At sea, damages are not measured only in man-hours and spare parts. They are measured in decisions that must be made quickly, in responsibility that weighs on the shoulders of two people – the Captain and the Chief Engineer – and in psychological pressures that, if not controlled, can turn a difficult moment into a real crisis. The text that follows illuminates this exact, subtle and often invisible side of our work.
Dealing with a serious breakdown on a ship is never just a purely technical matter. Behind every decision, every action, and every delay lies the human factor: the Captain and the Chief Engineer, two people who in critical moments bear the weight of everyone’s safety and the overall operation of the ship. Their psychology, the fear of responsibility, the pressure of time, and the anxiety about what will follow are often more decisive than the breakdown itself.
Some breakdowns are capable of immobilizing a ship. Damage to a crankpin or the propeller shaft, for example, requires immediate reaction. If the problem is not perceived in time and the engine is not stopped instantly, the damage can extend to the shaft itself and then things become not just difficult but extremely complicated, with the possibility of the ship being completely immobilized. In such moments, the slightest hesitation or an overly hasty move can make the difference between a manageable breakdown and a very serious incident.
A black out at sea can leave the ship unsteerable, exposed to the routes of other ships or to geographical hazards. If it happens in a port, in the middle of loading or unloading with its own means, it can cause work stoppages, delays, financial implications and financial implications. And there, the psychological pressure on those responsible to quickly restore the problem is enormous and often greater than the technical issue itself.
From the moment a breakdown is identified, time becomes the ship’s and the engine room crew’s greatest adversary. Every minute that passes translates into a delay of arrival, into potential impacts on the freight, and into pressure from the bridge, where the first question is almost always: “In how much time?” This seemingly simple question exerts great psychological pressure on the engineers, who are called upon to give an estimate for the restoration, even before the problem is fully diagnosed.
The sea state is also a critical factor. During the repair, the ship may pitch and roll, hampering every movement and making the work dangerous. The effort to hold onto tools, maintain a stable stance, and perform tasks accurately in an environment that is constantly moving is a test in itself. Added to these are the conditions of the engine room.
The heat and the noise — especially when the ship is in hot climatic zones — quickly exhaust the personnel, reducing stamina and concentration. The atmosphere becomes suffocating, sweat runs into the eyes, the noise tires the mind. And yet, in there, clear decisions must be made.
Another serious factor is the potential lack of required spare parts. When a critical component is not in stock, then the ship enters another level of difficulty: improvisations, temporary solutions, tasks that require more thought, inventiveness, and composure.
And perhaps the most insidious adversary of all is fear.
The fear that the damage might prove greater than it appears. That responsibility might be assigned to the engineer or the Captain. That the ship might be delayed beyond permissible limits. It is this fear that can lead to spasmodic movements, to hasty, wrong, and dangerous decisions. This is precisely why composure is the most important tool in the storm of a breakdown.
Before a full diagnosis of the damage is even made, the Captain’s thought goes directly to where the ship is, how much maneuvering room it has, what dangers exist around it, what will happen if propulsion and steering are fully lost. The weight of absolute responsibility follows him in every decision. Beyond the safety of the crew, he knows that any incident will be placed under the microscope of the company, charterers, authorities, insurers, and—not infrequently—under the silent judgment of other colleagues. This pressure can sustain or disorient a critical moment.
At the same time, the Chief Engineer is at the point where technical knowledge meets human fear. He must quickly understand what exactly is happening, assess the severity, and give the Captain a clear picture.
Simultaneously, he wrestles with the internal thought that crosses the mind of every responsible officer: “If the damage is serious, will they blame me? Will it be considered that I didn’t spot the signs in time?” The anxiety for the next day, for what the company will say, is often the invisible factor that can delay or accelerate a critical order.
In all these situations, the greatest danger is not always the breakdown itself, but panic. It doesn’t necessarily manifest with shouts; it often manifests with hasty decisions, with wrong prioritization, with an attempt to “save face” rather than save the situation. A person who fears being blamed thinks differently from a person who is calm. And this is critical. Composure allows clear thinking, correct diagnosis, steady steps, and control. Panic does the opposite; it builds an environment where small mistakes can evolve into large ones.
In such a situation, the quality of collaboration between the captain and the Chief Engineer is the central axis of successful management. When there is trust, information is clear, decisions are stable, and the crew feels secure. When there is fear, suspicion, or the feeling that someone is “holding back,” then time is lost and judgment can slip away. These are moments when the Captain needs from the Chief Engineer a direct, substantiated account without embellishments, and the Chief needs from the Captain support, not pressure. Only in this way can there be effectiveness.
Behind all this lies a deeper issue: the culture of punishment that still survives in many maritime environments. When an officer fears that the company will consider any damage as his personal mistake, then he will not act freely. He will filter information, hesitate to speak up early, struggle to maintain his image, and this increases the risk. A company that operates on fear makes worse decisions in real time. Conversely, when the culture allows for immediate and sincere reporting, then safety increases and crises are handled with composure.
A characteristic incident that highlights the psychology of a breakdown unfolded on a passenger ship departing from a Baltic port.
Just a few minutes after leaving the port, the central electronic engine control unit –as well as the safety (back-up) unit– failed simultaneously. The result was immediate and potentially catastrophic: seizure of all four main engines and complete loss of steering. The ship, with hundreds of passengers, began to drift and was only three cables away from the breakwater rocks.
At that moment, psychological pressure peaked at all levels. The bridge was faced with the absolute crisis scenario — the “uncommanded” ship. In the engine room, the technical staff and the Chief Engineer operated under extreme stress, but with absolute professional composure: bypassing the automation and working on the local controls, they gradually managed to restore the engines. The dominance of fear was replaced by a sense of control, and the ship safely moved away from the danger.
Once the situation had stabilized, the Captain asked the Chief Engineer if they could continue the voyage. The answer was clear: return to port and have the units checked by the manufacturing company. This decision was not only technically correct; it was also psychologically mature, because it prioritized safety over the pressure of adhering to the schedule. It is worth noting that the passengers, instead of reacting negatively, applauded the choice to return — a rare moment where the public recognized the value of responsibility.
Nevertheless, the company was faced with delays, accommodation costs, and disruption of the schedule. And there, another aspect of the “psychology of failure” is revealed: the internal pressure, the need for scapegoats, the tendency of some to judge from the safety of their “armchair.” Thus, instead of the Chief Engineer receiving praise for the correct diagnosis and decisive actions that essentially saved the ship, he faced unfair criticism.
This incident illuminates a timeless truth about crises at sea — and not only:
When everything goes well, the failure is considered minor; but when something goes wrong, the psychology of assigning blame often surpasses technical logic.
The essence is that safety at sea does not depend solely on procedures, manuals, and systems. It depends mainly on the way people stand up to a crisis. The Captain and the Chief Engineer are called upon to balance between responsibility, the fear of error, and the need for immediate, calm decisions. Composure, clear thinking, avoiding spasmodic movements, recognizing limits, and mutual trust are the real tools for coping. Engines sometimes break and black outs give no warning.
But it is there that the naval character of the person called to make the decision of the moment is judged. Because in the end, the most important machine that is operating, or that can stop, is the mind and soul of the responsible officer.
Article by Michalis Triantafyllou
Chief Engineer H.N. (retired)
