Plovila

[namenski]

I meni se na drugi pogled cini da jeste, ali bez obzira na to, vidi se da ova ploveca naprava koja ziher nije kraca od 150 metara, prilazi pristanu neuobicajeno brzo: pramcani talas, za brodom trag, okretanje i penusanje oko svih elisa, i glavnih i pramcanih, a ponajvise nagib broda prilikom zaokreta...

Grk je ipak majstor, mada znaju oni da sa ovim velikim trajektima zaseru samo tako .

Poslednjih par decenija su se doduse malo pripitomili i modernizovali - ponajvise zahvaljujuci olimpijadi i mami EU, ali da je majstor - majstor sumnje nema.

Doduse i Blue Star se malo producira, nadajmo se ne do prve prilike kada se neki Juznobalkanac zajebe 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2fiPlwJphyY

 

 

Opet, Egej nije sala, leti turistima mozda izgleda pitom, ali provozati se zimi od Pireja do Krita zna da bude poprilicno okeansko^tm iskustvo, a i na severu zna da bude:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ms0XcxHHgEs

 

Stari, dobri Theofilos na Limnosu, Mirina: talasi i nisu nesto, pristan u Mirini je poprilicno dobro zaklonjen, ali em vetar, em velika bocna povrsina izlozena vetru i i muka ziva  

[Čutura]

2 hours ago, namenski said:

I meni se na drugi pogled cini da jeste, ali bez obzira na to, vidi se da ova ploveca naprava koja ziher nije kraca od 150 metara, prilazi pristanu neuobicajeno brzo: pramcani talas, za brodom trag, okretanje i penusanje oko svih elisa, i glavnih i pramcanih, a ponajvise nagib broda prilikom zaokreta...

Grk je ipak majstor, mada znaju oni da sa ovim velikim trajektima zaseru samo tako .

Poslednjih par decenija su se doduse malo pripitomili i modernizovali - ponajvise zahvaljujuci olimpijadi i mami EU, ali da je majstor - majstor sumnje nema.

Doduse i Blue Star se malo producira, nadajmo se ne do prve prilike kada se neki Juznobalkanac zajebe 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2fiPlwJphyY

 

 

Opet, Egej nije sala, leti turistima mozda izgleda pitom, ali provozati se zimi od Pireja do Krita zna da bude poprilicno okeansko^tm iskustvo, a i na severu zna da bude:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ms0XcxHHgEs

 

Stari, dobri Theofilos na Limnosu, Mirina: talasi i nisu nesto, pristan u Mirini je poprilicno dobro zaklonjen, ali em vetar, em velika bocna povrsina izlozena vetru i i muka ziva  

 kad nije imao krmene trastere™ (ne znam po srpski kako se kaze) ko ovaj

 

Edited November 30, 2018 by Čutura

[namenski]

8 hours ago, Čutura said:

 kad nije imao krmene trastere™ (ne znam po srpski kako se kaze) ko ovaj

 

 

Dobar snimak, veseo.

Narocito za vlasnike one site^tm u marini  

 

I, ne zezaj mi se sa Theofilos-om, za njega sam emocionalno vezan : kakvi thrust-eri (ne znam ni ja bolji izraz, pramcani/krmeni, kod nas je pokusavano sa uobicajenim 'propelerom', ne znam da li se primilo, Srbi odavno nisu pomorska nacija, a BTW, mozda bi imao smisla topik na temu tehnicke terminologije).

Theofilos je stari borac, starac Foco od stotinu ljeta, pravljen jos 1975. kao Abel Tasman, dosao u Grcku posto je izmenio jos par gazda neke 1986...

 

Inace, od tih grckih matoraca sa linija Solun/Kavala - Rafina i nazad, meni ostao u secanju nesto manji Alkaios/Alcaeus, 1 matorko takodje, sunjao se njim tokom jedne voznje i video da su ga Grci kupili od Svedjana.

A u prikrajku jos stoji zanitovana tradicionalna mesingana tabla sa natpisom 'Izgradjen 1980, Titovo brodogradiliste, Kraljevica, Jugoslavija'...

 

A sto se Theofilos-a i Grka majstora tice, nije to uvek kao na onim klipovima sa kojima smo poceli pricu:

 

'oce, naime, i drugacije da se zavrsi, omasi majstor...  

 

E, sad videh kada sam postavio fotografiju: ipak IMA Bow Thruster!!! 

[ragasto]

Ovo je omaška u kojoj je dok fino prošao...

 

 

[namenski]

Ови што трче што даље од овог крана нису убрзани, труде се из све снаге  

[Čutura]

ni svirnuo nije, cccc

[namenski]

17 hours ago, foto said:

Apropo sidra, imamo na forumu ozbiljnih morskih vukova da malo rasire temu. Nije sidro samo kocnica niti je sidro samo neki teret koji ne dozvoljava da se ide dalje, u svetlu budućnost.

Ima ko ce to bolje, lepse i opsirnije o sidru i sidrima.  

Ko bi drugi nego 1 vec pomalo zaboravljeni Poljak, sigurno najpomorskiji pisac svih vremena, Jozef Teodor Konrad Korzeniowski, AKA Joseph Conrad, covek koji je dokazao da se moze pisati i na nematernjem jeziku i to samo tako.

Toliko dobro da ga i danas priznaju kao jednog od najvecih stilista engleskog jezika, jezika poprilicno sovinisticki nastrojenog kada se radi o pripustanju stranaca u atar.

Zaborav je jedno, Kopolino kasapljenje remekdela kao sto je Srce tame, nesto sasvim drugo, a mozda najbolji redovi ispisani o sidru i kao napravi i kao simbolu nesto trece:

 

IV.EMBLEMS OF HOPE


BEFORE an anchor can ever be raised, it must be let go; and this
perfectly obvious truism brings me at once to the subject of the
degradation of the sea language in the daily press of this country.

Your journalist, whether he takes charge of a ship or a fleet, almost
invariably “casts” his anchor.  Now, an anchor is never cast, and to take
a liberty with technical language is a crime against the clearness,
precision, and beauty of perfected speech.

An anchor is a forged piece of iron, admirably adapted to its end, and
technical language is an instrument wrought into perfection by ages of
experience, a flawless thing for its purpose.  An anchor of yesterday
(because nowadays there are contrivances like mushrooms and things like
claws, of no particular expression or shape—just hooks)—an anchor of
yesterday is in its way a most efficient instrument.  To its perfection
its size bears witness, for there is no other appliance so small for the
great work it has to do.  Look at the anchors hanging from the cat-heads
of a big ship!  How tiny they are in proportion to the great size of the
hull!  Were they made of gold they would look like trinkets, like
ornamental toys, no bigger in proportion than a jewelled drop in a
woman’s ear.  And yet upon them will depend, more than once, the very
life of the ship.

An anchor is forged and fashioned for faithfulness; give it ground that
it can bite, and it will hold till the cable parts, and then, whatever
may afterwards befall its ship, that anchor is “lost.”  The honest, rough
piece of iron, so simple in appearance, has more parts than the human
body has limbs: the ring, the stock, the crown, the flukes, the palms,
the shank.  All this, according to the journalist, is “cast” when a ship
arriving at an anchorage is brought up.

This insistence in using the odious word arises from the fact that a
particularly benighted landsman must imagine the act of anchoring as a
process of throwing something overboard, whereas the anchor ready for its
work is already overboard, and is not thrown over, but simply allowed to
fall.  It hangs from the ship’s side at the end of a heavy, projecting
timber called the cat-head, in the bight of a short, thick chain whose
end link is suddenly released by a blow from a top-maul or the pull of a
lever when the order is given.  And the order is not “Heave over!” as the
paragraphist seems to imagine, but “Let go!”

As a matter of fact, nothing is ever cast in that sense on board ship but
the lead, of which a cast is taken to search the depth of water on which
she floats.  A lashed boat, a spare spar, a cask or what not secured
about the decks, is “cast adrift” when it is untied.  Also the ship
herself is “cast to port or starboard” when getting under way.  She,
however, never “casts” her anchor.

To speak with severe technicality, a ship or a fleet is “brought up”—the
complementary words unpronounced and unwritten being, of course, “to an
anchor.”  Less technically, but not less correctly, the word “anchored,”
with its characteristic appearance and resolute sound, ought to be good
enough for the newspapers of the greatest maritime country in the world.
“The fleet anchored at Spithead”: can anyone want a better sentence for
brevity and seamanlike ring?  But the “cast-anchor” trick, with its
affectation of being a sea-phrase—for why not write just as well “threw
anchor,” “flung anchor,” or “shied anchor”?—is intolerably odious to a
sailor’s ear.  I remember a coasting pilot of my early acquaintance (he
used to read the papers assiduously) who, to define the utmost degree of
lubberliness in a landsman, used to say, “He’s one of them poor,
miserable ‘cast-anchor’ devils.”




V.


From first to last the seaman’s thoughts are very much concerned with his
anchors.  It is not so much that the anchor is a symbol of hope as that
it is the heaviest object that he has to handle on board his ship at sea
in the usual routine of his duties.  The beginning and the end of every
passage are marked distinctly by work about the ship’s anchors.  A vessel
in the Channel has her anchors always ready, her cables shackled on, and
the land almost always in sight.  The anchor and the land are
indissolubly connected in a sailor’s thoughts.  But directly she is clear
of the narrow seas, heading out into the world with nothing solid to
speak of between her and the South Pole, the anchors are got in and the
cables disappear from the deck.  But the anchors do not disappear.
Technically speaking, they are “secured in-board”; and, on the forecastle
head, lashed down to ring-bolts with ropes and chains, under the
straining sheets of the head-sails, they look very idle and as if asleep.
Thus bound, but carefully looked after, inert and powerful, those emblems
of hope make company for the look-out man in the night watches; and so
the days glide by, with a long rest for those characteristically shaped
pieces of iron, reposing forward, visible from almost every part of the
ship’s deck, waiting for their work on the other side of the world
somewhere, while the ship carries them on with a great rush and splutter
of foam underneath, and the sprays of the open sea rust their heavy
limbs.

The first approach to the land, as yet invisible to the crew’s eyes, is
announced by the brisk order of the chief mate to the boatswain: “We will
get the anchors over this afternoon” or “first thing to-morrow morning,”
as the case may be.  For the chief mate is the keeper of the ship’s
anchors and the guardian of her cable.  There are good ships and bad
ships, comfortable ships and ships where, from first day to last of the
voyage, there is no rest for a chief mate’s body and soul.  And ships are
what men make them: this is a pronouncement of sailor wisdom, and, no
doubt, in the main it is true.

However, there are ships where, as an old grizzled mate once told me,
“nothing ever seems to go right!”  And, looking from the poop where we
both stood (I had paid him a neighbourly call in dock), he added: “She’s
one of them.”  He glanced up at my face, which expressed a proper
professional sympathy, and set me right in my natural surmise: “Oh no;
the old man’s right enough.  He never interferes.  Anything that’s done
in a seamanlike way is good enough for him.  And yet, somehow, nothing
ever seems to go right in this ship.  I tell you what: she is naturally
unhandy.”

The “old man,” of course, was his captain, who just then came on deck in
a silk hat and brown overcoat, and, with a civil nod to us, went ashore.
He was certainly not more than thirty, and the elderly mate, with a
murmur to me of “That’s my old man,” proceeded to give instances of the
natural unhandiness of the ship in a sort of deprecatory tone, as if to
say, “You mustn’t think I bear a grudge against her for that.”

The instances do not matter.  The point is that there are ships where
things _do_ go wrong; but whatever the ship—good or bad, lucky or
unlucky—it is in the forepart of her that her chief mate feels most at
home.  It is emphatically _his_ end of the ship, though, of course, he is
the executive supervisor of the whole.  There are _his_ anchors, _his_
headgear, his foremast, his station for manoeuvring when the captain is
in charge.  And there, too, live the men, the ship’s hands, whom it is
his duty to keep employed, fair weather or foul, for the ship’s welfare.
It is the chief mate, the only figure of the ship’s afterguard, who comes
bustling forward at the cry of “All hands on deck!”  He is the satrap of
that province in the autocratic realm of the ship, and more personally
responsible for anything that may happen there.

There, too, on the approach to the land, assisted by the boatswain and
the carpenter, he “gets the anchors over” with the men of his own watch,
whom he knows better than the others.  There he sees the cable ranged,
the windlass disconnected, the compressors opened; and there, after
giving his own last order, “Stand clear of the cable!” he waits
attentive, in a silent ship that forges slowly ahead towards her
picked-out berth, for the sharp shout from aft, “Let go!”  Instantly
bending over, he sees the trusty iron fall with a heavy plunge under his
eyes, which watch and note whether it has gone clear.

For the anchor “to go clear” means to go clear of its own chain.  Your
anchor must drop from the bow of your ship with no turn of cable on any
of its limbs, else you would be riding to a foul anchor.  Unless the pull
of the cable is fair on the ring, no anchor can be trusted even on the
best of holding ground.  In time of stress it is bound to drag, for
implements and men must be treated fairly to give you the “virtue” which
is in them.  The anchor is an emblem of hope, but a foul anchor is worse
than the most fallacious of false hopes that ever lured men or nations
into a sense of security.  And the sense of security, even the most
warranted, is a bad councillor.  It is the sense which, like that
exaggerated feeling of well-being ominous of the coming on of madness,
precedes the swift fall of disaster.  A seaman labouring under an undue
sense of security becomes at once worth hardly half his salt.  Therefore,
of all my chief officers, the one I trusted most was a man called B—.  He
had a red moustache, a lean face, also red, and an uneasy eye.  He was
worth all his salt.

On examining now, after many years, the residue of the feeling which was
the outcome of the contact of our personalities, I discover, without much
surprise, a certain flavour of dislike.  Upon the whole, I think he was
one of the most uncomfortable shipmates possible for a young commander.
If it is permissible to criticise the absent, I should say he had a
little too much of the sense of insecurity which is so invaluable in a
seaman.  He had an extremely disturbing air of being everlastingly ready
(even when seated at table at my right hand before a plate of salt beef)
to grapple with some impending calamity.  I must hasten to add that he
had also the other qualification necessary to make a trustworthy
seaman—that of an absolute confidence in himself.  What was really wrong
with him was that he had these qualities in an unrestful degree.  His
eternally watchful demeanour, his jerky, nervous talk, even his, as it
were, determined silences, seemed to imply—and, I believe, they did
imply—that to his mind the ship was never safe in my hands.  Such was the
man who looked after the anchors of a less than five-hundred-ton barque,
my first command, now gone from the face of the earth, but sure of a
tenderly remembered existence as long as I live.  No anchor could have
gone down foul under Mr. B—’s piercing eye.  It was good for one to be
sure of that when, in an open roadstead, one heard in the cabin the wind
pipe up; but still, there were moments when I detested Mr. B—
exceedingly.  From the way he used to glare sometimes, I fancy that more
than once he paid me back with interest.  It so happened that we both
loved the little barque very much.  And it was just the defect of Mr.
B—’s inestimable qualities that he would never persuade himself to
believe that the ship was safe in my hands.  To begin with, he was more
than five years older than myself at a time of life when five years
really do count, I being twenty-nine and he thirty-four; then, on our
first leaving port (I don’t see why I should make a secret of the fact
that it was Bangkok), a bit of manoeuvring of mine amongst the islands of
the Gulf of Siam had given him an unforgettable scare.  Ever since then
he had nursed in secret a bitter idea of my utter recklessness.  But upon
the whole, and unless the grip of a man’s hand at parting means nothing
whatever, I conclude that we did like each other at the end of two years
and three months well enough.

The bond between us was the ship; and therein a ship, though she has
female attributes and is loved very unreasonably, is different from a
woman.  That I should have been tremendously smitten with my first
command is nothing to wonder at, but I suppose I must admit that Mr. B—’s
sentiment was of a higher order.  Each of us, of course, was extremely
anxious about the good appearance of the beloved object; and, though I
was the one to glean compliments ashore, B— had the more intimate pride
of feeling, resembling that of a devoted handmaiden.  And that sort of
faithful and proud devotion went so far as to make him go about flicking
the dust off the varnished teak-wood rail of the little craft with a silk
pocket-handkerchief—a present from Mrs. B—, I believe.

That was the effect of his love for the barque.  The effect of his
admirable lack of the sense of security once went so far as to make him
remark to me: “Well, sir, you _are_ a lucky man!”

It was said in a tone full of significance, but not exactly offensive,
and it was, I suppose, my innate tact that prevented my asking, “What on
earth do you mean by that?”

Later on his meaning was illustrated more fully on a dark night in a
tight corner during a dead on-shore gale.  I had called him up on deck to
help me consider our extremely unpleasant situation.  There was not much
time for deep thinking, and his summing-up was: “It looks pretty bad,
whichever we try; but, then, sir, you always do get out of a mess
somehow.”

 

Greota je Konrada ne citati na engleskom, a The Mirror of the Sea je prevedeno i kod nas, Matica srpska, i to u odlicnom prevodu Borivoja Nedica i uz postovanje - koliko se to moglo u jednom kontinentalnom jeziku  - takozvane strucne terminologije.

Ne smem na Knjizevnost, ali - ko nije - preporuka za celog Konrada, radi se o istinskim remek delima i - s obzirom da je prevodjen u smutna komunjarska vremena - odlicnim prevodima.

[ragasto]

Praštaj Namenski, jače je od mene...

 

Ima malo paralela sa realnošću u odnosu na Dačićevu izjavu...

[namenski]

 

 

[namenski]

Barranquilla, Kolumbija, 16. januar, oko podne.

 

 

[namenski]

Poprilicno je proslo vremena od davne 1992. kada je ukrajinska posada broda Ruby, pod zastavom Bahama, pronasla na brodu, nedaleko od obala Portugalije, 8 slepih putnika, 7 iz Kameruna, 1 iz Gane: pobijeni su gvozdenim stanglama i baceni u more...

Za stvar se ne bi saznalo da jedan slepi putnik, koji je ostao neotkriven, nije provalio stvar, i - sto jes - jes, pravda je bila sprovedena: sud u Ruanu je zapovednika i prvog oficira osudio na dozivotnu robiju, a jos nekoliko clanova posade na po 20 godina robije, steta samo sto ih nisu uputili da robijaju u nekoj od zemalja zapadne Afrike...

Svet postaje humaniji, brine, naravno o onim slepim putnicima koji imaju srecu da se za njih sazna, pa je od nedavno, brodarskim kompanijama - kojima su slepi putnici hronicna nocna mora, razlog kukanja i zahtevanja da se problem pravno obavezujuce resi - omogucena nabavka sledece humane izmisljotine:

 

Prisoner / Containment Cells, prison box, predvidjen da - jedan ili vise njih - bude spakovan u poseban 40' kontejner i rekamiran kao:

Quote

 

• Can be permanent or portable
• Casters for easy mobility / re-locating
• Interior Polyethylene lining for easy clean-up
• Swing down handcuff door
• Perfect for hearings and processing detainees
• Fits through standard doorways

 

Nije, doduse, pomenuto nista oko udobnosti, ma i minimalne, nacina na koji se kako-tako moze da spava, itd, itd...

Neki eminentni brodari, Atlantic Container Lines, ACL, ih vec uveliko koriste, naglasavajuci pritom da se drze civilizovanih uzansi tretmana slepih putnika: da ih se ne sme koristiti za rad na brodu, da im se mora dati da jedu, omoguciti pristup toaletu...

 

Tako da ako neko slucajno ima na umu, neka vodi racuna...

[Frank Pembleton]

Na RTV sada emisija 5Kazanje priča neki čovek o plovilima iz naše istorije, sa sve maketama uglavnom austrougarski brodovi 

[namenski]

28 minutes ago, Frank Pembleton said:

Na RTV sada emisija 5Kazanje priča neki čovek o plovilima iz naše istorije, sa sve maketama uglavnom austrougarski brodovi 

Sta je pokazivao, o cemu pricao: neka vojna/ratna gvozdjurija ili pravi brodovi?

[Skyhighatrist]

 

 

 

 

[namenski]

Jeste ga majstorski udenuo, ali ubrzanost snimka cini da stvar izgleda mnogo dramaticnije nego u RL: ubivena rutina - vidjena operacija koja na snimku traje 16 sekundi, u RL traje najmanje 16 minuta, verovatno i 10-ak minuta vise...