A Month and a Half in the Floating Groundhog Day

A brief recap of the longest work trip of my life, featuring crew chaos, 15-hour workdays, an existential crisis, and a few unexpected plot twists.

So... hi.

It's been a minute.

And by "a minute," I mean I've spent the last month and a half working approximately 15 hours a day, seven days a week, on a boat in Alaska, so unfortunately my creative writing career had to take a brief backseat to polishing silverware and questioning my life choices.

But we're back.

And because I have now emerged from the trenches with a few days to breathe, I figured it's probably time to unpack what the hell just happened.

Let's talk about what it was like on the crew side of a month-and-a-half-long trip that managed to fit approximately six months' worth of plot twists into the first week.

Week One: Cool, So Everything Changed

We started the trip with a fairly chaotic first group, some ongoing crew tension, and what I can only describe as an absolutely loaded atmosphere. Then the first group left, and so did two crew members. Suddenly, I was moving from deck/stew into a second stew position, our temporary deckhand had to pivot into deck/stew, we got a new chef, and the deckhand who had been away on vacation came back.

All of this happened approximately one week into the trip.

So that was fun.

I think the hardest part wasn't necessarily any one solitary change. It was trying to mentally process all of these moving pieces while simultaneously doing a job that already requires you to be "on" basically all the time. There was a lot to absorb, a lot of new dynamics to figure out, and suddenly everyone was having to adjust to a completely different crew structure while the trip itself just... kept going.

And then there was the small matter of me suddenly becoming a second stew.

So... I Became a Second Stew

I'll be honest: I was hesitant. Not because I didn't think I could do it, but because I already knew how much I loved working outside.

The exterior side of the boat is where I feel the most like myself. I love being on the water, I love the scenery, I love the physicality of the job, and, perhaps most importantly, I like knowing what the fuck is happening outside a window.

But I also knew the crew needed someone to step up. I didn't want to be the person who refused a position that would make the rest of the team struggle through an already chaotic trip, so I decided to put my head down, accept the challenge, and do the job.

And let me tell you something: I actually did a pretty damn good job.

Patting myself on the back? Absolutely.

But the experience also taught me something pretty important: I do not want to be a second stew.

And I think there's something valuable about learning that through experience rather than just assuming it. I can do the job. I can apparently do it well. But that doesn't mean it's where I want to take my career, and I'm glad I figured that out.

A Day in the Life of a Second Stew

Or, more accurately: Groundhog Day: Yacht Edition

Every day was basically identical. I'd wake up, do turn-ups in the cabins, make everything look beautiful after everyone slept in it, clean up breakfast service, pull for lunch, set up lunch, serve lunch, and then finally get a two-hour break.

Then I'd come back from break and clean up lunch service before pulling for dinner, setting the table, serving dinner, and waiting for everyone to finish. Then I'd stay up until the last guest went to bed, all while checking in on guests, checking the heads, doing random cleaning spurts, and generally trying to keep everything running smoothly.

Then I'd go to bed and do it all over again the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

For a month.

There were days where I genuinely felt like I was living the same day over and over again. And listen, I knew going into this job that there would be long days. I knew interior work was part of the gig. I knew I wasn't going to spend every waking moment outside staring at glaciers and watching whales.

But there is something uniquely strange about spending 15 hours a day inside the same boat while watching the world go by outside of it.

The Great Outdoors... That I Could Not See

This was probably the hardest part for me.

If you know me, you know that nature and the ocean are not exactly casual interests of mine. They're kind of my entire personality. So imagine being in Alaska and hearing about whales breaching, glaciers, incredible sunsets, dolphins, and all of the other cool things happening outside while you're downstairs working.

There were multiple times when someone would come back inside and tell me about something amazing they'd just seen, and I would genuinely be happy for them while simultaneously thinking, Cool. Love that for you. I was just cleaning a bathroom.

There was one particular day where I was especially burnt out, and I realized I'd missed whales feeding and breaching, a glacier, and all sorts of incredible scenery because I had been in the cabins. I completely understood why. It was my job. But understanding something logically doesn't always prevent your brain from having a small existential crisis about it.

And yes, I had a few breakdowns.

Multiple, actually.

But I also knew it wasn't forever, and that made a huge difference. I could put my head down, do the job, get through the trip, and eventually go back to the exterior team. I didn't have to love every second of it for it to be worth doing.

And Then Things Got... Interesting

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, the trip developed a few unexpected side plots.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing worth making a Netflix series about. Just the sort of little moments that happen when you spend approximately every waking hour in the same floating workplace with the same group of people.

There were new friendships, new dynamics, plenty of inside jokes, and a few moments that made the days feel slightly less like Groundhog Day.

But it was a nice reminder that even during the most exhausting stretches, there can still be little moments of fun.

And sometimes you need those!

The Bright Spots in the Groundhog Day

I think that's ultimately what got me through the longest stretches of the trip.

When every day starts to blur together, you need something that breaks up the routine. Sometimes it was getting outside for a few minutes. Sometimes it was a particularly ridiculous crew conversation. Sometimes it was laughing so hard at the end of a shift that I forgot how tired I was.

Sometimes it was simply having something that made the day a little more interesting.

Was it life-changing? Absolutely not.

Was it occasionally entertaining? Very much so.

Did it give me something to smile about during an otherwise exhausting stretch? Absolutely.

Are we doing it for the plot? DUH!

So, Where Are We Now?

And that brings us to today.

I currently have approximately six days “off” before the next eight-day guest trip begins. I'm sitting on the aft deck as we make our way toward Sitka, which feels like a pretty good time to finally stop and process the last month and a half.

It was exhausting. It was chaotic. It was repetitive. There were definitely moments where I questioned every decision that led me to voluntarily live and work on a boat.

But I also learned a lot. I learned that I can step into a completely different role and hold my own. I learned that I'm significantly happier working outside. I learned that I can survive a month and a half of 15-hour days without completely losing the plot.

Well... mostly.

And apparently, I learned that when you live and work on a boat for long enough, the plot will find you whether you asked for it or not.

Which was not on my bingo card.

But here we are.

Until Next Time...

The boat is still moving. The next trip is coming. The drawer is getting full again.

And unfortunately for all of us, I have a feeling the plot isn't finished yet.

ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!