Sights like these never fail to warm my heart.
Sights like these never fail to warm my heart.
Take it from me: you never ever want to lose the documentation proving that you've completed military-grade OC spray training. Encores are a buzzkill.
As soon as that gooey pepper spray hits your face, your nose expels rivers of snot, your skin feels like it's been sunburned, your lips feel like they're covered in angry fire ants, and your throat tries to close up if you're dumb enough to breathe too deeply.
And your eyes. Oh, your eyes. They don't close ... they slam shut. This pepper spray's Scoville score is in the 2,000,000 - 5,300,000 range, so it's worse than breaking open a habanero pepper and rubbing your bare eyeballs with it. It's such exquisite pain that after your instructor calls "break" you can stare unblinking into cold water running from a hose into your eyes because it ... Makes. The. Ow. Go. Away.
Did I forget to mention that you're expected to keep control of your sidearm and your combative subject after being sprayed? Fun times.
Used to have the t-shirt.
Watching this brings me back to 1994-96 when I was stationed in USCGC BASSWOOD (WLB-388). We'd occasionally see Spinner Dolphins playing in our bow wave like little grey surfers. It always brightened everyone's day.
What follows is an account of the kind of stuff I did for two years out in the Western Pacific during my time in the Cutter Basswood. I was a Deck Watch Officer, meaning I gave rudder commands and played throttle jockey with a 1,000-ton ship. It's amazing how the possibility of screwing up and dismembering your shipmates focuses your attention.
Want some graduate-level education on the crushing weight of stress? Spend several hours working the entrance buoy for the very windy Tanapag Harbor Channel without a bow thruster, positioning yourself using horizontal sextant angles instead of a dynamic positioning system, all without getting anybody maimed.
But I digress.
From the New Haven Register:
The crew of the Coast Guard cutter Juniper repair several huge navigational buoys during a patrol in Long Island Sound. Jeff Holt/Register. The crew of the Coast Guard cutter Juniper, cruising in the Atlantic Ocean just south of Long Island, spotted the rogue buoy last week. The crew secured the massive metal structure and got a closer look.
"It's supposed to mark the approach to the entrance to the channel for Boston Harbor. It got ripped from its anchor by the nor'easter, " said the Juniper's skipper, Lt. Cmdr. Rick Wester.
Since the April 15 storm, the buoy had drifted more than 100 miles.
"And at 18,000 pounds that's a pretty dangerous thing to have floating around in the shipping lanes untethered," Wester said.
All in a day's work for the Juniper, which inspects, repairs -- and occasionally hunts down -- navigational buoys in and around Long Island Sound.
On a recent weekday, the weather on the Sound was perfect for boating, with gentle seas, cool breezes and temperatures in the 70s.
But for the men and women of the Juniper, the 13-hour workday won't resemble anything like a pleasure cruise.
The Juniper is on the fifth day of a six-day deployment to repair and replace navigation buoys that have been worn down by the elements, such as the nor'easter. The assignment: Hoist the buoys, which are up to 36 feet high and weigh up to nine tons, from the water; place them on deck; secure them and replace everything from the lighting system to the chains that anchor them to the bottom 30 feet below.
"Thirty years ago, working the buoy deck was considered one of the most dangerous jobs in the country," said Chief Warrant Officer Mike Tomasi, a 17-year veteran who serves as the deck safety officer.
Technology and training have made things far safer over time. But he said the buoy deck still remains a bad place to lose focus.
"You have about eight people working in a really confined space," Tomasi said. "The crane and other equipment are very loud, and you have to be able to hear each other. You can have a hydraulic problem with the crane with one of those dangling above the deck. The Sound is usually protected, but out on the ocean you can be doing this in 4- to 6-foot seas with 30-knot winds.
Lt. Commander Wester, a 1993 graduate of the Coast Guard Academy, has been the Juniper's skipper since July 2006. The 225-foot ship, stationed in Newport, R.I., is his first command and is responsible for "aids to navigation" from Newport to New York Harbor.
Their mission for the week is to replace buoys that have reached the end of their six-year lifespan, and to replace conventional lights atop others with new, compact light emitting diode or LED systems.
Grant Westerson, executive director of the Connecticut Marine Trades association, represents the builders, brokers, marina owners and others who serve the owners of state's roughly 115,000 pleasure boats. But he said the state's economy and environment rely heavily on safe sea lanes.
"There are more than 6,000 (commercial) passings in the sound each year," he said. "That's a lot of gasoline, and bananas and other cargo. And what about a day (with poor visibility) when a tanker loaded with gasoline could run aground on the Thimble Islands in Branford and rip a hole in her hull? How important are those buoys then?"
Red or green buoys mark boat and shipping channels. They are 26 feet long and weigh 12,000 pounds. Candy-striped ones signal open water all around. Yellow ones, like the one foudn adrift, are for caution.
The day starts at 7 a.m. The 45 officers and crew will work a mile off shore, just outside the break wall to New Haven Harbor. If everything goes well, they will be done outside New Haven by 6:30 p.m., sail one hour to Bridgeport, and drop anchor for the night and wait in relative relaxation until tomorrow, when the entire routine starts all over again.
The LED lighting systems are being phased in throughout U.S. waters. And if not the most glamorous job in the service, Wester said it is a very important one.
"The older (lighting) systems have conventional bulbs under a red plastic cover," Wester said. "They run on batteries in the base much like car batteries. There are structures above the lights that have solar panels which recharge the batteries during the day."
"The nor'easter we had last week knocked a lot of those off," Wester said. "A fishing boat can come by and knock them off with their (outboard) rigging. The base is supposed to be watertight. But water can get in there and (damage) the batteries. A solar panel can get knocked off so the battery can't recharge. The bulb changer can get stuck and burn out.
"And yes, people do hit buoys."
The LEDs are self-contained, present a smaller target, emit a more reliable light, are considered more durable and can be replaced easily. Wester said in the Coast Guard, time is money -- and safety.
"Right now we spend 60 to 70 percent of our time on buoy maintenance and replacement, and the remainder on law enforcement," Wester said. "We'd like to reverse those numbers, and we think the LED systems will let us do that. And we believe it will save money in the long run after the initial cost outlay."
Officers on the bridge nudge the ship up right alongside the buoy to be picked up. On the focsle deck next to Tomasi, Boatswain's Mate Chief Kat McSweeny threads a chain with a hook on one end and a long rope at the other through the buoy's upper structure in one toss. A seaman on down on the buoy deck grabs the chain with a hook to tie off the top. Another hook is used to secure a rope to a ring in the base. Another hook, attached to the crane operated by Yeoman Second Class Jen Fattarusso, is affixed, and things get moving, all very painstakingly.
The buoy is raised to the edge of the deck, where three more lines are attached. The anchoring chain is secured for later inspection. It is ever so deliberately raised up and over the deck, with four lines pulled from four different directions to steady and guide it. Then Fattarusso -- with almost surgical precision -- lowers it onto a set of saddle blocks which prop it up at an angle. Three more lines are attached and pulled taught to the deck with pneumatic drills.
Seamen armed with scrapers remove layers of mussels and other sea life. Seaman Juan Reyes climbs atop the structure to remove the old lights, and to add new ones to the buoys that are going back into the water.
"Juan is qualified in ATON (aid to navigation) maintenance," Tomasi said.
Fattarusso and a group of green helmets next turn their attention to the anchoring block, hauling it up to the deck to inspect the chain. As a rule the anchor chain is roughly three times the depth of the water. Those off New Haven are 90 feet long to accommodate the 28-foot depth.
On Buoy 6, only one section of the chain needs replacing.
The worn section is cut off with a torch and moved aside. A seaman connects the section of new chain to the portion remaining in place with a horseshoe-shaped link that is closed with a long, thick stainless steel pin.
"We call it a 'Heat and Beat'," Tomasi said
Boatswain's mate Jason Knapp applies the blow torch to the extended end of the pin until it is glowing red. He jumps out of the way and Reyes and Seaman Doug Duryea quickly pound the end flat with alternating blows from sledge hammers.
Then it's back into the water, and on to Bridgeport.
Yet another reason I'm glad to be home in Cleveland.
Hat tip: Speed Of Thought
Mark Anderson's latest post at Poor Richard's Almanac reawakens the guitar lust long dormant in my heart. I used to play before I got into an accident that paralyzed my fingers, but now I'm thinking about modifying a guitar to make it playable (perhaps in my lap, steel guitar style). Thanks for reminding me of the joys and frustrations of guitar shopping, Mark!
I see that Hugh Hewitt has chosen him as the Blog of the Month for January 2005. Bravo!
Want to live free of giant waves, yet still enjoy tropical weather and excellent scuba diving? Move to Guam (Google cached copy here), where I was stationed with the Coast Guard from 1994-96. Guam's coral reefs and the nearby Marianas Trench protect it from tsunamis.
Of course, the occasional typhoon can cramp your style. There are plenty of brown tree snakes, which cause power outages and which have eaten nearly all the birds and bats on the island ... which results in lots of big, hungry jungle bugs scuttling about unmolested. Let's not forget the roaming packs of feral dogs, either. Oh, and wild boars. And surly "nationalist" islanders. But hey, at least tsunamis aren't an issue.
On the plus side, Saipan's close.
I mentioned this last month, and have been too busy to keep up until now. Anatahan Island's volcanic activity is spiking again, nearly a year after its first eruption in recorded history. The ash and debris have forced the FAA to reroute airliners to avoid fouling their engines with volcanic crud.
Kinda cool to think I floated by the place once, less than a mile from ground zero. I'll have to go look through my old snapshots, since I don't recall whether I took any that day (there wasn't much to see).
Back in 1994-96 I did a tour on a buoy tender homeported in Guam. I remember steaming past volcanic Anatahan Island once, on the way to a rendezvous with a patrol boat for a two-ship BBQ in the middle of Maug Island (Quicktime VR available). At the time, Anatahan was already evacuated due to earthquakes that heralded a possible eruption. We slid within a mile to the west of the deserted island, and in among the overgrown vegetation we spotted some wandering cattle. It was a peaceful sight, and I don't recall any visible gases coming out of either volcano.
In May of last year, it blew. An insomniac Space Shuttle astronaut was the first to notice, and he snapped some digital photos before calling Houston to let them know something was up. It was the first eruption of Anatahan in recorded history, and the ash cloud forced the FAA to reroute air traffic around it.
Now, the AP reports that Anatahan might be ready to blow again. If it does, I'll get every photo I can find.
This should be very, very cool.