Life Aboard Hydrographic Ships

The late 1990s were a time of grit, camaraderie, and resilience aboard hydrographic ships in the Indian Navy. Our mission: charting the unexplored expanses of oceans and coastlines, mapping underwater topography, and ensuring the safe passage of countless vessels. Life on board was unlike anything else. The ocean was our home for months on end, and the crew became our extended family. In an era before advanced technology, navigating those waters relied on skill, trust, and instinct, creating unforgettable bonds between shipmates.

From the extended economic zones (EEZs) to the coastal waters, river mouths, and coral reefs, our deployments took us into the heart of nature’s raw, untamed beauty. For weeks, we sailed in pursuit of charts and maps, charting the unknown. The Decca AC1649 radar, clunky yet reliable, was one of our trusted companions, alongside the station pointers and a well-worn sextant. But more often than not, it was our eyes that we relied on. We stood watch with binoculars, gazing into the seemingly endless blue during the day and the eerie blackness of night. I’ll never forget those long, lonely nights on deck, with nothing but the hum of the ship and the distant echoes of the ocean to keep me company. Navigating in pitch darkness tested not only our equipment but also our senses. In those moments, I would consult the nautical charts, adjusting for deviations based on our readings, aligning the stars through the sextant to keep us on course. Trusting in the crew’s lookouts, stationed around the vessel, became essential. It was a delicate dance between technology and tradition, between man and nature.

Life at sea was about far more than navigation. It was a teacher, one that forged an unbreakable bond among the crew. Living in close quarters for extended periods, facing the harshest of conditions, you learned quickly the value of camaraderie. Whether it was braving cyclones, with waves crashing against the ship, or preparing for a rendezvous with a distant supply vessel, our survival depended on each other.

The ocean could change its temperament in minutes. Calm, gentle swells could give way to raging winds and high seas. I vividly recall one such encounter off the Grandy Islands, Goa, where we found ourselves caught in a cyclone. The wind howled, and the ship rocked fiercely. The crew worked tirelessly, securing equipment, adjusting for the rough weather, and riding out the storm with quiet determination. It was in these moments that you learned to respect the ocean and its raw power. And it was in these moments that the crew became your closest allies—each of us doing our part to ensure survival.

A Seafarer's Tales : Over time, you also accumulated stories—stories of strange encounters with marine life, of coral reefs teeming with vibrancy, and of moments that bordered on the mystical. I remember one calm evening, where the sea was like glass, and we spotted bioluminescent creatures lighting up the water’s surface. It was a scene of surreal beauty, something you could only experience out in the deep sea. There were also humorous encounters with local fishing boats in narrow river mouths, where communication was less about language and more about hand signals and mutual understanding. These interactions reminded us that, no matter how far from shore, life in all its forms continued to thrive and adapt to the ocean’s challenges.

Today life aboard hydrographic ships has evolved drastically. The introduction of satellite navigation (SatNav) and GPS has revolutionized how we chart our courses. No longer do we need to rely solely on a sextant to plot our position against the stars. A click of a button provides precise coordinates, and sonar imaging gives detailed underwater maps in minutes. Communication with shore is now seamless, with satellites beaming real-time data back and forth. The advancements in technology have indeed made life easier, more efficient, and—some would say—safer.

But for those of us who remember the ‘90s, there’s a certain nostalgia for the old ways. Yes, it was hard. Yes, it was unpredictable. But it was also a time when every sailor had to know the ropes—literally and figuratively. You had to trust your gut, your crew, and your ship.

Though technology has improved, the lessons we learned at sea remain the same: trust in your comrades, respect the ocean, and never underestimate its power. Even now, whenever I catch sight of the sea, I am transported back to those endless nights, navigating by the stars, feeling the weight of the wheel in my hands and the responsibility of the crew on my shoulders. It was a time of resilience and adventure, one that shaped not just our careers but our lives.

As we sail into the future, those of us who knew the life onboard warships carry those memories and lessons with us—a constant reminder that the ocean, like life, is vast, unpredictable, and full of possibilities.