Island and the Kitsap Pennisula, or be stuck behind the carrier as it made that turn and delay the cruise by hours, pissing off everyone who had to get back home to pay the babysitters. So instead, we blew off the carrier and turned south toward Manchester and Southworth on the west side of Blake Island.
Before crossing eastward, I again called Traffic. I was informed that the Nimitz was finally making her way out of the pass, and that the freighter Quan Xi Hei (the spelling may incorrect) was at Three Tree Point steaming north. The freighter had the right of way over my Spirit of Seattle for many reasons:
a) It was following the traffic lanes, a pathway in Puget Sound creating north and south lanes of travel, marked by buoys at the turning points;
b) As it was traveling north and I east, it was therefore to my right, giving it automatic right-of-way over my vessel even if the lanes did not exist; and
c) It was a much huger vessel than mine, meaning that, in a collision, it could crush me like a pop can under a logger's boot.
Please note that the final reason for avoiding a conflicted passage with the Quan Xi Hei is not specified in the Rules of the Road, as are the first two reasons. Reason c) is what we mariners half-jokingly call the Law of Tonnage. It is a common-sense admition that, no matter how big your boat is, you have to respect boats that are bigger. Invoking the Law of Tonnage is to simply ignore smaller boats in confusing crossing situations, always keeping an eye on the little guys in case they haven't heard of the Rule and decide to commit suicide by stupidity or stubborness.
Three Tree Point was several miles south of me, but the freighter was making good time and I estimated, would be approximately where I would be later in the crossing. Some of the guys would head straight through, then stop in the lanes and call the pilot to reassure him that he could proceed. Some would be oblivious or dickish and try to beat the freighter. Though I didn't have to, I diverted a few degees south, just to let the pilot know that I would be yielding, without needing to call and inform him. It was just polite.
I'm glad I did.
Just about the time we started our crossing, we were buzzed by two naval helicopters. This told me the Nimitz was making its way out of the pass and had sent some scout choppers to make sure no bad guys were lurking about. The choppers buzzed by once and headed north again, presumably to land, secure, and await the quicker trip out to sea.
The choppers did not head down toward Three Tree Point.
Just after the choppers left, I heard the radioman on the Nimitz inform Traffic that they were clear of Manchester and would shortly reach Restoration Point and head north. Traffic informed Nimitz only of the Quan Xi Hei (since I was already out of the way of the Nimitz).
Now, plotting a course is really quite easy. I usually do this visually, since I was rarely very far from land. You can also plot on your radar. Most radars have what is called a moveable bearing marker. You simply place the marker on a blip and observe what it does. The marker is a line extending outward from the center of the round screen. You are the center of the screen. If the blip falls off the line and deviates in a direction other than on the marker line, chances are good that you will not have to worry. If, however, the blip follows the line toward the center of the screen (your boat), you have what is referred to in the industry as a CBDR, a continuous bearing with diminishing range, or, in the vernacular, a collision course.
To plot my yielding course to the freighter, for example, I simply aimed my forward bearing marker toward the ship, then deviated a few degrees to the right and set the compass course on the autopilot. The freighter pilot would undoubtably see my blip, put a moveable bearing marker on it, see that my blip fell quickly away from the marker, and know that I was probably nothing to worry about. Easy as pie.
The Nimitz, though. . . .
Just after the Nimitz had its conversation with Traffic and recalled its choppers, the pilot of the Quan Xi Hei tried to hail the carrier. He tried on the bridge-to-bridge channel 13, a channel all commercial vessels are to moniter. He tried repeatedly. And got nothing.
So he tried 14, Seattle Traffic's official channel. All vessels checked in with Traffic are required to keep a radio watch monitering 14. Again, he tried repeatedly and again, he got nothing.
He tried on Channel 16, the International Hailing and Distress Channel. The name should say it all. Where ever you go in the world with a marine radio, you are to moniter this channel. This way, if someone needs to reach you with a question about your boat's wine cellar or a concern that they are on fire and sinking, you can respond. Still nothing.
That's when things started to look a bit hectic.
You see, I had finally come abeam of the Quan Xi Hei and watched her pass by bow. I then steered north following in her path. I had also been able to see the Nimitz for some time. The Foss tractor tugs that had assisted the Nimitz had cast off their lines and were steaming off to port. The carrier was sailing free and clear, and could presumably maneauver. And she was. She was slowly creeping passed Bainbridge Island on a perfect west to east passage. . . directly into the path of the Quan Xi Hei.
At this point the radio silence from the behemoth was rattling everyone on the radio.
I was scanning as fast as I could. The pilot hailed the tugs, went to the tugboat working frequency, 19 alpha, and tried the Nimitz there. Traffic was hailing on every frequency not being tried by the freighter. From the initial hail on 13 to the first responce, it was ten minutes of radio pandamonium.
I seem to remember Traffic able to hail and directing the Nimitz to respond on ship-to-ship.
"Quan Xi Hei, this is the Nimitz."
"Nimitz, Quan Xi Hei. I am northbound in the Traffic Lanes to your starboard." (Remember what I said about the Rules of the Road? No subtle dig, that.) "What are your intentions?"
"Quan Xi Hei, Nimitz. We are proceeding to Buoy Tango and north to sea."
Buoy Tango, or "T" as it is marked, is something of an intersection at sea. It marks the crossing between Bremerton and Seattle east to west, and marks a slight turn of direction for vessels in the traffic lanes. Just like a traffic island on the roads, you keep Buoy Tango to your port side, no matter which path you are following, just so no one gets in trouble during passing situations.
I'm sure somewhere on the bridge of the Nimitz, two or three people were standing about marking the current location of Tango. Once the officer in charge of the helm, probably the First Mate, learned that Tango had passed safely astern of the carrier's pivot point -- the theoretical pivot of the vessel -- the helm would be directed to turn the ship to whatever degrees to port and they would leave the buoy unscathed to their port side.
Which would put them directly in the path of the freighter.
I hope the above explanation gave a sense of some time passing, because time indeed passed. After that most pregnant of pauses, the radio again:
"Nimitz, Quan Xi Hei.
"Quan Xi Hei, Nimitz."
"Sir, do you have me on radar?"
(Pause)
"Quan Xi Hei, Nimitz, that's a negative."
"WELL I DON'T SEE HOW YOU COULD MISS ME. I'M DAMNED NEAR 900 FEET LONG! NOW, WATCH YOUR RADAR. WE'RE ON A COLLISION COURSE!!!"
Mind you, shouting on the radio is considered rude. You are supposed to remain calm and professional during radio exchanges, cordial even. But the freighter was traveling too fast to stop or even slow down in time. The pilot could not divert to the east, away from the carrier, until he passed Alki Point, directly east of Buoy Tango.
So he had good reason to shout.
My deckhand and I watched with amazement as the two ships got closer and closer. I was traveling north, trailing the freighter about a quarter mile from her stern, close enough to read the name clearly, even at night. The carrier was less than a mile from me, huge and looming. That meant the two ships, each just under a half-mile in length, were less than a quarter mile from each other.
Finally, two things happened simultaneously. The Quan Xi Hei passed abeam of Alki Point, and radioed Traffic:
"Traffic, Quan Xi Hei, diverting into Elliott Bay to avoid collision."
The carrier also passed its pivot marker, started veering to port, presumedly bending around Tango.
She was about at about forty five degrees to Tango -- and parallel to the diverting freighter -- when she took off.
The bioluminescent plankton helped quite a bit in lighting the scene ahead. This plankton, when active, glows when agitated. Splash your hand in the Sound at night and you will see the splash itself. The water splashed will glow with an eerie greenish hue, and then slowly fade from view. Observe for a moment my LJ user icon, with the propeller. With intense plankton activity, you can see this pattern yourself in real life -- one of the reasons I chose it for my icon. Go to the stern of your vessel underway on such a bioluminescent evening and you will see in green those same iconic cavitation patterns at the tips and center of your propeller lighting the waters behind you as you motor into the night.
I don't know much about aircraft carriers because I don't care. I have heard a few little snippets here and there that might help to put the sight I saw that night in perspective.
Carriers of the Nimitz class have four steam tubine driven propeller shafts turning massive props and powered by up to nine nuclear reactors. Along with this official description of the drive system comes an official top speed of "+33 knots", meaning that is as fast as the navy will admit to them being able to travel. That number is on the low end. I heard from an engineer serving on the Nimitz back in college that under maximum acceleration -- say, from a near dead stop in Puget Sound to full ahead -- those lengthy shafts deliver so much torque to the props that they twist one and one half revolutions difference from the head of the shaft to the prop.
I saw those props roil a mountain of water brightly lit by the night's abundant plankton, water that exploded from the waterline and shot half way up the transom, a sheer, flat steel wall that rises well over a hundred feet from the waterline. In three minutes the carrier was over a mile farther away and nearly out of sight.
After the terror had passed, there were a few witty rejoinders over the radio. One wit shouted "God Loves the Navy!" The best was from the Traffic controller on duty:
"Nimitz, Seattle Traffic."
"Traffic, the Nimitz."
"Nimitz, do you have a land-line available?"
Hee hee. Those conversations that can't take place over the public airways continue on cell. That Captain was about to get his ass reamed by no one other than the Commandant of the 13th Coast Guard District, the director of Seattle Traffic and the guy with the direct line to that carrier captain's immediate superior.
What the controller meant to say but couldn't was probably "Numbnutz, exactly what the fuck were you thinking?"
I doubted anyone would believe my first-hand encounter with arrogance at the helm of a carrier, so I requested the transcripts from Traffic under the Freedom of Information Act. For some reason, they never arrived, even after three requests. Sounds like someone had some pull. Hey, I wasn't trying to stir up trouble.
I just wanted to post the whole thing on the internet. . . .