What It's Like Working
on a Ship
I spent four years at the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy, two weeks in training, and $80 on a pair of work pants to get this job: third assistant engineer on an offshore supply vessel. I filmed my first 21-day hitch to answer one question — should I keep it? This is what the job actually looked like, from the room to the engine room to the worst crawl space on the boat.
The video is the whole hitch, week by week, including the answer.
The ship: an offshore supply vessel
The boat was an OSV — an offshore supply vessel. The company I worked for owned more than 50 of them. Offshore drilling ships and platforms don't move easily, so they contract boats like ours to bring out what they need: drilling pipe, fuel, drilling mud, anything else to keep the job going. OSVs are one kind of merchant ship among many — container ships, tankers, bulk carriers, ro-ros, and plenty more.
Week one: learning the boat
The first week is mostly figuring out where everything is. The tour, roughly:
- Common areas: a gym, a lounge, and the mess, where everyone eats. The galley is the kitchen. We didn't have a dedicated cook that hitch, so for me it was a lot of cheesy eggs and mac and cheese.
- The bridge: where the deck officers drive while underway — lots of windows, plus controls for all the thrusters.
- The engine room, where I worked: four main propulsion diesel generators that make the power to drive the thrusters. Not quiet.
- The switchboards: one for the propulsion generators, kept in a room cooled to a set temperature so the electronics don't overheat, and one in the engine control room for the three ship-service generators that run lighting and everything else aboard.
- Lifeboats: three of them, which my fellow third engineer Grady and I were in charge of, plus a fast rescue boat for anyone who goes overboard. We had to work on it every week, and it sits a little too close to the edge for my taste.
- My room: small. For the next month, that was home.
The chain of command on a ship
If you've never been aboard, the titles are confusing. From the top:
- Captain — in charge of almost everything; everyone ultimately reports to him, and he's the last line of communication to shore.
- Chief engineer — just below the captain, runs the engine side.
- Chief mate (deck) and first assistant engineer (engine).
- Second mate and second assistant engineer.
- Third mate and third assistant engineer — that was me and Grady.
That's the licensed crew. Below them are the unlicensed ranks: in the engine department, QMEDs, oilers, and wipers; on deck, the bosun and able-bodied seamen. At the bottom are ordinary seamen, who work on both sides. Engine department on one side, deck department on the other.
What goes in the pants: flashlight, wrench, ratchet, screwdriver, channel locks, knife, gloves, marker, pen, notebook, rag, and water. Somehow it all fits — so the $80 was worth it.
Week two: the actual work
- The evaporator. This is how the ship makes fresh water from seawater: heat salt water until it boils, then cool the vapor back down so the salt stays behind. It happens between stacked plates, and those plates get filthy. We took it apart and cleaned every one.
- A seized fan. Rust had built up so thick around a fan that the blades jammed. I took a needle gun and chipped inches of rust off until it spun again.
- The lifeboat engine. It had an oil-pressure issue. While checking fluids I found the coolant low, so we topped it up — water first, then antifreeze to get back to roughly 50/50.
- The agitators. Big fans that keep drilling mud mixed in a tank, and the only way to check their oil is to crawl through gaps about 11 inches wide in the dark. Not for anyone claustrophobic. That was the moment I seriously asked myself whether to keep the job.
Week three: inspections and a storm
Week three brought a Coast Guard inspection to confirm the vessel was up to code, including the big firefighting pump — the "FiFi" system — used to fight fires on oil rigs. Then the weather turned. The saying goes "red sky in the morning, sailor's warning," we got a red sky one morning, and a downpour followed. It got bad enough that we started the propulsion generators and pushed the boat into the dock so the lines tying us to the ship alongside wouldn't snap.
Before crew change we filled a potable-water tank from a hose run across the neighboring boat, and took soundings of every tank — dropping a long measuring tape down a sounding tube, reading how deep the fluid was, and reporting it to the engine control room so the next crew knew exactly how much fuel, lube oil, and water was aboard.
Should I have kept the job?
After 21 days, here's how the list came out:
- Cons: it's a lot of work — 12 hours a day, every day. You're away from home. The room is small.
- Pros: a great crew, and people who could cook even when I couldn't. It's a cool thing to be part of, and you learn a lot.
That's close to even, so it came down to money — and the money won. I kept the job. Later I left maritime work to do YouTube and the Turo fleet full-time, but that's a different story.
Keep reading
- How to Start a Turo Business — what I started building after leaving ships
- 6 Tools for Car Maintenance at Home — including the tool brand the ship ruined me on
I'm a YouTuber in Charleston, South Carolina. I graduated from the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy with a marine engineering degree and an unlimited Third Assistant Engineer license before going full-time on YouTube and my Turo fleet. More about me.
Subscribe on YouTube