"High Seas Adventure - Part II"
December 3, 2003
The ocean is so large, the seas so
angry and my ship seems so small…these were some of the
thoughts foremost in my mind when I wrote last week’s
column.
As I began my adventure aboard HMCS
Vancouver I had no idea what to expect. One of the
most pleasant surprises was that despite basically being
a life-long land lubber…I found I have been blessed with
very good sea legs. Unfortunately, like the weather
itself, an individual’s resistance to seasickness is something
they have absolutely no control over. Drugs like
Bonamine and Gravol can help, but for many they only begin
to lessen the misery. That was the situation a few
unlucky souls found themselves in as we battled our way
south in four to five-meter swells the first two days.
To make matters worse the seas were coming at us from
the beam, meaning they were hitting the ship from the
side causing her to roll excessively…and constantly…day
and night.
Normal, everyday activities like “sleeping”,
became all but impossible…despite the three tiers of bunks
actually being supplied with seatbelts! “Eating”…I
became a small part of the ship’s folklore when a particularly
nasty wave cleared the officer’s mess table of all cutlery,
bowls and plates in about two seconds. Everyone’s
plate but mine that is, as I jumped to my feet, plate
and fork firmly in hand and never missed a bite!
I think I’ll leave it to your imagination how comfortable
a trip to the “head” (washroom) is under such conditions!
Although I wasn’t sick to my stomach I was surprised to
learn how physically tiring it is to simply function…as
you must be constantly alert and bracing yourself for
the next wild roll…you’re reminded of a toddler’s first
faltering steps as you stagger down the passageways and
navigate ladders between decks.
As challenging as our passage south
was, we’ve learned that our sister ship, delayed three
days for repairs, encountered even more treacherous conditions.
I don’t even want to imagine life aboard the HMCS Ottawa
as she fought through reported nine-meter seas to keep
her rendezvous with the Task Group.
Once through the worst of the weather
the Task Group began an endless series of drills, exercises
and maneuvers…day and night…24 hours a day. In the
past week I have been given the opportunity to tour every
department of the ship, from the engine rooms deep in
the bowels…to the bridge, and everything in between.
I’ve participated in activities as varied as making bread
for the ship’s company of 200 (and washing the HUGE pots
and pans afterward), to watch keeping, to being part of
a “boarding party”. I’ve gone down the ship’s side
on a rope ladder into a RHIB, where what seemed like “ripples”
from the bridge suddenly became twelve-foot swells from
a small inflatable boat! I’ve crossed from the frigate’s
deck to the tanker while hanging from a flimsy looking
rope and pulley contraption known as a light jackstay…while
both ships continued steaming side-by-side.
I’ve fired a 50 cal. machinegun from
the bridge wing and assault rifles from the helicopter
landing deck. I’ve viewed simulated missile launches,
and anti-aircraft drills, with the 57mm main gun noisily
banging away. I’ve watched as the ship, and her
consorts stealthily tracked and eliminated an imitation
submarine, and just as efficiently transferred fuel and
ammo in total darkness from the tanker.
But above all else, I’ve had the unique
opportunity to spend nine days (and nights) observing
the quiet professionalism of our Navy’s men and women
at work. Canada can truly be proud of them…I know
I am. I’ve enjoyed every minute of my education
and every chance at interaction with all on board.
And...I've discovered that if I were
only thirty years younger...I would sign up in a heartbeat.
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