Behind the scenes of the 2 to 8 watch

Nighttime in Antarctica is special onboard the Europa. The ship is sleeping. Resting, after a long days work. It’s quiet onboard. Below decks, in the corridor, you might hear the quiet rumbling of a a washing machine up forward or the low hum from a generator aft, but other than that, nothing. The otherwise lively deckhouse is now silent, and the only sound to be heard outside is the wind, sweeping through the rigging, making the lines and blocks rattle and clonk. The air is crisp and the wind is cold.
We’re drifting now. The engines are off, and the ship is left to itself, as it’s slowly being pushed sideways by the wind. And yet, some are still up at this hour. It’s 2 AM. A small group of people is gathered on the poop deck next to the wheelhouse. Handover time. For some, their watch is over, for others it has just begun. With their backs to the wind, the off-going watch share their doings in the last six hours, before descending down below. Slowly waking up, the oncoming watch gathers around the entrance to the wheelhouse to hear the plan for the night. A few more hours of drifting, and then we’ll move. We’re not too far from our destination, so we’re not in a rush. The plan is to get there just before breakfast, so we’re ready for an early morning landing. The mate stays on the bridge, watching the movements of the ship and making sure that we’re clear of ice at all times. The three deckhands disappear back into the ship to continue the mandatory nighttime cleaning. Two in the deckhouse, one in the galley.
The “galley fairy” is a rotating role, held by one of the deckhands for two consecutive shifts at a time. The current order of rotation is based on mouth size. Strange. It’s a busy job, being galley fairy. At this time of night, preparing the breakfast is the main task. Ham and cheese needs to be sliced and plated, jugs of juice and milk need refilling and the fridges restocking. Cutlery, plates, bowls, glasses and so on is put out. The efficient galley fairy is done with the breakfast by four o’clock. Oftentimes though, other tasks get in the way. Hoby, the galley’s industrial dishwashing machine, is always on watch. Even at this time of night, when the ship should be sleeping, dishes appear. “How can that be?”, one might ask. That’s just the way it is. The ship never truly sleeps.
Upstairs, the deckhouse cleaning is ongoing. Most nights, it ends with polishing the bar. For some a tedious and boring task, for others an almost spiritual experience. We sacrifice our sweat and time to the golden snake. The circular motions of polishing become meditative. Seeing the mirror-like shine of the brass appear brings a sense of satisfaction and peace. The smell of the polishing cream, Brasso, once sharp and unpleasant, is now familiar and welcome. This has been done every night for years, and will continue to be done every night for years to come. The golden snake is only satisfied for so long, until a new sacrifice is needed.

Four o’clock is coffee time, which is sacred. Sailors have fought for centuries for the right to take coffee breaks, so we shall honor that fight by always doing so. Hot drinks are made in the galley, and nighttime snacks are brought to the wheelhouse. The watch gathers. In a daily routine where there is little time for anything else other than working, eating and sleeping, coffee time is a welcome break where we can talk about non-ship related things. It is also usually around this time that we’ll start to move.
The mate makes the call. The engine is turned on. A deckhand grabs a vhf and goes on ice watch. The job is simple. Look out for ice, and tell the mate what you see. Sometimes it’s done on the foredeck, sometimes, if there is a lot of ice, it’s done from the top of the foremast. From up there you can see so much further. The mate might ask you what general direction looks most clear, or whether an iceberg in a narrow channel looks passable. It’s an important job, and the intel given by the ice watch plays a part in determining where we can and cannot go. “See the big dinosaur-looking one dead ahead? If we keep it on portside, we should be good.”
Before the landing, there’s more work to do. Zodiacs need to be made ready. After dirty landings they need cleaning. For this, they need to be taken apart, and putting them back together is no small feat. Fuel tanks need filling. Life jackets need be made ready. Was it snowing on the last landing? They’re most likely hanging to dry in the forepeak. This and that needs to be fixed. Safety checklists, covering all areas of the ship, are filled out regularly to ensure that all equipment is in working order. Maybe there is a bit of time to work on ongoing maintenance projects. Maybe not.
A few early birds have been up for a while, but now more people are starting to appear. The reflective calm of the night is replaced by the buzzling sound of morning activity. You can hear cutlery clinking and coffee being poured. The ship is slowly waking up. And we are ready to sleep. As people say good morning, we say good night. We hand over and descend down below. Knowing that the ship is well rested. Ready for a new day.
