1969 - Unrep At Sea

As far as I know there are three ways to get from ship-to-ship: 1) Swim, 2) Helicopter, 3) Hi-line. Of the three #2 is my favorite.

1969 - Unrep at sea

“Its getting to the point where I’m no fun anymore…I… am… sorry.” We sang tight harmonies in our own impersonation of Crosby, Stills and Nash’s Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.

It was just after 2AM and we had just been awakened from a sound sleep to help with Unrep, also known as Underway Replenishment. Heaving myself out of my rack I dressed and proceeded to my station on the main deck. As I was still a lowly Seaman I would not be in CIC for this job, but would be with the rest of the operations Seamen on the deck hauling rope, hawser and fuel-line from the Oiler to us, a small Fram II Destroyer. We probably had an hour to wait until we went to work so, until then, we were required to stay awake and be ready, upon command, to do the job we all knew was coming. As 3 of us were members of the ships rock band or friends with whom we harmonized on a regular basis we sat in the dark and practiced the songs that required multiple voices. Songs performed by Simon & Garfunkle, The Zombies, The Four Tops and The Four Seasons were on the top of the list.

As we waited and watched the Oiler drew in closer until we were steaming side-by-side at around 12 knots, a mere 30-40 yards apart. As the ships closed the bow-wakes from both vessels created rough seas in between the ships that, along with the undersea swells, caused us to heel over further than normal so that huge waves threatened constantly to swamp the main deck. The Chief Boats had instructed us that once we were pulling, if we were swamped, we were to hang on tightly to the rope in our hands, “It’ll keep you safe,” he said.

Eventually we heard a shout from the 01 level “Shotline!” We each found cover behind a fitting or bulkhead. In seconds a loud “Bang!” was heard coming from the Oiler as she fired the line toward us. “WAP! Brang!” The bulkhead about 10 feet away sang out with the impact of the Turks-head that was fastened to a relatively thin rope as it smacked into the wall with the force of a shotgun, which is exactly what was used to propel the Shotline from the Oiler to us. Ladd grabbed the line and ran it toward the 01 level. He was met at the bottom of the ladder where the line was run to the fitting that sat at the immediate top of the ladder, and then through a series of sheaves and passed back down to the crew on the main deck – us. We passed the rope hand-to-hand until it reached the last sailor who attempted to coil the rope in a relatively organized pile to avoid tangles, loose ends or looping coils that may tend to grab the random equipment or sailor’s foot. About the time the bitter end reached the end-of-the-line the next rope appeared, passing quickly toward us. This was a bigger line that would be, again, tied to a bigger line that would be tied to a bigger line that was tied off to form a suspension bridge under which, the fuel line would be hung and drawn from the Oiler to our little DD. As the second line passed through my fingers a huge wave broke on the deck and covered us all with frigid salt water pulling at my body and knocking me off my feet. As I hit the deck I let go of the rope and grabbed at anything going by which I could feel dragging under my hands but failed to successfully grasp. Feeling myself being carried down the deck toward the stern where a rough wake and twin screws awaited tearing through the water in its desperate attempt to continue to push us forward at 12 knots, I grasped at anything until I felt the deck safety-rail-line under my fingers. I grabbed and held on as though my life depended upon it… which it did. I had been a part of enough “Man Overboard” drills to know that we usually ran over the dummy and took the better part of an hour to make a successful pick-up. This was the last thing I wanted to go through. As the water receded back into the ocean my body stopped spinning about and trying to stay on the crest of the wild wave and began to orient itself heads-up and feet-down… and down… and down. Now wondering exactly where I was I shook the water from my eyes and looked up… to the main deck. I found myself dangling from the OUTSIDE of the ship, hanging with my feet only a few feet above the waves that approached and receded with the rocking of the boat as well as the up-and-down plunging of the ship into oncoming waves. Quickly scrambling over the line, I felt the solid deck under my feet. I took a few deep breaths and headed back to my station, halfway up the deck.

As I regained my place the line attached to the hawser, which would tie the two ships together, passed through my hands. I began hauling on the rope with everyone else. “Hold!” the message rang down from the 01 level. We hung on trying to keep the line as steady as possible while the line was secured. We immediately began hauling on another heavy rope connected to the fuel-probe which ran quickly down the incline from the much larger Oiler, to us. The fuel-probe was inserted, and locked down, on the intake fitting. At “Release!” we knew our job was done for now and we, variously, relaxed, retired to their work area for a temporary break or, like Bill and me, went up to the signal-bridge to watch the high-line transfer of food and a couple of people. Bill and I, each, borrowed a pair of binoculars from 1st class Mapps, inside the signal-shack, and proceeded to an area where we could see the action in the brightening dawn. A line, just like the fueling line, had been shot to the ASROC deck, secured to the fittings and the transfer of pallets of food was smoothly running from Oiler to DD. After the last of the supplies had been loaded aboard it was time to transfer a couple of people. One officer and one chief stood awaiting the arrival of the Hi-Line transfer-cage. The officer had been released from his enlistment and the chief had been transferred to a new duty station. I’ll call the officer Mr. Smith. In both cases, the Oiler would be in port well before us as we were only a week into our 45-day stint on Yankee Station in the North China Seas. The Oiler was headed back to Japan.

Mr. Smith held back offering first-place to the chief who stepped forward and sat down in the cage, securely strapping himself into the seat. The fasteners were checked and the word was passed – the chief rose 5’ into the air, hovering motionless over the deck. As the ship listed to starboard the rope tightened and the cage rose another 5’ and the crew assigned to manually pull on the rope that would pull the chief to the Oiler started hauling away, the height of the line allowing gravity to help them start this process. One crew was pulling on the transfer-line while a second group was responsible for keeping the line taut so the cage, with the chief on-board, would not dip into the cold, cold ocean’s vast reservoir of saltwater. Within a few minutes the chief transferred with no problem. The chair was hauled back to us and the Mr. Smith prepared to go. He strapped himself in and the fittings were checked as before. The signal was given and he suddenly shot into the air as the ship listed to one side at the same time the line was pulled taut. He was holding on to the side of the cage so tightly we noticed his hands were snow-white and his teeth were clenched against the scream that, we were sure, struggled to issue from his mouth. From this height he virtually began sliding down the line as gravity assisted the crew who was hauling on the transfer-rope. He zoomed down past the ASROC deck headed down the line at high speed directly towards the water. As the cage became even with the main deck, around 10 or fewer feet from the surface of the water, the ship began to rock in the opposite direction and Mr. Smith’s ride rose a few feet until he was, again, approximately level with the deck from which he had recently left. He looked relieved but continued to hold tightly to the frame of the cage. About halfway through across the expanse between the two ships a tangle developed in the line and the line stopped. The crew responsible for keeping the transfer-line taut worked at keeping Mr. Smith steady but, despite their efforts the high-line-chair bobbed up and down traveling a good 10-20 feet from the bottom of the dip to the highest point. After 2 or 3 trips up and down this, now stationary, roller coaster, Mr. Smith wasn’t looking any too good. As we peered at him through the borrowed binoculars he was looking a distinct green with a somewhat deflated looking countenance until he headed downward, then his face became very animated, eyes growing to their widest position, feet braced against the bottom, hands braced against the frame and clenching tightly. His head turned sideways, teeth clenched showed through the edge of the grimace plastered across his face as he prepared to plunge into the cold water and… just before the cage again shot skyward.

Just as Mr. Smith reached the apex of his upward journey a shout rang out “Fixed!” The ship picked this instant to begin its roll to starboard and, as the now loose line began to play through still loose hands, the cage made a violent jump on the line and dropped like a shot towards the water. Again Mr. Smith looked shocked but, by now, was getting used to the sensation of climbing and dropping quickly and barely braced himself, leaning back in the chair but fingers only loosely on the frame while his legs irresistibly prepared to take the shock of a quick turn-around. A look of surprise and shock crossed his face as he plunged into the water which quickly rose to cover his lower legs and continued to sink until salt-water covered his lap. It was obvious he was straining against the straps that held him securely on-board his little transfer-vessel. The cage began to tip forward as the water rose to his chest and as the ocean pulled at the cage… after all, we were still moving forward at 12 knots. He held his head up high straining against the safety straps. Just as it appeared he was about to become a human fishing net he shot upwards, water spraying and pouring off his clothes and the equipment. He was in full voice as he attempted to give direction to the crew he had just left behind. And, in fact, he had left them behind in more ways then one as the crew hauling on the rope, the crew that somehow got the line tangled and the crew that just gave him a dunking was the same crew he had commanded as department officer just a couple of hours ago. The instruction he was shouting was almost completely in words of four letters. I’m sure the fact that he wasn’t liked, in fact barely tolerated by the entire crew, had nothing to do with his salty trip into the brine and back. Mr. Smith was hauled to the correct height and his trip continued without incident. Just before he arrived aboard the Oiler we glanced over at the chief who had already successfully made his transfer and appeared to be doubled-over with laughter. The chief was talking animatedly with a group of two other chiefs, all of whom were obviously having a good time. I had a serious feeling that this was not the first time any of these gentlemen had witnessed a dunking and, since the chief had not exactly gotten along with Mr. Smith anymore than anyone else… we suspected his ESP had forewarned him this might happen.

I also suspect he was more than delighted to be a witness.

1977 - The Icicle

There were so many things to like about ice & snow as a kid... as an adult... well... not so much.


1977 - The Icicle

After being snowed into my house for 3-days I arrived back at the theatre to find a notice from the fire department. My theatre would be closed down that night if my emergency exit was not cleared of ice. “OK,” I thought, “I’ve got another ice build-up from the draining roof. That’ll take a good 15-minutes.” I opened the front door and entered, locking it behind me. My day was just beginning and the theatre wouldn’t open for another 5-hours. I figured there was plenty of time to fix the problem. I started for my office, upstairs, but changed my mind and headed for the rear exit to see how serious the problem was. Normally the ice build-up was minor and a good push would force the door open and a few shovels of icy snow would clear the problem. I could barely see a light under the door that illustrated that the mound was high enough to shade but not enough to actually block the near-mid-day light. I pushed the release bar. Nothing. Not even a budge. I pushed harder…no response…none at all. It was time to examine the problem from outside. Considering the just-past storm that buried the roads and limited travel the last few days there was probably a higher pile than normal. I rounded the corner of the building expecting to see a small pile of ice and snow piled in front of the door. Instead I was met with a huge icicle. As there was a small scupper on the roof so any build-up of water on the flat roof could drain off and I expected that there might be a small icicle that had dripped onto the door and frozen it shut. This is not what I was greeted with. Instead, as I rounded the corner I saw a huge icicle that extended from the roof to the ground. It easily covered the entire door with a 4’ wide and 3’ thick column of ice that glittered in the late-morning sun almost glowing in the shadows as the ice reflected the sunlight through the full extent of the column. “Great!” I thought and repeated the word aloud adding a few 3 and 4-letter words for full effect. This was going to take awhile.

I had no tools with which to hack away at this solid block of ice. I had a few tools and bladed weapons that had traveled from San Diego with me but nothing that could really take on this obstruction unless…I thought of my WWII era bayonet thinking, “Perhaps I could chip this thing away enough to get the door opened.” I headed for the front entrance, to my tools, stored backstage, then back to the main entrance and around the building to the fire exit.

An hour later I had several big chunks of ice chopped off the column in various spots hoping to find a weak point that would be the key to releasing the entire mass. There had been absolutely no response from the icy column which still glowed in the deepening winter shadows and stood as solid and sturdy as when I first saw it. I stood back and examined my work which looked ineffective and haphazard. It looked like there was a weak spot near the top of the door so I dug out one of the voids I had created and climbed up to hack away at that height. 15-minutes later I was sweating and my feet were freezing. I’d done nothing but create another void in the column. It had shattered into a small fist-sized hole in the ice that would actually hold my weight as I stood inside one of the lower spots and held onto this higher void as I chipped away with my left hand. The column didn’t seem to be budging but my bayonet was now sharp as a razor blade having sharpened itself against the hard ice. Another spot a bit higher drew my attention and I reached for this spot failing to effectively reach it as my body was extended too far to get a blow with any force behind it. I reached forward and slid back but feeling myself falling forward. I tossed the blade off to the side and fell onto my hands. The right arm, drained of blood and weakened from chipping away at an overhead mark, collapsed and I fell forward hitting my chin on the ice and rolling onto my left side. I sat up shaking my head and checking my chin for blood – nada – no blood – I was still ok. Standing up I stepped back to review my work. I noticed I had several voids chipped into the column now reaching up from ground level to about 10-feet off the ground. This was perhaps halfway up the icicle and a thought crossed my mind: “I wonder if I could climb this thing to the top and release it at the point where it turned from a sheet of roof ice to an icicle?”

I clambered up as high as possible looking for a spot that would offer another good place to chip another, what I now thought of as a, step to help me to the roof. Climbing as high as possible I could see, about 7’ off the ground, that the door jamb jutted out a bit from the wall and might make an easy 3” ledge. I chipped away at this for just a minute when the entire section above the door gave away revealing a metal edge that now stood naked and strong above the door. Levering myself up another step I began chipping a new hand-hold a couple of feet higher eventually making enough steps that I could, with a running start, get almost all the way up the wall only requiring a few more steps. Another 45-minutes passed and despite one collapse of a single handhold the ice was cold enough to hold as I chipped the remaining handholds. It was too slick to climb from a dead stop but a quick run and a couple of leaps used my momentum to get higher than I had been previously been. My foot rested on the ledge above the door as I carefully explored the strength of the remaining handholds. They held firm as I now s-l-o-w-l-y inched up the face of the column moving carefully from spot to spot. I was busy looking for my next foothold when I realized my hand had just reached the roof. Looking down – I was really high off the ground and it looked like I was much higher than it looked from the ground - I abstractly realized I really didn’t want to fall from here – it would not be good news. Even sliding down the length of ice would still abrade any exposed skin and perhaps make a significant rip in my pants. A small air conditioner fitting that had been discarded sometime in the past was frozen to the ice sheet but was just an inch or so out of reach. I braced my self and threw my self forward barely catching the fitting with the tips of my fingers and pulled. The ice, being slippery as ice, allowed me to inch forward until I could re-new my grip. I got one leg over the lip of the roof. As my leg thrust over the top the fitting broke loose and a started to slip backwards. Hooking my leg over the edge and somehow holding the ankle of the same leg with both hands stopped my slide and I slowly managed to climb a few inches higher where I could shift my weight over my right side so I could slide onto the heavily iced and snowed roof.

I looked over the edge which now appeared to be much higher than it looked from the ground. I chipped away at the lip of the roof trying to separate the column of ice from the building. I had now been at this for around 3-hours and had several holes chipped into the column that I was hoping would weaken the icy hold on my back door. As I leaned forward, and as far down as possible, I chipped away at the ice not noticing a crack that was beginning to form down the right-hand edge of the door and fracturing through the ice in a chaotic pattern of fractals caused by the crazing of the ice. I had managed to chip almost the entire lip of the roof-ice away from the edge. On the left-hand side of the frozen door was a lump of ice that supported the balance of the column and was the final spot where the ice held on to the roof as well as the wall/door. I managed to chip away the top of this lump but it just would not fracture. I leaned farther out, holding the icy lip of the roofline for support. As I brought my arm back for a big blow from the bayonet I heard a loud crack… I froze in place waiting to see if I was a part of the fracturing ice… silence. I moved the arm forward with great vigor trying to put my entire body weight at the point of the knife but as the blade came down a big chunk of the ice suddenly fell away exposing the bare brick wall. The chunk of ice fell into the alley. The blade bit into brick. I leaned far out hanging onto the little bit of edge and brick and wedged the blade in between the now bare wall and the next chunk of ice. It wedged in abut an inch but with some gentle persuasion and some more forceful pounding on the handle I managed to get the blade deeper, around 8 inches, behind the ice. I removed my gloves to enable my bare fingers to get behind the ice. Using the blade as a lever and a lumpy brick as a fulcrum I pushed and pulled, getting my fingers in back enough to pull the ice slightly out and the blade deeper in until, with a loud crack, a huge section of the icicle fell away. I noticed that now, if any more ice came lose I would be stuck on the roof of this building, in the middle of a very cold day.

Then it began to snow.

Big, wet soft flakes of snow drifted to the ground. Because they were wet they fell faster then big fluffy flakes. Within just a couple of minutes I noticed the ice was being covered by a light covering of this wet snow and realized if I didn’t get off the roof now, that option might close in the next couple of minutes. I eased myself over the side hanging on to the lip of the roof and let myself down until my feet touched the jagged end of the still clinging icicle. My foot slipped of the curved, slippery surface twice before I found a reasonable shelf. As I was now hanging by my elbows and forearms I lowered myself, increasing the weight on the fragile ice. I could feel the vibration through the wall as someone slammed a door inside the building. People were beginning to arrive for work. I had been working on this thing for four hours and needed to have this blockage cleared within the hour if I was going to open the theatre.

As I put my full weight on the ice ledge I heard another crack and my foothold suddenly fell away. As my weight had been completely on that foot I felt myself slide downward. Grasping at the roof I felt it scrape over my bare fingers and then onto the bare brick which was quickly replaced by cold, very cold and rough ice. With the covering of wet snow there was no purchase and I slid on my stomach down the 15 or so feet with hands and fingers grasping uselessly for something to grab. I hit a cut step on my slide which slowed my downward journey so I could barely grasp the step as it went by. It stopped for half-a-second hoping, in the back of my mind that this would be enough to break the slide but, just as I came to a rest, the little shelf gave away with almost the entire remainder of the icicle tumbling down on top of me. Luckily I had been slowed just a foot or so from the ground so I didn’t fall far before I began to be covered by snow and sharp, heavy ice. I looked up to see a single line of ice filling in the cracks on the right side of the door, near the handle and running across the top and barely glowing with the mid-afternoon winter light. A lump of wet snow clung tenuously to the ledge above the door in the places where I had not stepped

Initially I was more concerned about the snow and ice that had tumbled inside my collar and was now in the small of my back until I realized my feet and legs were covered by ice. There was no pain but plenty of numbness including my bloody fingertips. Realizing my lack of feeling in my legs I had a second of panic until I kicked out and chunks of ice flew in every direction. I sat for a few seconds until I heard pounding from inside the theatre. Someone was obviously trying to get out of the, still frozen shut, door. The pounding stopped and I heard steps running away from the door. I brushed snow and ice from my body as I stood up. By the time I was clear my assistant manager and the usher came sliding around the corner. Their legs began backpedaling quickly to stop their headlong rush. Their shoes slipped ineffectively on the ice and Greg slid onto his backside. He caromed into me after banking off the first pile of ice, bouncing into the wall then on to me. My assistant, Kathy, also failed to stop on the slippery ice and we all tumbled together into the pile of ice and snow. The last of the icicle came loose and fell in big, heavy pieces all around us. When the action stopped we looked at each other, covered in loose snow but completely unscathed, untouched by even a single shard of ice. Greg and I looked around and, then, at each other, spontaniously breaking into gails of laughter. Kathy looked disgusted and left to further prepare the snack-bar for business as Greg and I attacked the last little bit of ice that still clung to the ground immediately in front of the exit. In 15-minutes we were done and headed back inside for hot chocolate.

We opened on schedule.