It all begins The natural state of the world is one constantly balancing itself, but never balanced.  When the pendulum reaches its apex its momentum slows, then hangs precariously, before falling again, and this moment is the transitional moment.  It is this moment that balances time by bringing end to one revolution and prepares itself for the next.   Like balance, it is this transitional time that we prepare ourselves for, and yet are never prepared when it approaches.with an idea.

It all begins wTravel, v – to make a journey, typically of some length, or abroad.  

Traveler, n (synonyms) – Vacationer, visitor, pilgrim, backpacker, nomad, migrant, wanderer.

Standing under the arcade of airport in the pre-dawn darkness with the bags beside us, we are saying the same goodbye we say too often now.  So often these scenes have coalesced into the ritual of fare-thee-well.  Our embrace lasts a little longer, and when she is gone it becomes only I, and I walk past the others lining the curb, collecting their possessions.ith an idea.

It all begins with Being in a ship is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned.

-Samuel Johnson-

Ships inspire the romantic, and terrify the pragmatic, for there is no logical reason for man to place himself in one and go to where man is not intended to go, but to the romantic there is every reason to do so.  Ships insight curiosity, and often, like sirens, they cast their spells on the unsuspecting.  I have known the soul of a number of them, and still do those I have sailed call up in my dreams, harkening up from the sub-conscious my passion for them, beckoning to me, like a lost love, to finish that which we had begun.  A ship, like good architecture, is where art and utility are joined.  an idea.

The sun rides its low arch across the southern quarter of the sky, and looking out through the open hatch of the fidley across the back deck are the silhouttes of sea birds, they are the outriders of ships, and they glide without effort like marionettes on the strong breeze that blows off the beam, they dip then rise again over the capping waves of a golden coruscated sea.   And past the trailing barge, basked in the falling light is the Aleutian Island of Unalaska, defined by her serried snow laden peaks that rise aloft amid the incessant storm clouds, and encompassed by the turbulent waters of two converging seas.  This island and her string of sisters were once long ago conceived on a threshold between continental plates where the colliding continents gave rise to the arcing chain of volcanic islands that now define the northern boundary of the great Pacific rim of fire.  

They come from all walks.  Stumbling in their youth to the calling.  Detecting salt in their senses, and like a salmon to its natal stream they migrate to the waterfront seeking passage aboard a ship.  They feel the pull of the adventure, and are beckoned by the promise of good wages.  They come from an uneducated class, and upon the first port of call some will jump ship, the romance beaten out of them by the relentless sea. Those are never to return, the others will retain their berth.  They will retain the life.  It becomes all they know.  Their education the waves, their teachers the harsh salts who sometimes subtly, sometimes not, conform and initiate them into the intricacies of living aboard ship, to the small rituals and courtesies that make a shipmate; cleanliness, hard work, and a thickened hide capable of brushing off curses and ridicule.  In time they grow old, some advance in the ranks, some do not advance at all, but instead find mastery in the work of their rate.  Stubbornly they have persisted on whatever course they chose, or that which was chosen for them, until they become dependent on it.  Always keen to give it up, but to never retire, they continue on in dualistic confusion, both loving and hating it. 

The waters here are shallow and cold, given to freeze, with shelves of ice that drive down from the north, encroaching on the whale roads and fishing grounds, and winter’s cold winds howl across Siberia and over the frozen sea to the hard breed of men that still go out and risk their very lives for the promise of quick hard earned cash.  Think on it when you taste of that briny meat, brought up from the dark fathoms of the Bering Sea.  See the men clad in foul weather gear amid the tossing waves laboring to bring over the side the harvest of the seas bounty, sorting, storing, and then setting their catch on its journey from the fishing grounds here to the rest of the world; the buffets of Vegas, sushi restaurants of Japan, the delicatessens of Manhattan.  As I look about the world up here it is a world sustained by the snow crab of winter, and the brown, red, and blue king crab of summer and fall, and the people, the food, the gasoline, the houses, the luxuries, are all driven by the industry that brings it to your table.

This island, and the lesser three among it was St. Paul of the Pribilof Islands.  250 miles to the north of Dutch Harbor this archipelago stands as lone promontory outpost in the Bering Sea.  These islands look no more than to be frozen plateaus raised from the water.  In the era of discovery they became a prominent sealing station for the Russians, and criminals were sentenced to the island where they were given a quota of seals to kill, skin, then tan.  The hunting was so easy one only had to walk about the shore and club their prey over the head, and the quota could be met in less than half a year.  The life expectancy on these islands was little more than a few years, assuming the convicts arrived at all, for the leaky ships that made the voyage from Kodiak Island were prone to sinking.  With them were also sent Aleut slaves, who were valued for their knowledge in tanning seal hides.  The US came into possession of the Pribilof Islands as a part of the purchase of Alaska, known by the opposition of the purchase as ‘Seward’s Icebox’, in 1867.

The housewives pushing their carts about the Safeway look on in great wonderment as they land their cart to the register to find the far isle filled with six carts, and some young bearded man approaching with yet another stacked with four 24 count packages of toilet paper.  And another cart in tow with eight 18 packs of water and six Bounty 12 count paper towels.

The Hawaii Run, it is known as.  Some love this run, most hate or even fear it, and some enjoy it as a break from the grind of working in Alaska.  It could be important to mention here because this run contrasts well with the run of the Malolo, otherwise known as the shuttle run, in which we are shuttling barges all about.  Where as the longest average stint at sea between ports on the Malolo is usually 2 days, the trip to Hawaii averages 11 days with good weather.  And this run can assist us in looking into what a daily routine looks like on ships when the crew gets underway.