You are currently browsing the daily archive for January 23, 2010.
Late December featured the second post on dredging and more; here’s the latest installment. At first glance, Baltic Dawn seems about to lose its stern to an oversize bucket (or at least get a machine’s version of a butt pinch), but
–no–it was just an illusion.
All progressed well with this project not far from mid-channel in the KVK in front of Atlantic Salt until
MSC Carla approached from the west and Peter F. Gellatly approached from the east. Whether the sudden plume of black exhaust resulted from reversing the ship’s engine full or not, I
can’t say, but the dredging continued, as did the journeys of container ship and tug with barge on hip. This MSC Carla (ex-HanJin Long Beach) dates from 1986; a former MSC Carla, built in 1972, cracked in half in 1997.
Meanwhile , trailing suction hopper Padre Island crisscrossed the water in front of Stapleton. There’s lots going on beneath the dredger, but very
very little to see from the surface, except hoses running into the water, port, starboard, and possibly trailing from the stern. I imagine it like a vacuum cleaner transiting a carpet.
I’d love to hear from someone working on Padre Island and willing to explain more of the working below this vessel.
Dredges … mechanical bottom feeders, bringing up dirt, literally. They’re time traveling too, uncovering silt of many past events. Be they adventures or misadventures, the act disturbs the memory of the watershed, you could argue; in exchange, they make way for a modified future.
All fotos taken today by Will Van Dorp.
Last week I caught Lee T. Moran and Miriam Moran wrestling Atlantic Leo into a dock. If wrestling–versus sacred dancing–it was, then the bout was one of slow but continous strain, where raw power overwhelms other raw power’s muscle fiber, strand by stand. Diesel versus tide, or petroleum versus gravity, each almost evenly matches one with its counter.
Not that I usually employ this blog to toot my whistles, but this picture snatches me, and holds me, claws into tender skin, in its clutches. Double click to enlarge.
It could be the diagonal composition, the myriad tones of orangish-red superimposed with stains and reflection and bowsprite-like squiggles, whose recent additions I’ve found too infrequent,
the appearance of steel against steel as soft textured black cloth against softer smooth brownish fabric, or the explicit exhibition of contact points,
the depiction of the crew, diminished by their work and yet struggling on.
but it holds me, like a scene of an infant or lover snuggling with huge matronly curves.
Fotos by Will Van Dorp.
I’m posting this very late . . . in the wee hours when judgment fails, you know, a risky time. Will I still like this in the morning? Let me know what you think.
See a focus on Laura K Moran here.