Hi there. Ever since that newcomer, Dinghy, wrote on this site months ago I have held my tongue. But I have stewed long enough. I am an original crew member, occupy one of the most dangerous and precarious positions onboard Bushranger, keep everyone safe in times of need but get bugger all recognition. Enough! Let me spin my story (only those who really know will get that one).
I am RADAR. I sit at the masthead above the ordinary occupations of the boat, on lookout. Mostly I just get to enjoy the view. It is when things get troublesome that the skipper turns to me. You see, I can “see” through stuff that the crew cannot.
Take the time we were on the Tennessee-Tombigbee leaving an anchorage, first of five boats. Visibility was less than 30 metres but with my eyes probing forward Bushranger forged ahead and led the five down river. Some may say they were gullible. I know what I could see and kept them safe. And what about those hours in Georgia, me probing, the siren sounding warnings as we weaved through the marshes?
I also recall that “incident” approaching Elizabeth City as a line squall approached. Dunno what the skipper was thinking when he called me to spin up. His view was as good as mine. Rain, mate. Lots of rain. Blinding rain, mate. Probably some wind, too. Nearly knocked me off my perch, it did.
Despite this stellar service, I am mostly forgotten. Take those low bridges for example. There is much conversation that wafts up to me from the fly bridge. “Hmm, says 21 ft but looks to be more” might the skipper say approaching a rusty H beam. I’m looking. I don’t need a haircut. I call a warning to the masthead light and we duck down just to shave through.
Overall though, my position on board represents my role in life. I sit above the melee, I am here when needed, I look down on that upstart Dinghy and can tell you a thing or two about Anchor who may soon put pen to paper. It will be a dour tale. Anchor is a bit of a stick in the mud.
Such is Life!