Cookies in a Compass

This morning was my 'date' with "Red"; the gentleman who has been piloting the Bermuda ferry for 22 years. I was very excited, but as usual, running late. I made it to the ferry stop with just enough time to take a full run around the harbor. We did the Pink Route, together!

There are so many layers to people. It worthy to take the time to uncover them. 

How many people board the ferry each day, taking for granted the pride of its pilot?

How many people do not realize that the profession of piloting the ferry, here in Bermuda, could become an extinct one, if the younger generation does not take interest? 

How many locals know that the young man who takes your tickets has two major licenses- as a both a Captain and Engineer; he is second in the line of succession, after "Red" and Shakir (He holds 2 maritime licenses also).

If the ferry stalls, approaching Hamilton, and is careening toward the dock, Elijah is YOUR GUY. If the engine cuts out (it happens!), he must scramble to reach the ropes in time to 'lasso' the shore, with hopes of having as gentle (and safe) a landing as possible.

Because taking the ferry in Bermuda is 'easy breezy', we tend not to think about the secrets beneath its functioning.

Everyday, the ferry takes a break midday. While some might wonder why the crew needs a few hours for lunch (are they on island time?) No... They must refuel, make sure the engine is all good, and they actually clean the boat for the second shift that comes on after lunch. 

Did you ever notice the cleanliness of the ferries? The New York subway could take some lessons from them.

Having the opportunity to take a spin on the ferry with its crew of three was a treat, that I will always remember, as I return to Bermuda. Even now, following my personalized ferry ride, if I see the ferry pass, I look to see who is driving...

These wonderful people have names. They have skills. Their primary goal is to keep us safe.

When I boarded the ferry at Salt Kettle, the pilot, Albert, was seated in the lower cabin, and was not piloting the boat. 

I greeted Albert with the enthusiasm of a new student, "Hi! Do you remember me?!" We had a wonderful discussion about his career, while his trainee operated the boat to Hamilton. 

Albert told me that he did not want to take me upstairs, while his trainee, Shakir, was piloting, because it would be a distraction. Safety first, above all else! I certainly respected that. 

Upon arrival in Hamilton, Albert would pilot the ferry (with me, shotgun) on one full circuit of "The Pink Route". 

I find that the best memories of our lives come from making connections; this is the legacy of my parents. 

Albert told me a story of how he came to have "salt in his veins"...

When he was a baby, his mother worked as a policewoman for the traffic control, on the evening shift. She would bring Albert onboard the ferry, and with characteristic Bermudian trust, leave him with the ferry pilots upstairs (as they operated the boat) while she worked at night. 

He recalls actually growing up on the ferry- just as many Bermudian adults recall days of taking the ferry to school.

Albert recalled that the compass on the ferry was broken when he was little- presumingly only the glass top. Somehow, it became the perfect vessel for his favorite cookies- Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Chip. Cookies in a compass...a delicious memory for him to carry through his life.

The vantage point from the piloting station is a wonderful sight. Looking out of large windows (with abnormally small windshield wipers), we listened to great reggae music, and discussed its distinction from SOCA- a mix of soul and calypso that is popular island party music.

Riding along, listening to reggae, I understood the lure of Albert's job, although it is one in which you must be vigilant at all times- looking for boats in a panoramic fashion. 

We came upon some sailboats that were practicing for The Bermuda Gold Cup, and I said, "Oh no- will they get out of your way?" He said no, to the contrary, that he must give way- when they are operating by wind. Should they be operating by motor, the reverse would be true.

In waters like Hamilton Harbour, that are littered with vessels of many varieties, knowing the rules of the water is paramount.

Albert keeps his rule book with him at all times- in case there is any confusion. He told me, "This is a lawyer's paradise!" and- should I be interested- to pick up a copy of International Rules for the Prevention of Collision at Sea. 

Having never had a particular interest in "seamanship", I was fascinated by the things that I learned during my trip with the crew. Albert explained that one can get a license to operate the ferry, without having had any experience with boats- we both found that to be very counterintuitive!

One must not only have a license, but understand the vessel, the rules of the water, and "how to play the wind". His new trainees, regardless of their paper credentials, are all "thrown into the fire", learning 1:1 how to drive the ferry, with all of its nuances. These boats have to be docked 6 times, 4 minutes apart on every single trip. This does not happen in a vacuum.

With three lads stuck together all day, they get to know each other quite well. They admittted, that- with me there- they had changed the topics of conversation, to sync with having a lady in their midst. We all laughed at that. Nobody had "the mouth of a sailor" with Daisy there!

As we pulled up to a private island, to let some people off, I said, "Ooooooooo. Who lives there?!" Albert replied, "Someone very rich!" We laughed, and agreed that it would be an idyllic situation, provided you did not need the Fire Department.

Cruising the harbor, I thought to myself, how I would love the chance to drive the ferry myself, but I did not want Albert to get into trouble, should someone read it on my blog.

Suddenly, as with telepathy, he said, "It's your turn!" Taken back, I asked, "Won't you get into trouble?!" A 22 year veteran pilot, he said "Up to my sole discretion", and that was that.

We were quite a ways out- approaching the Belmont Ferry Stop. "Take the wheel, find a place on the shore and aim straight for it!" I picked the ferry kiosk, because it was pink and highly visible. 

Despite my best attempts to keep the huge steering wheel steady, the ferry began to go left and then right, in a zig zag fashion. The forces of the wind and water made it very hard to steer. I said, "OH NO! ARE THERE PASSENGERS UPSTAIRS?" 

Red joked that he would soon be reported for DUI. He then took the wheel back, landing the stop perfectly- in a "glancing blow". "See, it is not as easy as it seems!"

He had not been worried about my 'photo op' moment; the two pilots were standing there, with keen attention. They appreciated my interest in their work, and the role they play in Bermudian life.

What absolute fun it was, to spend some time with the gentleman who keep so many Bermudians safe, as they traverse this island's crystalline waters. 

Upon wrapping up our route, I promised to bring Red a bottle of his favorite something, or better yet- some Pepperidge Farm Cookies.

I debarked the ferry, thanking my new friends- Albert, Elijah and Shakir. Feeling a sense of mini-euphoria, I was starving.



Having forgotten breakfast, I was ravenous; I needed a cheeseburger. And to celebrate another feather in my cap of expertise, I had a rum swizzle, too- unapologetically!

After lunch, I needed a quick nap. I knew that I had to be back in town at 4:10 to get my lab results, so I rushed back to Salt Kettle, fell asleep in the blessed AC and missed my ferry back to town- UGH, not again!

As I waited for a taxi to the clinic, Lou came out, and we both photographed a chameleon on a tree in the yard. I am easily startled by lizards, but have found a new appreciation- in this case, perhaps thanks to Boy George.

There was a misunderstanding with my call to the Taxi company, and I wound up running later than is polite. 

I called the doctor to advise them, that I was on my way- only to find out when I got there, that they were not even expecting me...!

At last, I had my results! My potassium was high, which was causing my heart to act a little funny. This can happen due to dehydration, and can be serious, if not addressed swiftly. Note to self: when in Bermuda, mind your manners and your electrolytes...

The doctor considered which treatment to give me, at which point I offered to call my cardiologist at Mayo Clinic to make sure they would be on the same page. Turns out, they were!  I should be myself, once I took my medicine, that was ordered STAT.

Looking at the prescription afterwards, I admit to being befuddled that the clinic had waited 3 days to give me my results- only to prescribe something urgently. Island time and urgent care do not jive... STAT means...like...NOW.

I went to the pharmacy in town. "We don't carry this", the pharmacy tech said. I begin to stress. "You will have to go to the hospital to get it". UGH! 

Long story short, I got the little bottle of medicine, without any incident. Two young security men at the hospital saw how drained I looked, and told me that they would drive me back to my guest house, if only not on duty. Instead, I called my 1000th taxi, instead, and went "home" to feel better. 

The medicine was revolting to look at, but tasted like Amaretto- with a bit of a sandy texture. I took it with Ginger Beer, like a good girl. 

I had a good laugh, upon reading the bottle. It read "for oral OR rectal use." Good God! Apparently, it is a "resin" that binds with Potassium in your GI tract, to keep in out of your bloodstream. 

The ladies at the guest house greeted me with such warmth and concern. It was just what the doctor had ordered. 

The night before, I had prayed to Marlys, to help me feel better, so that I would not need to cut this trip short; she took care of me.

Tomorrow is a new day, and life will go on. No more doctors on this trip! 

(with all due respect)