The Old Salt

LOOKIN’ AROUND
by Syd Iwan

Ah, for the days of yore, and all that.
Actually, I’m not often subject to bouts of yearning for the “good ole days,” but occasionally something comes up that makes me reflect fondly on past times.

Today I got a reminder, via the Internet, of my years in the Navy and some of the things I really liked about that experience.
A fellow Navy person had written a long poem-like affair telling what he cherished about being at sea with a crew of guys, and several things he mentioned struck home.

One line of the poem spoke of the serenity of the sea in the evening with flying fish flitting across the wave tops as sunset gave way to night.
This is a scene I observed many times while leaning against the rail on the main deck as we sailed somewhere or other.

Then too, the ocean is basically flat and treeless like the prairie so you can see every little bit of a good sunset.
In case you aren’t aware of how the curvature of the earth affects your view, I’ll just mention that the horizon at sea is a little over ten miles away if you are on the bridge of a ship well above the water line.

Beyond ten miles, short boats are below your line of sight although you may see the masts of taller vessels.
On the other hand, the horizon is only about 3 miles away if you are just a few feet above the water instead of high up in the conning tower.
The same rules apply on the prairie except when hills stick up and are visible quite a bit farther away than three miles or if you’re standing on a hill

At sea, of course, you see other things that aren’t so great.
One hot day, our captain gave us a swim break out in the middle of the ocean, and many of us jumped in and paddled around quite a while cooling off.
Just after we’d all clambered back on board and gotten underway again, however, a shark fin showed up to starboard about where we’d all happily been swimming around.

This gave us pause.
Having rather a wild captain at the time, though, that wasn’t quite the end of it.
He quickly ordered the boatswains to empty a five-gallon bucket of fire retardant into the water since it was composed largely of blood.
When the shark was attracted to that, the captain got out his pistol, which he always had on the bridge, and opened fire on the critter.

I don’t think he hit him or even scared him much, but it wasn’t from lack of trying.
This sounded like something the cowboys back home would think to do so it didn’t surprise me very much.
Some of the other crewmembers were a little startled by such behavior, but eventually they found it somewhat interesting, as well as useful for telling stories about back on shore.

Another part of the poem concerned the lights at night.
If you are in the middle of the ocean, there obviously are no street, vehicle, or other lights unless you pass another ship.
Our own ship, of course, had red and green navigation lights, a stern light, plus masthead and range lights.
Out on the deck, those were visible and not much else except the stars, planets and the moon.
Oddly enough, I knew very few of the stars at that time although I’d been taught how to navigate by them.
At it turned out, I never really had to do that thanks to electronic navigation which was already somewhat in use at the time.

Inside the ship at night, the living quarters were all lighted much like a home would be with electric bulbs, but the bridge and CIC (Command Information Center) were mostly dark except for the phosphorescence of radar repeaters, sonar monitors, and whatnot. Think of it as being similar to the dash of a car at night which shows needed information with dim illumination that doesn’t ruin your night vision. The same kind of lighting is used in the conning (driving) areas of ships for the same preservation of night vision. The atmosphere of these dimly lit shipboard areas tends to stick in the mind as interesting and different.

Other life-at-sea memories in the poem included a faint whiff of stack gas, bright buntings of signal flags snapping at the yardarm, and the refrain of hearty laughter in the wardroom, chiefs’ quarters, and mess decks. Some sounds were particularly poignant such as the piercing trill of the boatswain’s pipe, the squawk of the loudspeakers calling everyone to general quarters (battle stations,) and the normal everyday announcements. Reminders of all these strike a chord.

The last part of the poem summarizes what an old salt (like me) might think and feel.
It says, “Gone ashore for good, they will grow wistful about their Navy days, when the seas belonged to them and a new port of call was ever over the horizon.

Remembering this, they will stand taller and say, ‘I was a sailor once and would do it all again’.”

That is the truth.
Given the chance, I would indeed do it all again.

last edited on 11/18/2009