In Case You've Wondered

My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.

If you're here for the stories, I started another blog:

One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.

I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Crystal Clear

Years ago, when I was working offshore, there was an evening that was so unique, I never saw another.

It was after the day crew completed their work. Everyone was settling in and I was the only person outside the living quarters. It was early winter, so the passage of a front would start with the rough seas from the southeast caused by the approaching storm, the eventual frontal passage, and the choppy seas from the north, which would eventually subside. The progression would repeat, until the season ended and summer returned.

I stood at the rail at the east end of the platform. The sky was a solid deck of high cirrus clouds that obscured the setting sun. With absolutely no wind, the gulf was still without so much as a ripple. The only sound was the low rumble of the generators on the production platform and the occasional fog horn from the numerous satellite wells scattered for miles around.

The air was perfectly clear. Without the summer haze, or mist that hugged the water when the weather was rough, the horizon was a distinct line. The platforms, and a ship on the horizon,  that were usually hazy blobs in the distance stood out distinctly. Even through binoculars, the usual wavy appearance caused by the atmosphere in turmoil was not to be found.

The sunset was a gradual darkening. There were no brilliant colors, or distinct moment when the sun finally slipped below the horizon. As the darkness progressed, clear points of light appeared from the platforms and the ship that eventually disappeared over the horizon.

Over the night, an approaching front brought winds from the east, which slowly shifted southward and caused the Gulf to start the slow churn that would eventually bring large swells from the southeast. The event was over, and so special, it was imprinted on my memory forever.


  1. "I build and destroy things. That's my job and I'm pretty good at it"
    You write so well. You construct images and scenes.
    Maybe it's your penance for destroying so many things :)

    1. On some days, it feels like a penance. A thought will arrive; the thought will begin to expand; and I'll find my free moments of thoughts are filled with an expanding tale. Until I write them down, the obsession allows no relief.

  2. I've a kinda similar experience Back when I was a young'n. After a couple of days of stormy weather which were unfit to go outside in a break in the weather came and the sun came out. Cabin fever had the best of me so I jumped on the ten speed and headed west. I pedaled furiously until I burned off the pent up energy that accumulated over the past days, looked up to see a line clouds on the horizon headed my way. So I turned around thinking I could loaf it back home. I made it back home with only dealing with getting sprinkled on, but at about the half way point I looked up to see a strange looking cloud rush past. The best way I can describe it today is that it looked like the form of an acme thread with rapidly spinning cork screw like clouds on each side of it. About 5 minutes later I was back home, told my mother about the cool cloud I saw and was quickly informed that the National Weather Service had reported a funnel cloud in the exact vicinity of where I had been bicycling. Those were the days... back when I was young and didn't know any better...

  3. We don't get those types of storms in my part of the world.

    I've seen movies of the "barber pole" storms that spin tornadoes and cause lots of damage. They're remarkable on television. I imagine they're awesome to observe up close.