I saw the most amazing sight at work today and of course didn't have a camera with me so I'll have to just post pictures of the Bering Rose being off-loaded - it should be about done by now and the night crew should be moving on to the Great Pacific. Anyways, it was about 6:45 maybe, a good hour into my shift, and there was a problem with a pump that shut the whole plant down. I got my area squared away and wandered over and looked over the railing at the two guys frantically working on the pump, two levels below me, kneeling in fish guts in their raingear and ever mindful that 200 people on overtime could not work until they got the pump back on line. I grinned to myself because there have been times in my work career when I have been that guy - the guy that has to make it happen NOW while people watched and waited. I grinned because I may be that guy again someday but today?? Today I drifted over to the open window and watched the sunrise on a flat calm Dutch Harbor, the sky ablaze and the Bering Sea a shimmering molten cauldron. I was stunned by how beautiful it was and called a couple of my crew over to watch as well. I kept expecting the colors to have peaked but they got more rich, more vibrant, and when things could not possibly get any better my favorite boat in the harbor, the tugboat James Dunlap, made the turn from the outgoing channel and idled across the scene, pushing the molten water in front of it. I'm a tough guy, and not many things move me to tears - my son making an especially good bone crunching tackle on the opposing team being a rare exception - but this morning I may have had to turn away from my coworkers for a moment - the scene was too beautiful, it hurt my eyes. I'm looking at roughly the same area of the harbor as I sit at my computer desk typing this and I'm remembering how it looked and wondering if I will ever see it that perfect again . . . . .
I saw the most amazing sight at work today and of course didn't have a camera with me so I'll have to just post pictures of the Bering Rose being off-loaded - it should be about done by now and the night crew should be moving on to the Great Pacific. Anyways, it was about 6:45 maybe, a good hour into my shift, and there was a problem with a pump that shut the whole plant down. I got my area squared away and wandered over and looked over the railing at the two guys frantically working on the pump, two levels below me, kneeling in fish guts in their raingear and ever mindful that 200 people on overtime could not work until they got the pump back on line. I grinned to myself because there have been times in my work career when I have been that guy - the guy that has to make it happen NOW while people watched and waited. I grinned because I may be that guy again someday but today?? Today I drifted over to the open window and watched the sunrise on a flat calm Dutch Harbor, the sky ablaze and the Bering Sea a shimmering molten cauldron. I was stunned by how beautiful it was and called a couple of my crew over to watch as well. I kept expecting the colors to have peaked but they got more rich, more vibrant, and when things could not possibly get any better my favorite boat in the harbor, the tugboat James Dunlap, made the turn from the outgoing channel and idled across the scene, pushing the molten water in front of it. I'm a tough guy, and not many things move me to tears - my son making an especially good bone crunching tackle on the opposing team being a rare exception - but this morning I may have had to turn away from my coworkers for a moment - the scene was too beautiful, it hurt my eyes. I'm looking at roughly the same area of the harbor as I sit at my computer desk typing this and I'm remembering how it looked and wondering if I will ever see it that perfect again . . . . .
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