(pictured left), who is working to get more sea time for his Masters Licence to skipper commercial shipping. In June of this year, the 38-year-old American sailed on the container ship Green Wave for the Pacific Rim. Here is his account of the ship's sail from Korea to the Philippines.

It was going to be a very nasty trip from Korea down to Subic Bay in the Philippines. I should have known this when the pilot in Pusan anchored us in pouring rain to wait for the fuel barge.

It isn't normal to have two anchors out with an override in them. .. But then the Russian trawler next to us had his anchors twisted around each other about three times. The only persons who benefit from this situation are the pilots and the tugboat it might take to sort it out when we get ready to leave.

We did manage to extricate ourselves that evening prior to heading past the outer breakwater, and then sail southbound into the East China Sea. Our next port would be a 31 -day run south in one of the most crowded sea lanes of the world.

The commercial traffic from Korea, Japan, China, Taiwan, the Philippines, Hong Kong, and points south all converge at these crossroads. For good measure, toss in fishing fleets so large they routinely stretch across the horizon and which at night seem like small cities.

When visibility is good it is an enjoyable task to thread the 500-foot Green Wave in and around this mass of commerce. In rain squalls or just hazy conditions, with over 100 targets within six miles on the radar screen, it becomes a challenge that leaves its mark on you at the end of a four-hour watch.

In two days we have sailed down to a point 120 miles ENE of the northern end of Taiwan. The weather reports weren't looking too promising with Tropical Storm Polly heading on an intercept course with us somewhere off the east coast of Taiwan.

The OTSR (optimum track ship routing) service based in Guam recommended we reverse our course for 300 miles to give Polly a chance to pass ahead of our intended track. Already the wind was blowing force six (25-30 mph) -- causing us to roll about quite a bit -- when we turned around and started punching into this mess to escape the centre of a potential typhoon. That was the last we heard from OTSR Guam.

The next 24 hours got increasingly uncomfortable, as the wind and sea continued to build. We arrived at the mythical point where supposedly it was safe to turn around and head south again. But the wind was blowing 35-40 mph out of the NE and with 12-15 foot seas it was impossible to head on the course of choice without rolling the guts out of everything.

We had been running the whole time "in ballast'' with no cargo, which was good because it would have all broken loose by this time. But no cargo leaves us without the tonnage to set us down in the water where we ride better and handle the seas with a little more comfort. A ship in this condition has to be handled almost like a sailboat tacking upwind in that you try to find a direction where the ride and stress on the hull aren't compromised too much by the direction you ultimately would like to go in.

Meanwhile, Polly stalled out and was remaining stationary right on the course we needed to follow to reach the Philippines. Most indications on the weather we received were that this storm would not get any worse. Since we had been in it for two days, the captain made the decision to get it over with and go through Polly's centre off the east coast of Taiwan.

We had routinely been taking 20 to 30 degree rolls with the occasional 45 degree "whammy'' thrown in for good measure, so this didn't seem like too bad a deal at this point.

To get an idea of what a 45 degree roll is like, stand eight feet away from any wall, and imagine a line drawn from your feet to a point where the ceiling meets that wall, and you have some understanding what the deck would be doing... The rolls usually came in sets of three or four at a time. It was a great way to clear your desk. Everything usually ended up on the deck, either intentionally or by design, where it then slid around banging into things all night. It didn't keep you awake much, as you probably weren't getting any real sleep anyway.

About this time we heard from the OTSR in Pearl Harbour enquiring as to our whereabouts. Evidently the Guam station had been run over by the next typhoon on the list, Omar (who thinks up these names anyway?), and no one had heard from them for 30 hours or so. With glee I pointed out to the captain that if they couldn't route themselves out of the way of a typhoon how could we expect them to get it right for us? The run down Taiwan's east coast was relatively easy with 40 knots of wind blowing up our rear end. The barograph did the classic fall and rise as we approached and then passed through the centre of Polly.

An interesting thing about wind and waves at sea is that people tend to look at them two ways: from behind, or at them as they approach, which isn't nearly as reassuring.

Standing on the stern watching occasional 20-footers roll up and threaten with the steep breaking face while the wind blows like a living thing across the surface, ruffling the water in a hard, purposeful way, is not the view most people choose. It's much easier to watch those waves breaking in front of you, secure in the knowledge that at least that particular wave won't be a problem anymore.

We suspected the ride would end when we reached the southern tip of Taiwan.

All the nastiness we had endured approaching the centre of the storm was now waiting like some revenge-filled cousin on the other side. The wind shifted to the SW, and hit with full force on the starboard bow. Polly had saved the truly big waves for this area, and then started to throw them at us from a couple of directions at once, causing the ship to pitch and roll violently... often at the same time.

This area is known as the Bashi Channel, which is followed by the Luzon Straits and then the west coast of Luzon.

Our forward progress to the south, and eventually to Subic Bay, was slowed to four or five knots. That meant we made the position marks on the chart very, very small, so they didn't overlap each other.

In normal conditions we would only be 12 to 18 hours from our arrival at the US Naval base of Subic Bay, but with the weather forecast remaining the same, reality told us there would be another day and a half of this foolishness. The weather finally did moderate somewhat, allowing us to complete the passage in about seven days... just about twice the usual time needed.

All of us on board looked forward to a few pleasant days in the Philippines after that trip. What we got was three days of around-the-clock cargo operations in torrential downpours, loading 60-ton emergency generators and other relief cargo for Omar-stricken Guam. As we undocked (in the rain again!), and having had only four hours of sleep in 31 days, I began to think that maybe the hot August days of Bermuda were looking better than ever.

ROUGH PASSAGE -- Green Wave rolls and crashes in the waves of tropical storm Polly as she heads from Korea to the Philippines.