Supertanker

Living on a Monster VLCC

Dr Ray Solly

• Publisher: The History Press
• Year: 2019
• ISBN:
  9780750992855
• Topic: Technik & Maschinenbau
• Subtopic: Seeverkehr

"NAVIGATING AND ENGINEERING OFFICERS REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY FOR VERY LARGE CRUDE OIL CARRIER. TANKER EXPERIENCE PREFERRED." - Lloyd's List and Shipping Gazette

The advertisement captured Ray Solly's attention whilst he was on leave and demanded direct action! Viewed from the bridge of dry-cargo ships, the sleek lines of VLCCs and their potential navigational challenges always intrigued Ray – so, without hesitation, he grabbed the chance, leaving his current employer, and setting out to fulfil a dream. Supertanker examines life at sea aboard a 1970s monster where reader and author meet on board, encountering and overcoming exciting new challenges in navigation, ship handling, and cargo control. All the while, overshadowing everything else, is the awareness that this loaded ship carries around 80 million gallons of oil every day. But Supertanker is more than just the record of a new adventure. It lifts the lid on the realities of life far out at sea handling such behemoths and reveals why international safety and competency bars had to be raised.

CHAPTER ONE

MEETING THE MONSTER

My initial sighting of the VLCC Rania Chandris as the local aircraft from Copenhagen to Elsinore in Denmark came into land revealed what seemed to be an island attached to a large concrete jetty. Looking down on the recently completed supertanker offered a gull’s eye view. Actually seeing this vessel close up really focused my mind. I could not believe the size of it, she was colossal! I had been told by fellow mariners these vessels were the largest moving objects devised by man, but after serving as a navigating officer aboard dry-cargo ships of 7,000–10,000 gross registered tons (grt) and averaging 450ft overall length, I simply could not visualise taking this 145,000grt, 1,139.2ft long (or 347.2m, virtually a quarter of a mile) monster to sea – and being responsible for her safe navigation.

The theory of voyage planning did not bother me over-much for this would be close to the requirements normal for any vessel, apart from paying much closer attention to depths of water below the hull. Anyway, I had already made easily enough in my seafaring life a fairly difficult professional and social transition from navigating deep-sea ships to the profoundly unique idiosyncrasies then associated with coastal trading, so I did not envisage too many problems going in the other capacity direction, as it were. No, my thoughts were fired by the reality of actually seeing this sheer bulk of ship. The sight refocused concerns regarding what might confront me when entering the wheelhouse door and taking responsibility for two sea-going navigational watches totalling eight hours a day. I pondered specifically how this giant might handle under way when altering course. I tried to think positively, for at least my previous concerns of absorbing brand new cargo procedures and coping with standby operations on a massive forecastle or after-deck were forced into insignificance. I recall suddenly having ‘butterflies in the stomach’ that were completing somersaults while I was wondering just what the hell I had let myself in for. Suddenly, those smaller dry-cargo ships and a familiar way of life seemed almost friendly!

Although under way in these shots, the views correspond directly to the initial sighting of Rania Chandris as the local aircraft from Copenhagen flew over the ship as it came into land at Elsinore. (Fotoflite)

I was to discover these would not be the only shocks I experienced during the course of my following years’ service aboard this class of ship. I remain unsure to this day what prescience might have motivated me into keeping comprehensive records of nearly everything that happened professionally on board during my first three tours with Rania Chandris. Certainly, that first glimpse could not foresee how my records could indicate an international gestation period that would turn these vessels from evolutionary large crude oil carriers into revolutionary ships. Nor how concerns merely hinted at in those days regarding environmental pollution and drunken crews would lead to a gradual monitoring of social behaviour and introduce computerised systems, complex safety devices, and stringent regulations that would alter drastically the construction from single to double-hull ships, operational practices and cargo handling/engineering techniques on the world’s fleet of VLCCs. Nor could I begin even to forecast how such essential interventions might turn the oil-tanker industry into the most highly regulated form of transportation in the world. And how, in turn, this would pave the way for unexpected offshoots affecting safety aboard the products and chemical tanker fleets: dry-cargo carriers, container ships and passenger liners to affect even the laissez-faire attitude towards seafaring practices I had experienced aboard coastal vessels.

So, giving the radio officer a dry lopsided grin expressing a relaxed humour that frankly was not felt, but nevertheless outwardly sharing his clear excitement, I retook my seat and reflected on the circumstances leading to this present situation.

My adventure had begun innocently enough while on leave between voyages. During coffee one morning, while glancing through that bastion of maritime information, the journal Lloyd’s List, my idle eyes were captured by an insignificant advertisement in the situations vacant column:

Navigating and Engineering officers required immediately for very large crude oil carrier. Tanker experience preferred.

Apply to Box xxxx Lloyd’s List and Shipping Gazette.

I had always wanted to navigate VLCC-class vessels, colloquially known as supertankers, but my companies to date had served only deep-sea dry-cargo trades. Often casting almost lustful eyes, I had passed close by these monsters or had seen them on distant horizons and had chatted with officers serving aboard them by Aldis lamp or more recently VHF, so this advert jumped from the page to hit me foursquare between the eyes. A few printed words, it seemed, could possibly offer my chance. Undeterred by the ‘tanker experience’ aspect (or lack of it) but prepared for disappointment, my application was in the post next day.

Just two days’ later, a phone call invited me for interview the following day ‘if, of course, you are available’ with Captain Ivan Branch, the marine superintendent serving Chandris Tankers of England, at 5 St Helen’s Place, Bishopsgate in London. It seemed the shipping company based in Piraeus, Athens, were owners of a number of cruise liners (for which they remain renowned), plus a second fleet of assorted 7,000–8,000grt dry-cargo and product tankers. This London–Greek concern was expanding its existing collection of VLCCs and had purchased the latest addition from an ambitious Maersk Line that seemingly had over-ordered. At 286,000 summer deadweight tons (sdwt), Rania Chandris was to be the company’s largest vessel, hence flagship of the fleet, and would carry its senior master as commodore. Having just been launched, she was lying in the fitting out berth at Odense Steel Shipyard, Elsinore, some 20 miles north of Copenhagen, Denmark, awaiting completion.

The super paused before examining my qualifications, discharge book and record of sea service to date and asked bluntly, in ‘a seamanlike manner’: ‘Why have you applied for a position for which you are not even remotely qualified?’

I answered quite simply: ‘I always wanted to serve aboard tankers and applied to Caltex among a few dry-cargo companies, but one of the latter was first to offer a deck cadetship so this was accepted. I remain enthusiastic about tankers and believe the fundamentals could soon be learnt.’

Taking this on the chin, he gave me a penetratingly direct look and mentioned it might be helpful to me (and the ship!) if I would consider joining as an extra officer for one voyage until I could be trusted with my fair share of cargo watches.

‘Your saving grace,’ Captain Branch continued, ‘lies in the amount of time still outstanding for the tanker to complete her fitting out, and anyway – should we both agree to your joining – then being on board over this period would offer excellent opportunities for you to learn general tanker routines and become acquainted with the structure of the ship prior to working with Danish officers and ratings during sea trials.’

It became apparent that afterwards I would join the other officers attending the handing over ceremony – and share its delicious celebratory dinner. Then, even before ink had dried on the certificates and with the Danish flag changed for the Red Ensign, she would sail for the Arabian Gulf and my subsequent tour of her maiden and second voyages.

As our interview progressed he elaborated on the manning scales. Chandris was comparatively unique as a VLCC owner because the company deck-officered ships of this class with a master and four permanent navigators. This was unlike many contemporary oil majors, who usually retained voyage traditions of three deck officers, often putting on an extra man for the run after Las Palmas when tank cleaning took place. They would then, if the tanks were completed ready for preloading inspection, fly him home either from Cape Town or an appropriate Arabian Gulf port.

Captain Branch’s brows furrowed while clearly coming to a further decision. Looking directly at me (once again), he advised, ‘Basically, if you are prepared to join the ship on third officer’s salary and doing his job then, after a first tour of two voyages totalling about four months, you would go on two months’ leave hopefully to be promoted upon your return for further tours.’

I rather liked the way he assumed we were already professionally wedded – it seemed to imply (and inspire) an inordinate measure of confidence with me and in me! He concluded that were I happy with his offer then I could sign a contract and in a few days the company would fly me out to Odense.

Distant sightings of numerous VLCCs while on passage aboard dry-cargo ships had whetted my appetite to serve on ships of this class. (Fotoflite)

My agreement and signing of the already prepared papers took only a few seconds. As I was in London where this new building was registered at Lloyd’s Shipping Registry, and on the Shipping (Officers) Federation pool in nearby Mansell Street, a quick call could be made for clearances, including a medical. Phoning my dry-cargo employers next day, they were far from happy with my unexpected decision to part company with them: in fact, they were livid. However, having cast my die, five days’ later I was at Heathrow, having arranged to meet our radio officer to board a BEA jet taking us to Copenhagen for an onward local flight to join the ship. It seemed Sparks and I, along with the other officers, would be berthed in local lodgings for a few days until our accommodation on board was habitable.

* * *

Ben, our Sparks, was an experienced radio officer employed by Marconi Marine, who supplied the radio equipment for the vessel. He was about 50 years of age, and married with teenaged children. This would be his first experience of tanker life and I found myself warming to his cheerfully relaxed temperament.

Our arrival at the lodging house was fortuitous, for we just had time to go into our comfortably adequate rooms and unpack before the remainder of the officers arrived from the ship for supper at the end of a lengthy days’ work. Meeting new colleagues over the deck officers’ table was little different from the norm with which I had been accustomed since joining that transient existence constituting the Merchant Navy. My immediate contacts socially had to be these other mates with whom I would work directly, taking friendships with the engineers, Sparks and the chief hunk (or steward) as these occurred. So we initially appraised each other quite warily, for there always resided a doubt regarding personalities, and how these might or might not intermingle over what could prove a potentially lengthy trip. But, as the meal developed with neutral experiences exchanged larded with adventures of past ships and voyages amidst numerous humorous anecdotes, so came the inevitable thaw. By the time we had finished coffee in the lounge each of us had agreed privately that the other was ‘probably going to be worth living with’.

Derek, the chief officer, my immediate working boss, was a few years older than me, happily married with a young family and living in Devon. Similarly to the master, chief and second engineers, he had served his career to date aboard tankers and had also been recruited following an advert in Lloyd’s. Having joined the ship nine weeks’ previously, his inducement to sign on had been a promise of promotion to his own command of a later VLCC. I took to his quiet, warmly pleasing disposition immediately and felt inspired by his accepting confidence, so looked forward to learning and being guided by his vast tanker experience. Paul Tenbury, the second officer, was another tanker man. Recently married, he had been promised that on subsequent voyages he could bring along his wife, with the company generously footing the bill for her travel costs. We awaited the first officer, whom we understood was called Tim Wheeler, an ex-Mobil chief officer, who would be joining in a few days’ time. Surrounded by all of this prof...