Heh... I had to chuckle.
Seems a Chinese sub collided with a sonar array towed behind the destroyer USS John McCain on Thursday. Why the chuckle, you ask? Because I know something about the "rivalry" between those destroyers (Arleigh Burke class) and subs.
See, when the were originally designed, they were meant to kill subs. During a wargame back in the 90s,, the Burke herself pinged, locked, and "fired on" a fast attack sub... all before the sub in question could lock on the Burke.
Until the Arleigh Burke, subs considered surface ships "large, slow targets". When the Burke hit the waves, that assumption changed.
What does this have to do with the story? Well, there were a couple people who seemed a little worried that this might have been intentional: some form of the Chinese "testing" us. Not likely.
Had that sub actually wanted to "play", there would now be another big steel cylinder resting on the ocean floor near Subic.
As for my title: I just get a giggle out of the image of the "driver" being drunk, and the skipper yelling at him as he tries to stammer "but it was just one beer!"
Showing posts with label sea stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sea stories. Show all posts
13 June 2009
07 March 2007
Afraid of heights?
Gonna plead "lack of writeables" today. So let's jump in the way-back machine, for yet another stroll through water-logged memories...
Ever looked at a modern Naval warship, and noticed WAAAAY up the mast, WAAAAY out on the yardarm, there's lil' propeller-lookin' dealies?
Those're called "wind speed and direction indicators", or "windbirds" in Navy parlance. And maintaining them is the job of the intrepid ICman.
Anyone remember what MY job was on the ship?
So... We're in port, and we have to pull the windbirds down for routine maintenance. It's a REALLY simple procedure:
1) follow tag-out procedure for all the RADAR type stuff up on the mast (unless you like glowing in the dark)
2) put on bungee-jump harness
3) obtain a "ball-breaker" (this is supposed to be a safety device: my testes say otherwise)
4) climb up the mast, and inch your way out the yardarm (hoping the bungee part of the harness works if you fall)
5) tie a rope onto the tail of the windbird in question
6) undo 4 bolts, and lift 'bird off it's post (btw: these things are neither small nor light)
7) lower 'bird down to the deck via rope (ummm... It IS long enough, right?)
8) tape plastic bag over now exposed electrical leads
9) climb down (no,you can't use the bungee function of the harness: I asked)
No big deal, right?
Did I mention that I'm afraid of heights?
Still got to go up though: wasn't just that I was the lowest man on the pole, but I was the least afraid of the aforementioned distance from windbird to deck.
Bloody wimps
Things NOT mentioned in the instructions:
- What to do when your EW buddies think it's funny to rotate the dish just a touch while you're aloft
- The incredible feeling of overbalancing a bit when you break the tape to secure the bag (IC1 thought for sure I was gonna take the express route down)
- Have a one-handed knife for cutting whatever might need it while you're up there (I went street shopping for a switch blade for this exact reason: it's probably STILL wired to that harness)
Things you Do Not Do while aloft:
- Lean out as far as you can, hold out random tool, and shout "Hey Andy, catch this for me!"
- Lean back, wobble a bit, and say " I'm feeling dizzy"
- Start asking your spotters about high-dive records
I went up and down that mast often enough that the height eventually didn't bother me as much (helps to not look down unless giving your spotters a hard time). Even bought a cup to deal with the ball-breaker. And got to see some BEAUTIFUL things (from that high up, the panorama of Singapore is breathtaking).
STILL afraid of heights though...
Ever looked at a modern Naval warship, and noticed WAAAAY up the mast, WAAAAY out on the yardarm, there's lil' propeller-lookin' dealies?
Those're called "wind speed and direction indicators", or "windbirds" in Navy parlance. And maintaining them is the job of the intrepid ICman.
Anyone remember what MY job was on the ship?
So... We're in port, and we have to pull the windbirds down for routine maintenance. It's a REALLY simple procedure:
1) follow tag-out procedure for all the RADAR type stuff up on the mast (unless you like glowing in the dark)
2) put on bungee-jump harness
3) obtain a "ball-breaker" (this is supposed to be a safety device: my testes say otherwise)
4) climb up the mast, and inch your way out the yardarm (hoping the bungee part of the harness works if you fall)
5) tie a rope onto the tail of the windbird in question
6) undo 4 bolts, and lift 'bird off it's post (btw: these things are neither small nor light)
7) lower 'bird down to the deck via rope (ummm... It IS long enough, right?)
8) tape plastic bag over now exposed electrical leads
9) climb down (no,you can't use the bungee function of the harness: I asked)
No big deal, right?
Did I mention that I'm afraid of heights?
Still got to go up though: wasn't just that I was the lowest man on the pole, but I was the least afraid of the aforementioned distance from windbird to deck.
Bloody wimps
Things NOT mentioned in the instructions:
- What to do when your EW buddies think it's funny to rotate the dish just a touch while you're aloft
- The incredible feeling of overbalancing a bit when you break the tape to secure the bag (IC1 thought for sure I was gonna take the express route down)
- Have a one-handed knife for cutting whatever might need it while you're up there (I went street shopping for a switch blade for this exact reason: it's probably STILL wired to that harness)
Things you Do Not Do while aloft:
- Lean out as far as you can, hold out random tool, and shout "Hey Andy, catch this for me!"
- Lean back, wobble a bit, and say " I'm feeling dizzy"
- Start asking your spotters about high-dive records
I went up and down that mast often enough that the height eventually didn't bother me as much (helps to not look down unless giving your spotters a hard time). Even bought a cup to deal with the ball-breaker. And got to see some BEAUTIFUL things (from that high up, the panorama of Singapore is breathtaking).
STILL afraid of heights though...
NEVER let your mother get to know your Skipper
Given the lack of other writable subjects...
I got jumped while in the Nav: walking down the street in San Diego, 5pm on a Sunday, right in front of the courthouse. Felt like someone was behind me, zigged when I shoulda zagged, and *FLASHBULBS*...
Woke up unable to open my eyes (they had crusted shut with blood), and asked three questions: "Where am I? Why am I on the ground? Where are my cigarettes?" (yes... I'm a true smoker)...
Off I go, to Balboa Naval Hospital. They call my Captain, who immediately calls my mother. Mom and dad fly out, at which time they get to meet the Skipper (whom most of us referred to fondly as "Terry")...
Terry was glad to meet my folks, and SERIOUSLY pissed that something had happened to "one of his boys". We're talking about a guy that usually had a Santa hat on his head, and who had ignored the Singapore Port Authority in their order that he not pull in until the next day ("I promised my boys we'd be in Singapore today, and by God we WILL be!"). The unfortunate part of all this is that it gave my mom a chance to meet my Skipper (which brings us to the nasty part)...
The entire time I was in the Nav, I had to call home every day I wasn't at sea: if two days went by without a call, mom got VERY worried. So, around the 18th of Feb (a fairly significant date in my life), I start having trouble getting through: no answer at the house, and NOBODY knows where they are.
That fateful day, after getting cut loose, I wander out to the Exchange (needed to check the ATM: was supposed to have somebody paying me some money direct to my account, which they hadn't). Start walking back to the ship (my roomie had my car, and hadn't made it in yet (NEVER trust a Marine with your wheels). And about halfway there, I get a page: the number for DC Central. Ok... I'm heading back to the ship (roughly two mile walk)... I'll see what they want when I get there. Make it down to roughly a half-mile when my beeper starts yelling again: DCC again, with a 911 prefix...
Maybe I over-react to some things. When I saw that prefix, THE only thought was that something had gone DRASTICALLY wrong, and I needed to immediately discover the mechanics of personal teleportation. I blew past the pier guard so fast they barely saw that I was holding SOMETHING out for them to see: only reason I didn't get clobbered was I was moving too fast. Up the gangway, past the quarter-deck, and down the stairs to DCC. Where I'm calmly told to change into dungarees...
Calmly... that set off some alarms. You don't 911 someone, and then act calm when they're present: "911" means "oh, shit... we're DYING!!!".
I change, and head up to the shop (as I was told). My DivO (Mr Bittle: nice guy, normally) comes in and tells me I've been implicated in a case before the Captain, and they wanted me back to testify. Which was kinda conceivable: although I hadn't written any checks on my account, I DID know the guy that was at Mast...
Let's review fer a sec: haven't been able to track down the parental units, money that I SHOULD have hasn't appeared yet, my roomie is gawds know where with my car, and now I'm supposedly in trouble with the Captain about checks that I couldn't have written.
I light a smoke: about the time I get halfway through it, we receive The Call: Send ICFN Strings up. I look at Brad (DivO), and try to calmly finish my smoke: the shaking doesn't help the illusion of an innocent man any. So we troop our way up to Officer Territory, and the Captain's Stateroom. I walk through the door, to see the Captain sitting at his desk (lookin' fairly stern), a lil' half-wall behind him, kinda partitioning off his personal dinner table...
Captain: "Strings: you've been accused of writing some bad checks by your friend. He's already been sentenced, but we need to clarify your involvement"
Me: "Ok Sir: what do I need to do?"
Capt: "well... have you written any bad checks lately?"
Me: "No Sir. I haven't written ANY checks lately."
Capt: "well... the ones you're supposed to have written are over there on the table: take a look, and tell me they aren't yours"
I walk around the little divider...
And see may parents, grinning, as dad points and says "GOTCHA!"
Seems mom had charmed the Skipper, and wanted to get aboard to surprise me for my birthday. Terry (being Terry) had suggested going one better...
I was told later that the entirety of my Division was outside that door, to keep me from walking out...
I got jumped while in the Nav: walking down the street in San Diego, 5pm on a Sunday, right in front of the courthouse. Felt like someone was behind me, zigged when I shoulda zagged, and *FLASHBULBS*...
Woke up unable to open my eyes (they had crusted shut with blood), and asked three questions: "Where am I? Why am I on the ground? Where are my cigarettes?" (yes... I'm a true smoker)...
Off I go, to Balboa Naval Hospital. They call my Captain, who immediately calls my mother. Mom and dad fly out, at which time they get to meet the Skipper (whom most of us referred to fondly as "Terry")...
Terry was glad to meet my folks, and SERIOUSLY pissed that something had happened to "one of his boys". We're talking about a guy that usually had a Santa hat on his head, and who had ignored the Singapore Port Authority in their order that he not pull in until the next day ("I promised my boys we'd be in Singapore today, and by God we WILL be!"). The unfortunate part of all this is that it gave my mom a chance to meet my Skipper (which brings us to the nasty part)...
The entire time I was in the Nav, I had to call home every day I wasn't at sea: if two days went by without a call, mom got VERY worried. So, around the 18th of Feb (a fairly significant date in my life), I start having trouble getting through: no answer at the house, and NOBODY knows where they are.
That fateful day, after getting cut loose, I wander out to the Exchange (needed to check the ATM: was supposed to have somebody paying me some money direct to my account, which they hadn't). Start walking back to the ship (my roomie had my car, and hadn't made it in yet (NEVER trust a Marine with your wheels). And about halfway there, I get a page: the number for DC Central. Ok... I'm heading back to the ship (roughly two mile walk)... I'll see what they want when I get there. Make it down to roughly a half-mile when my beeper starts yelling again: DCC again, with a 911 prefix...
Maybe I over-react to some things. When I saw that prefix, THE only thought was that something had gone DRASTICALLY wrong, and I needed to immediately discover the mechanics of personal teleportation. I blew past the pier guard so fast they barely saw that I was holding SOMETHING out for them to see: only reason I didn't get clobbered was I was moving too fast. Up the gangway, past the quarter-deck, and down the stairs to DCC. Where I'm calmly told to change into dungarees...
Calmly... that set off some alarms. You don't 911 someone, and then act calm when they're present: "911" means "oh, shit... we're DYING!!!".
I change, and head up to the shop (as I was told). My DivO (Mr Bittle: nice guy, normally) comes in and tells me I've been implicated in a case before the Captain, and they wanted me back to testify. Which was kinda conceivable: although I hadn't written any checks on my account, I DID know the guy that was at Mast...
Let's review fer a sec: haven't been able to track down the parental units, money that I SHOULD have hasn't appeared yet, my roomie is gawds know where with my car, and now I'm supposedly in trouble with the Captain about checks that I couldn't have written.
I light a smoke: about the time I get halfway through it, we receive The Call: Send ICFN Strings up. I look at Brad (DivO), and try to calmly finish my smoke: the shaking doesn't help the illusion of an innocent man any. So we troop our way up to Officer Territory, and the Captain's Stateroom. I walk through the door, to see the Captain sitting at his desk (lookin' fairly stern), a lil' half-wall behind him, kinda partitioning off his personal dinner table...
Captain: "Strings: you've been accused of writing some bad checks by your friend. He's already been sentenced, but we need to clarify your involvement"
Me: "Ok Sir: what do I need to do?"
Capt: "well... have you written any bad checks lately?"
Me: "No Sir. I haven't written ANY checks lately."
Capt: "well... the ones you're supposed to have written are over there on the table: take a look, and tell me they aren't yours"
I walk around the little divider...
And see may parents, grinning, as dad points and says "GOTCHA!"
Seems mom had charmed the Skipper, and wanted to get aboard to surprise me for my birthday. Terry (being Terry) had suggested going one better...
I was told later that the entirety of my Division was outside that door, to keep me from walking out...
Another tale from the Pacific...
Seeing as I have nothing else to talk about...
Sailors drink... some, quite heavily. When folks drink, they sometimes do... strange things. Sailors, sad to say, are no exception to that rule...
Come staggering down the ladder after a midwatch, wanting nothing more than to bury my head in my pillow, and hear a VERY loud *CLANG!* from the next compartment over. I REALLY don't want to know... it's full of pit boys, SERIOUS snipe territory. They're all big and hairy and...
"What inna HELL was that?" I ask, sticking my head through the door. And the sight that greeted me was three BTs, holding back a fourth from... well... the wall.
That clang? Oh... number four had punched the wall after a verbal altercation (with said wall). I asked one of the three about it, and the response STILL makes me giggle: "I dunno, man. I think it (the wall) said sumthin' 'bout his mother"...
BTs... *sigh*
Sailors drink... some, quite heavily. When folks drink, they sometimes do... strange things. Sailors, sad to say, are no exception to that rule...
Come staggering down the ladder after a midwatch, wanting nothing more than to bury my head in my pillow, and hear a VERY loud *CLANG!* from the next compartment over. I REALLY don't want to know... it's full of pit boys, SERIOUS snipe territory. They're all big and hairy and...
"What inna HELL was that?" I ask, sticking my head through the door. And the sight that greeted me was three BTs, holding back a fourth from... well... the wall.
That clang? Oh... number four had punched the wall after a verbal altercation (with said wall). I asked one of the three about it, and the response STILL makes me giggle: "I dunno, man. I think it (the wall) said sumthin' 'bout his mother"...
BTs... *sigh*
What good's a sailor...
... without some sea stories?
Glad you asked... ;)
I was on the USS Duluth for awhile, as an IC tech. Putting me in "E" Division, which was full of some seriously twisted individuals...
So... we're on WestPac, and pull into Hong Kong. This was before it reverted to the Chinese. While there, we took on stores for the trip home. What I hadn't thought much about was the fact that our berthing compartment was right above the Dry Stores room: so, anything headin' that way essentially went through our bedroom...
I go out that night, and come back around midnight or so. To find most of the EMs on the ship giggling like lil' girls, just outside the door to my rack space. Being the curious type, I have to ask... "So... what's gotten into you lot?"
"Dude... you HAVE to check out Jamie... it's funny... just take a look"...
Now Jamie was one of the PO3s of the EM shop, and someone I held in some respect: respect that would grow when I got back to the States, as he took his own time to head to the hospital when I got jumped (making sure it was a friendly and familiar voice I heard when I woke up). And his rack was two above mine. So I open the door, slide back the privacy curtains (expecting what, I'm not sure)...
During the ontake of ship's stores, some lazy slug had left a 50lb burlap sack of rice sitting in our compartment. Jamie was fairly drunk, and his fellow EMs thought it would be cute to give him a "friend" in his bunk that night. Not sure WHAT the boy was dreamin' about, but he was makin' love to that burlap sack like she was Ms Universe.
I shook my head and went to sleep. Woke up the next morning to find 50lbs of rice sitting in the walkway between the racks. NOBODY from "E" Division would eat rice the rest of the trip: didn't want the extra protein supplement...
Glad you asked... ;)
I was on the USS Duluth for awhile, as an IC tech. Putting me in "E" Division, which was full of some seriously twisted individuals...
So... we're on WestPac, and pull into Hong Kong. This was before it reverted to the Chinese. While there, we took on stores for the trip home. What I hadn't thought much about was the fact that our berthing compartment was right above the Dry Stores room: so, anything headin' that way essentially went through our bedroom...
I go out that night, and come back around midnight or so. To find most of the EMs on the ship giggling like lil' girls, just outside the door to my rack space. Being the curious type, I have to ask... "So... what's gotten into you lot?"
"Dude... you HAVE to check out Jamie... it's funny... just take a look"...
Now Jamie was one of the PO3s of the EM shop, and someone I held in some respect: respect that would grow when I got back to the States, as he took his own time to head to the hospital when I got jumped (making sure it was a friendly and familiar voice I heard when I woke up). And his rack was two above mine. So I open the door, slide back the privacy curtains (expecting what, I'm not sure)...
During the ontake of ship's stores, some lazy slug had left a 50lb burlap sack of rice sitting in our compartment. Jamie was fairly drunk, and his fellow EMs thought it would be cute to give him a "friend" in his bunk that night. Not sure WHAT the boy was dreamin' about, but he was makin' love to that burlap sack like she was Ms Universe.
I shook my head and went to sleep. Woke up the next morning to find 50lbs of rice sitting in the walkway between the racks. NOBODY from "E" Division would eat rice the rest of the trip: didn't want the extra protein supplement...
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