The “I’m Tired And I Want To Go Home” Factor

By Capt. Bill Band

It was around 0430 in March 2006. I had just anchored a bulk carrier off of Annapolis. The crew was from Poland, and our ability to communicate in English was somewhat limited. There was an ebb tide, and the wind was picking up out of the north. I had anchored the ship in a fashion to give myself a lee, but I had to move quickly because the ship was weathervaning.
            When I got down to the main deck, for some reason, the chief mate had decided that the pilot ladder was not properly rigged and had the whole thing up on deck. I was a little alarmed by this, as I could tell that I was going to lose the lee I had created. The proper thing to have done at this point would have been to trudge back up to the bridge and kick the ship ahead with full-right rudder. To communicate this to the captain, whose English was halting, seemed like more trouble than it was worth. Besides, I was tired and just wanted to get off the ship and go home. With that little alarm bell still going off somewhere in the back of my mind, I called the launch alongside and figured I’d look at the wave action from the ladder once the boat got closer.
            I went partway down the ladder, and the launch operator came alongside. The boat was pitching quite a bit, but I figured I could make the transition quickly enough. I know my timing is good on the ladder. I was just above the boat, leaning out with my right hand for the boat’s rail, and holding on to the Jacob’s ladder with my left. At the instant I began to relax my grip on the ladder, the pilot launch dropped away into the trough of a wave that was much bigger than the others advancing down the side of the ship in the darkness. I literally felt my heart skip a beat. A moment later, the violently moving boat came up and brushed me enough to pick my feet up off the ladder. For a fraction of a second, I thought I was going in. Fortunately, my feet came down on the ladder’s wooden rung. I remember hearing the crew on the ship’s deck shouting in alarm. Still watching the boat, I made a quick move and stepped thankfully aboard.
            The seriousness of that near accident was not lost on the boat operator, the deckhand, or me. We were all too shaken to speak until we got back to the City Dock in Annapolis. Had I gone into the bay’s freezing water in the dark, I don’t think my chances would have been too good. I wear an inflatable PFD and have a strobe light attached, but I wouldn’t have had much time before becoming debilitated by the cold. I had failed to listen to that inner alarm bell because I was tired and I wanted to go home.