The Setup

You've just finished your four year honours degree in Computer Science at a prestigious [University of Western Australia|Western Australian University], 'Where to now?' You think, a [Masters] or [PhD]? Possibly, but the lure of a paycheque is a strong motivation to hit the [private sector]. So where? [telecommunications|Telecoms]? [eCommerce]? [Video Games|Game] development? So many options, but some how you end up sitting in a 10 foot metal cube floating in the middle of the [Indian Ocean].

This was not in the [brochure]. Sure you chose the Oil and Gas Industry, but when you started it was as 'the [lynch pin] of their new technical department'. Sick of relying on external resources for their software, they had hired you to write it for them. Sounds like a good solid [desk job]. There was even the possibility of [overseas] [travel] -- after all, the company managed projects all over the world. Of course what they neglected to mention was that all the projects where [offshore], on boats, and the longest you'd ever be in another country would be about how long it took to get from the [airport] to the local [dock|docks] (or [heliport]).

So, long story short -- a sole developer of untested, [mission-critical] [software], should expect to be going wherever the aforementioned software goes. Which brings us to the [Indian Ocean].

The Three P's -- Preparation, Preparation, Panic

Once you've accepted you're going, the first thing you want to know when they're sending you to work [offshore] is how much [money|coin] is it going to be worth. Which is pretty much the only [carrot] they have to offer in terms of [incentive] (unless you're the sort to be bought by claims of [XP|life experience] and broadened horizons). Buoyed by news of an expanded bank balance (or reduced [credit card] [debt]...), you begin to prepare.

How does one prepare for 3 weeks away from home, with no [television|TV], no [radio], no [internet] (just once daily text only [email] over a 1200 [baud] [satphone] link), no [shore leave] -- so no shops, and no, under any circumstances, [alcohol]? All of this with a luggage allowance of only 10kg. Well start with:

3 pair [overalls] (pre-washed and worn of course)? Check

[Hard hat]? Check

Steel tipped safety [boot|boots]? Check

Then the important things:

Notebook computer? Check

Three weeks supply of [lollies]? Check

Large collection of TV episodes and movies from [bittorrent|questionable internet sources]? Check

40Gb portable hard drive filled with porn^h^h^h^h [mp3]s? Check

Now add some toiletries, and some [T-shirt]s and you're set to go.

The morning of truth arrives, you grab your bag and head to the [airport]. Despite the claims of [overseas] travel this time you're heading to the [domestic] [terminal] for a jaunt to the [North West Shelf] of [Western Australia]. As Karratha is a resources town, you find yourself checking in with [gentlemen] of less [academic|scholarly] intent. [miner|Miners], [offshore] workers, [seamen] -- all of them are about 15 years, ah [old|'more experienced'] than you. Of course they aren't less [intelligent], or even less [educated] -- they're simply more inclined to do work that involves using their hands. You don't know it yet but there's a large number of [Engineering] and [Geology] [degrees] checking in with you.

You arrive in Karratha a couple of hours later and head for the [heliport], finally - an opportunity to put your [Helicopter underwater escape training|HUET] to the test -- on perhaps hopefully not -- but you do get to ride a [helicopter] for the first time, which is pretty cool. For a while you pretend that the music piped in through your headset is the [Flight of the Valkyries], but the flight is 4 hours long so in the end you focus on getting marginally more comfortable.

A Programmer All At Sea

At last, you're on the ship! And you're f**ked. Your flight was at 6.30am, you've been up since 4, and it's now 5.00pm. You're in a part of the world where there are two seasons, wet and dry. Today it is definitely hot, and the humidity must be 150%. Which would be fine if you were going swimming, but you're not. You're changing in to your [coverall]s, [boots], and [hardhat] to do your [vessel] [induction].

You've done your research so when you're told to meet up on the [bridge] you know where that's likely to be (I've heard [newbies] ask where it is -- not a good first impression). You do your induction, learn where your [muster] station is and what the different alarms mean. You also get assigned a room, which can determine just how much this trip will suck. Generally the options are as follows:

Small room, (6' x 12') room with one bunk bed, shared with one other person on the opposite shift.

Slightly larger room (12'x12') with 4 bunk beds, shared with 3 others on the same shift.

Larger room (20'x20')with 15 bunk beds, shared with 14 other people on the same shift, and 15 on the opposite shift.

The first two options often have their own [shower] and [toilet], often you're sharing the 4 showers and 6 toilets on board with everyone else. This is [disaster|not the desired outcome].

Your induction introduces you the [mess] and the [galley], the smoking room, and the [recreation|rec] room. The rec room has the TV and [DVD] player and the ship's library, which has all the classics -- [Playboy], [FHM], [Barely Legal], [People] -- they're all there. The DVD selection is slightly more mundane, but they all seem to have that made in [Hong Kong] feel.

The next few hours are a blur entitled '[mobilisation]'. You're setting up [computers], installing software and fixing last minute bugs. Others are stringing CatV and 440V mains leads around the back deck. [Telemetry] from the [ROV] has to be fed to [survey] then back down to you at inspection, so you've got the [RS232] [breakout box] in full effect. Four live video feeds need to be recorded onto four [digital video recorder] PCs, a frame grabber on the online inspection PC, the bridge, and also backup [Video Cassette Recorder|VCRs]. There're cables everywhere. Access to everything is awkward, and there're always three people trying to occupy the same piece of space, and work with the same piece of hardware. All the while the ship ploughs out to the field in 2m seas with 24knot winds. Thankfully you're far too busy to worry about [seasickness], and by the time you hit your [bunk] (at 5am) you're far too [exhausted] to care.

One thing no one lied about was the quality of [food] [offshore]. Defying all expectations the food is good. Better than good, the food makes life worthwhile. I can personally assure you that the thought of missing dinner was the only thing that stopped me stealing the [Fast Rescue Craft] and heading for shore. You're on nights, so you're officially [offshift] until 6pm. You use that 12 hours to [eat], [sleep] and [eat]. At 5pm you get up and head to the [mess] for, well, [breakfast]. You have a healthy breakfast of pork spare ribs and mashed potato with gravy (clearly the body clock will require some adjustments). That done you head out to your first shift.

So What Do You Do, Anyway?

You're a programmer, you know this and so does your employer. Of course the [client] thinks you're an [inspection engineering|inspection engineer], as that's what he's paying for. Which would be less of a problem if only your [employer] didn't insist on you do that job as well. Apparently it's been decided that the best way to [test] and [debug] is to use the software online. Now, rather than being [perceived] as a brilliant programmer on the [front lines] -- you're a barely adequate [inspection engineering|inspection engineer] who seems more interested in the software he's using than the job at hand.

If you are interested in what it's like to work offshore, you can simulate the experience as follows:

Hang 4 flat screen monitors on the inside wall of your bedroom wardrobe.

Put an uncomfortable chair in front of the monitors.

Setup video cameras pointing at the bottom of an aquarium, each at a slightly different angle but looking at the same thing.

Get into the wardrobe, ensuring the light is off and sit down facing the screens.

Turn on the humidifier, ensuring the humidity is at least 100%. Then alternate a heater with an airconditioner set at 15 degrees Celcius every 30mins.

Invite five strangers off the street into your wardrobe.

Have someone lock the door for at least 12 hours.

And finally, and this is important, have your friends rock the wardrobe by about 30 degrees side-to-side continuously, occassionaly giving it a good shake as well.

So this is what you do from 6pm until 6am. You get time off for good behaviour around midnight, just enough time to wolf down another [cholesterol] loaded, [deep fried], [heart attack] inducing lunch time meal, before they stick you back in the box.

At 6am the sun's coming up and you should be heading to bed. But you aren't. You're now writing the [code] to fix the [bug|bugs] you found during your shift, and implementing the features that you didn't have time to finish before the job started. This lasts until around [midday], when you finally call it a day, write a daily email to the ones you love and head for bed. At 6pm you're back up and it starts again.

After about three weeks two things happen. Firstly the bugs are becoming less critical -- so you've got more time to think, and then you realise that this three week job is not likely to finish in the next two days. So you ask around, and [email] your loved ones, explaining that rather than being home by the [weekend] as planned, you'll be out here for another month. You've been around [sailor|sailors] for three weeks, but when you get the reply you [blush] and you're pretty thankful that you can't get phone calls.

At around 5 weeks the [homesickness] has completely replaced the [seasickness]. You're [swearing] like a sailor and you've not shaved since day three. It's been a month since you've seen your [girlfriend] (or any three dimensional [woman]). You've watched so much [porn] that you're starting to be surprised you've never met any of these women in real life. You've fixed everyone's notebook at least once, and the backup computer is effectively a 2.3 [terabyte] [mp3] and [porn] [server]. It's time to go home.

Homecoming

The day has arrived. The [helicopter|choppers] are [en route], the flights have been booked. If we don't go home today there will be a [mutiny]. Last night everyone worked 24 hours to get the [demobilisation] finished, those on [night shift] (like you) are heading for 36. None of that matters though, everyone has shaved and has put on their 'good' clothes. It's the first time you've seen most of them clean shaven and not in their [coveralls] -- if you didn't know better you'd think they were all respectable.

The second time on the [helicopter|helo] is less exciting and the flight back to [Perth] is a blur of sleep and post job [gin and tonic|G&Ts]. You meet your loved one at the airport and completely disregard the people who have grown to be good [friends] in the last month. Within a week you'll have forgotten most of their names, though some will remain close friends.

You'll take the next few days off as accrued leave under threat of [death] and spend the time reacquainting yourself with your [home] and [family]. The first few days will involve walking with a sea-[swagger] as you get used to standing on a stationary surface, and letting your eyes adjust to sunlight -- and a [horizon]. You still lean forward and support yourself with one hand (for [balance]) when you're using the toilet and you're not going to be allowed in [public] before your language is a little more acceptable.

At the end of the day though, your [bank account] is looking healthy, you've got some great stories, and you know your code better than you know yourself. But you're never going [offshore] again. Ever.

...Until the next time.

A Programmer's Guide to Working Offshore