Poem: Lessons Learned

Lessons Learned

By Captain J. Brad Chapman

August 6^th, 2006

Of all of the lessons, I’ve ever learned, some great ones I’ve learned from the sea.

One lesson, while pondering, now comes to mind, a memory that’s still haunting me.

It’s a lesson, my friend, that I learned very fast, and I got off easy, you’ll see.

It could have been the worst mistake ever made, by a sea-going farer, like me.

It’s really a simple thing, unworthy of much, compared with some perils of the sea.

But it’s a significant lesson I learned; so much that it influenced me.

In the dark of the night, in the island of Truk, I’d been diving the wreck of a ship,

When running to soak in a tub to get warm, in my haste, I took a bad trip.

Now you who’ve not spent much time on the sea, who’ve spent most of your life on the shore,

Don’t know that it’s bad form to run while on deck, as you might trip and fall overboard.

Well, I didn’t fall overboard, “lucky” you say, well my answer to you’s yes and no,

For as I was running barefoot on the deck: on a stanchion I caught my big toe.

I let out a scream as I fell to the deck, the pain shooting up to my hip,

And rolling, and bawling and clutching my toe, wisdom said, never run on a ship.

And then as I cradled my sore, throbbing toe, I bowed my head sullen and meek,

I’d broken a rule I knew better to break, and I hobbled and limped for a week.

Now my lesson to you, my truth-seeking friend, is to do what you know to be true.

If you haven’t chosen well ahead of the act, you might do what you know not to do.

So sit and decide what you will and won’t do, choose what you will and won’t be.

And then, in your haste, as the crisis unfolds, you’ll be amazed at how clearly you’ll see-

That life is made up of the choices you make, choosing wisely or most foolishly.

That a clear conscience brings sweet peace to your soul; it’s true, please listen to me.

So now as I finish my nautical tale, there’s wisdom I’d like to impart.

Just little things, really, but value galore, that will help on the life’s voyage you start.

Make sure you take map and compass, so you’ll know which way you should go.

And hold on tight in a tempest, as you might get tossed to and fro.

But above all else that I tell you, and before you depart from the slip,

Choose now how you’ll act in the moment, and NO, never run on a ship!

This poem is based on a true experience that actually happened to me while captaining a live-aboard dive vessel in the Republic of Chuuk in the Micronesian Islands. There was a hot-tub on the deck at the back of the vessel. It is a 140' Norwegian Whaler that was converted to a dive vessel. I worked on it as the captain in the summer of 1994. The captain / owner went to England to a tourism convention and wanted a licensed captain on board while he was gone for insurance and liability reasons but also because he needed a person in authority to keep the crew on the ball while he was gone. I was onboard for 10 days. The company paid for my flight and also paid me while I was there. It was great.

One night I did a night dive. It was the night that I saw the most unbelievable phosphorescence. At night when the sun goes down it can get chilly even in the tropics. After coming aboard I made a bee-line for the hot-tub to get warm. Running to get in the hot water, I stubbed my big toe on a stansion. The poem is very accurate as far as details.

All this talk about decks made me remember an experience that Trevor and I had aboard an Alaska Marine Ferry on the way back from a Frostbite Challenge in 1998. We had spent two nights sleeping in a snow-cave that we built in the frigid arctic cold of the Yukon. We were headed home out in Chatham Strait and decided to get some exercise by walking around the deck and reminiscing about the fun time we'd had. There was a deck on the ferry that went all the way around for exercising. Suddenly a guy came by us going the other way. He was doing that weird power-walking stride. We chuckled at his antics and after a few more passes I told Trevor that we should play a practical joke on the guy.

I told Trevor that every time that he passed us we should wait for him to get by us and then run like crazy and as he approached us again we would slow down and walk at our normal pace. Then after he passed us we would run again. After the first pass we didn't notice anything with the guy but after another lap we noticed a puzzled look on his face. The third time he really seemed confused and as soon as he passed us we laughed like crazy. As he passed us we would purposefully walk really slow and really ham it up with bored and nonchalant expressions on our faces.

All of the sudden a booming voice came over the loud speaker.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IT IS EXPRESSLY FORBIDDEN BY THE ALASKA MARINE FERRY SYSTEM TO RUN ON THE DECKS OF THE SHIP. THOSE OF YOU THAT ARE RUNNING, STOP IMMEDIATELY OR YOU WILL BE ESCORTED OFF OF THE VESSEL AT THE NEXT PORT OF CALL.

Of course, we immediately stopped. It was really quite embarrassing because people inside of the observation deck were looking right at us as we came running around the bow of the ship. As we approached the power-walking guy, we had of course, slowed to our slow motion pace.

He also had slowed to a normal walk. Right as he got to us he stopped and turned to us and said in a very serious and disgusted voice, "Don't these people know what power walking is?"

I wasn't running! This is ridiculous!

Now, caught in our practical joke, I had no other alternative than to coyly tell him that the deck was a little icy . . . . . and . . .ah . . . that it was dangerous to run on deck . . . . because you might  . . . a . . .fall overboard . . . . . . and falling into the sea would be a very serious thing. Talk about tongue in cheek! We were both laughing hysterically inside! We ended up making friends with the guy and talked with him for quite a while. He never knew that he had been punk'd by Trevor and I.