The Hose and the Pacific

I have been allowed to hold a fire hose. I should probably provide context before anyone begins contacting the shipping company, but that is the headline and I am not willing to bury it.

Yesterday's drill was finished. The crew had their own work to do. Today, during an arranged equipment demonstration on a clear section of deck, I was given a supervised turn with the nozzle. There was permission, protective equipment, a briefing, and another person controlling the situation throughout. I was not suddenly appointed to the emergency response team on the strength of owning a garden hose in Atlanta.

The briefing

Stand here. Feet apart. Both hands where shown. Do not point it at the deck, the equipment, a person, or anything you would prefer remained attached to the ship. The direction was over the side, into open water. If instructed to stop, stop.

I understood all of this. I also understood that the crew had recognised the expression of someone who was about to become eleven years old and had sensibly planned around it.

The pressure came on gradually. Even with help, the nozzle had a strength to it that rearranged my idea of what holding a hose involved. This was not watering a border. The stream went out in a bright, solid line, broke into spray further away, and struck the Pacific with absolutely no discernible effect on the Pacific.

It was magnificent.

I know that sounds excessive. I am aware that thousands of people use this equipment professionally without writing an emotional account of it afterward. I am also aware that none of those facts made it less magnificent.

Tiny stood close, supervising, and reminded me not to lean forward when I became enthusiastic. I had not realised enthusiasm could be identified from posture, but apparently mine is unmistakable.

A brief promotion

For a very short period, I was a man directing a serious quantity of water off a serious ship into a serious ocean. I did not build the equipment. I did not connect it. I certainly did not understand the system behind it. Nevertheless, there was a handle in my hands and a result in front of me, and I felt the familiar pleasure of a machine answering something I had done.

Perhaps that is what I have been missing about driving. An action, a response, a small physical conversation rather than another screen asking whether I accept its terms.

Priya watched from a safe distance. When the pressure was reduced and the nozzle handed back, she came over and asked whether I was pleased.

I said yes, in a manner that left very little room for doubt.

"You were smiling before the water came on."

"Preparation."

"You are still smiling."

She was as well, although less obviously. I am beginning to notice these things with an attention to detail I should probably devote to something more useful.

Back to passenger duties

The crew dealt with the hose and its proper stowage. I thanked everyone twice, attempted to help only where directed, and then returned to the more appropriate activity of staying out of the way.

At lunch, Elena asked whether I had enjoyed my little outing. News travels through this ship faster than any system we have discussed in the control room.

Kev wanted to know whether I now intended to explain firefighting to him as well as turbochargers. I said I was considering a very narrow consultancy concerned only with water pointed at the sea.

Tonight we are south of Honshu with the ocean opening ahead. My sleeves have dried. My qualifications remain unchanged. I have, however, had an absolutely splendid day, and I refuse to pretend otherwise.