This is a two-fold post, one to update what’s going on with my book, the other to recount more nautical tales. Muted apologies for no recent postings, but time's been a problem of late...
My book, Ocean Titans, has been out here in Canada for a couple of weeks. So far, it’s been a quiet release, but the hope is that word of mouth – and some good reviews – will help to get things moving. As well, I received the news recently that the book will be released in hardcover form in the United States beginning this fall, thanks to Lyons Press down there. And that it will available in a number of library systems shortly (including the Toronto Public Library and the St. Catherines, Ontario, libraries.)
I encourage anyone interested in the sea, merchant shipping and those whose lives revolve around these man-made leviathans to check out my book and pass the word to all and sundry.
Meanwhile, I was again thinking of my time at sea working on the book as I changed the clocks around my home this past weekend. Going between Standard Time and Daylight Savings Time seems so much of a fuss to many of us, that we forget those whose jobs require constantly shifting between one time zone and another. Like mariners.
I was in London about a year and a half ago, about to cross the North Atlantic with a container ship and her crew, when I made a trek to the Royal Observatory in Greenwich. I wanted to see the Prime Meridian, that demarcation line from which all the world’s time zones have been standardized. Established some 250 years ago, this imaginary frontier between east and west can still be seen painted through the windows of the Observatory and highlighted in the adjacent cobble stoned courtyard. At 1:00pm (1300 hours) each day, an aluminum ball still drops from the spire of a nearby tower so that any vessels moored within sight upon the Thames River can set their chronometer accordingly.
Of course mariners today rely far more on computers and the global positioning system of satellites to determine their longitudinal positions, but each and every commercial vessel out there still maintains a ship’s clock that is set to Greenwich Time (also known as Universal Time or Zulu Time). But any good officer can still plot a position using the chronometer, a calculator and a set of Admiralty charts – just in case the computers go down.
Another surprising item stored somewhere in a ship’s wheelhouse is a sextant, that unique device required to shoot the sun or stars. Aboard the MV Antwerpen they carried two brass models crafted in what was once the German Democratic Republic (East Germany), and holding one in my hands was a delight. Like the chronometer, it’s there in case all the high tech equipment fails. And along with a library of nautical charts, mathematical indexes and operational manuals, these are the tools that make a vessel self-sufficient in navigation.
The skill and precision that merchant mariners use everyday makes me wish I'd paid more attention to my high school math classes. But, then again, I never did become a true seafarer. Only an observer. More thoughts soon.