Piloting: the melody of safety

Piloting: the melody of safety. (or the new songs of the Chagres River)

Captain Ricardo Caballero

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My son and a few other kids, who have been playing the piano for some years, were honored to attend a  Master class by famous French pianist  Pascal Gallet.

The classes were taught at the grand piano on the stage of  Panama's National Theater, where Mr. Gallet would give a concert the following night. 

 Sitting at the far end of the stage, a few meters away from the instrument, I could see the little young heads, tilted down as if they were giving a last minute glance at the music sheet with the melody they were about to play.

One could sense the mix of excitment and anxiety with which the kids were filling the air. Even though this was not a contest, their performance was going to be "judged" by someone who was not their regular teacher. That must be scary, I thought.

To me, it was not only the fact that, unlike playing for their usual teachers at home,  they were about to play under the strict scrutiny of a famous concert player, but it was also the effect of being in such an intimidating space. 

In there, neither the beautiful frescos on the ceiling, nor the gold and red colors of the theater decoration seemed to calm the uneasiness of the young pianists.  

There was a small audience scattered through the first rows of the plateau. Those were the parents and relatives who, with their loud whispers, were striving to make their children feel like this was just a normal rehearsal day. That there were no reasons to be afraid. 

In spite that it wasn't me the one who was going to play the piano ( I hardly play the flute), a stream of shivers ran up my spine. But I managed  to hid my emotions not to make my kid any more nervous of what I thought he was.

Then, when the first youngster sat at the piano and his fingers gave life to the notes of a beautiful Beethoven's sonata, all the anxiety and nervousness faded away. 

One by one filled the theater atmosphere with beautiful music. Beautiful at least for the small audience who, in spite of the teacher unexpected interruptions to correct their wrongs and to strengthen their weaknesses, listened in complete silence.  

The Master was clear and energetic with their flaws, but he was also kind and encouraging. He even danced around as they played. By the end, the kids had a great learning experience and we, the parents, a delightful evening.

While there, I had  these flashbacks from the days I was a trainee back in the mid nineties. The anxiety that my kid felt, I had felt it too. Too often at the beginning of my career to be honest. Things were happening extremely fast, and even though pilots were giving me tips everytime I was on a ship, none of them seemed to clue me into something I could relate to piloting.

But then I rode on a ship with this American senior pilot by the name of Freddy Zeggers, whose friends called him "the Dutch" because he had been born in Dutch East Indies.  A pleasant character and a very easy going gentleman, with a loud voice which pitch might had been molded by the shots of scotch he probably had every now and then during his time aboard oceangoing ships sailing abroad.

 He could strike you any minute with a joke or rid the time of a dull moment by telling a good story. To me, besides being a pilot, he was also a performer, in his own particular way.

I never forget that day. He was transiting a south bound ship when I boarded in Gamboa as part of my training.  Upon stepping inside the bridge he immediately  asked my name. I said Ricardo Caballero, but by the way he grinned I knew  I had to spell it for him slowly. Then he called on the Captain, a short lean Japanese man, and told him, while giving me a wink at the same time, "Mr Ca-ba- le row" is now in command". 

I was petrified!

I did not have only but a few transits, none in control of the navigation, and less of a ship of this kind, a panamax vehicle carrier. Sure Zeggers knew about my short, almost nonexistent, piloting experience. But he was determined to have me do the job. 

I must have put on a panic face  that he decided to walk me out to the bridge wing. Once outside, he said to me " listen, you are going to be fine, this is like conducting an orchestra, everybody knows their part, all you have to do is tell them when and how to play." There is the stage, he added, staring at Bas Obispo Reach, the first stretch of the narrow, seven mile long,  Culebra Cut.   

Like conducting an Orchestra? Is he serious? Or is it just another one of his let's-not -get-bored moments?

We went back inside and I took the  conn of the ship under the inquisitive eyes of the Japanese Captain. He was squinting  ( maybe he wasn't squinting, but I sensed it that way) at every one of my moves.  At the beginning I was scared to death, then I was only hesitant, but after giving the helmsman a few orders to keep the ship right on course, a feeling of  confidence started to flow through my veins. My voice wasn't coming out with that trembling sound, typical of being unsure, a rooky's signature.

But that feeling of confidence did not last long enough. The next important move after navigating Culebra Cut, was to bring the ship inside Pedro Miguel locks which, as we approached it, seemed as intimidating as the National Theater must have seemed for the young pianists. But, like the French artist who was there for the our children, "the Dutch" was also there, or so I thought, for me, to smooth my flaws. 

Well, it wasn't quite that way. Captain Zeggers was sitting on the Captain's chair reading (or pretending to be reading) an outdated Spanish magazine, looking relaxed, just like the small audience of parents were before the Master classes began. However, I knew he could not read Spanish, so pretending he was. 

I was trying to keep the ship in "good shape" but a southerly wind kept pushing its port quarter towards the lock's approach wall. This time it  was me who grinned in a weird way at "The Dutch" as if asking him to please slowly spell  what I needed to do to put the ship safely inside the lock's chamber.

All I got was another one of his winks, as though he was reminding me , again, that all was going to be " fine".

If he did not say anything then things weren't too bad. By giving  a zillion orders of wheel, rudder, engine, tugs and then to the locomotives, I managed to enter the locks. If all those resources would have been an orchestra, I doubt that any decent music would have resulted under my direction. In spite of that, I firmly believe that the analogy between piloting and music remains. At least for me. 

Not only that. I think that it applies to ship's Captains and it extends to life in general, wherever team work is required. We all either play an instrument or direct an orchestra, it depends in the context.

There was this Panamanian senior pilot, Captain Dominick Henry, now retired, who used to sing, after giving each order, "sounds like music". For years I figured it was his way to deal with stress, but after I became a senior pilot myself, after 25 years of transiting the Panama Canal, I realized that there is rythm in Piloting, and where there is rythm, there is music. 

Panamanian Ph.D Marixa Lasso wrote in her revealing book "Erased, the untold story of the Panama Canal": 

"The river also had its songs. Just as the boatmen changed their rowing instruments with the currents, they changed their songs, which transformed their pace and tone from fast and high-pitched to a “doleful and quivering drawl” as the river currents became stronger and more challenging.The river also had its songs. Just like its towns, the songs of the Chagres River are now lost."

It is true that the towns were lost with the construction of the Panama Canal. The inhabitants of the lands in which the canal would be built were systematically  rushed out of their properties and their way of living. The Chagres River used to serve as part of the path for those,who in search of rich wanted to cross the isthmus to the Pacific, and from there continue their journey to California during the "gold rush". Those boatmen took them as far up and across the river allowed them to. They, long forgotten, can be thought as the first pilots of the Chagres River.


Yes, most of the towns and their history might have been erased, but the songs of the boatmen survived in the new songs: these songs  are now played by tugboat's Captains, locomotives operators, helmsmen, etc, who, like members of a  symphonic orchestra,  perform the new melodies under the direction of a Pilot. Each one of the resources made available to the pilot can be considered an instrument.

Captain Zeggers died long ago, but everytime I take the conn of a ship I think of that day. Yes, Piloting is indeed like directing an orchestra.

"Enter music. Beautiful music. Hushed at first. Whispering. No pins are dropped. Only music. Music swelling imperceptibly. Pulling itself out its grave of silence. The orchestra pit fills with sweat. Expectancy. Enter gentle rumble of timpani. Enter piccolo and viola. Intimations of crescendo. Ascent of adrenaline, even after so many performances. It still feels new. The music is building, blooming."

That is from Best Selling Author Jonathan Safran Foer in his novel “Everything is illuminated”

The locks remain intimidating, more so the new ones, but I am always ready to direct. When I am piloting, I feel like I am directing an orchestra. You might not hear the music, but it is there, playing inside my head, to the rythm of safety, a safe melody. A melody that, as the ones that the Chagres boatmen sang while serving those pursuing their "gold" dreams, now serves the dreams of world commerce.