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A Submarine Underway
By Bull Nav
Ladies and Gentlemen: good evening. For your reading pleasure this weekend, I offer you a tale of a submarine getting underway and going to sea. I hope you find it acceptable.
On with the show…
On the 1MC: "Station the Maneuvering Watch."
For a submarine this announcement has the same meaning as, "Station the Special Sea and Anchor Detail" on a surface ship (you know, those big gray things that can submerge only once). Whether the ship is getting underway or is entering port, it means man stations per the approved watchbill. Typically the most experienced and proficient folks are the ones in key positions, and you have extra watches manned due to the unique nature of leaving or entering port. Additionally, a navigation brief has been held by the ship's Navigator for all the key watch standers to fully brief the upcoming evolution. This way you know what to expect in the way of traffic, tides and currents, weather, specific navigation aids, turns and turn bearings, etc.
By the time this announcement is made the Officer of the Deck (OOD) should already be suited up and on the bridge in order to take the watch. If in port, this requires relieving the Ship's Duty Officer (SDO) and assuming the deck and the conn.
In this case, I was ready to go.
Since it was mid-December, and the ship was moored at Alemeda in San Francisco Bay, I was wearing the orange exposure suit that we so lovingly referred to as the "Pumpkin Suit." Difficult to put on, hot and uncomfortable, but when the wind was blowing and you were taking lots of water over the bridge it kept you…from freezing. That is not to say it kept you dry, because it didn't. It just did not allow the water to get cold enough to freeze.
We were leaving after a 4 day port visit to San Fran. After a busy first fully operational year following New Construction and the Post Shakedown Availability, that included the interfleet transfer from Norfolk to San Diego, an Operational Reactor Safeguards Examination (ORSE), Tactical Readiness Exercise (TRE), and lots of fleet support exercises, the CO had managed to get us a pretty cool liberty port. Quite a few of the wives flew up and it was a good time. My wife came up and we went and visited my aunt who was living in Santa Rosa at the time. She dropped me off at the pier early in the morning and went to catch her flight back to San Diego.
So it was that we were leaving.
Normally, when you station the maneuvering watch, you have loads of people on the small and cramped bridge of a submarine. This is the top part of the sail which has a cockpit that is about 4'x6' and can fit two people comfortably. Additionally, we had a "flying bridge," a sort of cage that we could rig on top of the sail to allow personnel to safely stand up outside the cockpit. Usual manning included the CO, OOD, Junior OOD, Lookout, a phone talker to talk to the control room, and a phone talker to talk to the maneuvering room (which controls the main engines, electric plant, and reactor plant). On a 688I, the radar is located in front of the cockpit and a ¾ inch plexiglass windshield was bolted right aft of the radar. Also, there were a couple of long sound-powered phone cords that ran through the upper bridge hatch to where the watchstanders were located. This watertight hatch was located about 8 feet below the top of the sail and about 8 feet above the lower bridge hatch, which was in the overhead on the ship's centerline immediately forward of the control room
This was not a normal underway. Entering and leaving the Golden Gate can be extremely hazardous. Due to the distance the shallow water extends away from the coast, deepwater swells generated during winter storms can interact with the shallow water and outgoing current from the San Francisco bay. This interaction can generate wave of up to 30 feet (according to the National Weather Service).
A number of years prior to our visit, a submarine leaving San Fran had a couple of guys washed overboard. It was determined that there were too many men and too much equipment topside to get them below quickly. Not to mention, they were not secured to the ship. They did not make it.
The COMSUBPAC solution was to direct (in their OPORD) how the bridge would be manned when entering and leaving San Francisco. Only the CO, OOD, and lookout would be on the bridge. The upper bridge hatch would be shut. The flying bridge would not be rigged, although the windshield could be rigged (ours was).
The day was cold and overcast. There was a stiff offshore breeze and I was happy to have my layers of clothing to keep me warm.
At the appointed time, we cast off all lines and proceeded into the harbor, past Alcatraz and toward the Golden Gate. I could see a storm coming, but did not give it much thought. It was supposed to be an uneventful underway.
As we passed under the bridge, I remember thinking, "WOW! We seem to be going pretty fast for an ordered bell supposedly giving us 12 knots." I found out a long time later that we were seeing around 6 knots of current on the outgoing tide so while we were doing 12 knots through the water, we were making 18 knots over ground. That is FAST. Faster than expected, but we did not know it at the time.
Not much later, we started digging deeper into the water. In calm water, at 12 knots, the water comes up over the bow and forms a sheet that stretches back to the sail. It does not splash up, but is relatively constant. In a light sea, there will be a tendency to pitch, but with a very long period so that you almost don't even notice it. In this case, we started pitching into the oncoming seas such that every time we had a down angle (yes, it was starting to get that bad) the water would come further and further up the sail. It got to the point that I reached out of the cockpit and touched the surface of the water. You can't do this under regular conditions. When we would come up, you could see the water move down the bow such that the bow was more and more exposed. In short order we were taking a good bit of water over the sail and into the cockpit, and needless to say we were all soaked at this point.
I knew there were inbound ships and I also knew that there was no way in hell they were going to be able to see us due to our already low profile and the fact that we were getting to the point where the boat was almost submerged. There is a traffic separation scheme for entering and leaving San Francisco, so as long as you stay where you are supposed to be, you should be OK. Still, I wanted this 60,000 ton lumber carrier to know where we were so that there would be no chance for error. I attempted to contact him on the hand held bridge-to-bridge radio to no avail. I could barely hear him talking, asking the Traffic Control Station where we were, over the din of the seas.
About this time, we started taking waves over the bridge. Previously, it had been a swell, not too violent as seas go, but still cause for concern. We knew we were in trouble once the waves started breaking, however, and growing. On the second or third breaker, while I was still trying to contact the inbound lumber carrier, the bridge box was knocked out by the wave. The Bridge Box is the communications unit that was used by the bridge to pass orders to the helm or Maneuvering; hence, by it being knocked out of commission, I had no way to pass orders to the helm. Unknown to me, the XO assumed the Deck and the Conn in the control room (as he should have done) so that someone had positive control over the ship's movement. I attempted to contact the control room on the bridge-to-bridge radio but that did not work. The CO decided that it was time to go, and with the lookout, started to open the upper bridge hatch, all the time taking progressively bigger waves. Since there was no room in the cockpit for me, I continued to try to contact the lumber carrier.
By now the waves were 10 to 15 feet higher than the top of the sail and breaking right in front of the sail. The cockpit area was continuously filled with water, and the boat appeared to me to be submerging.
I was completely soaked, couldn't hear a thing, but I was not cold. Not sure why. Non-stop water and waves for around 10 minutes now. Perhaps adrenaline.
I looked up and saw the next wave. Based on the height of the sail and how high I was looking up, I estimated this one to be about 35 feet high. The only thought I had was that whatever happened it was going to suck, so there was no use fighting it.
I was positioned in the aft starboard corner of the cockpit, standing on the supports inside the cockpit such that from the waist up, I was exposed. The wave came down on top of the radar right in front of the windshield and moved backward. I have never felt such an incredible force in my life, either before or after. I took the full force of the wave in the chest and it smashed me back against the sail, ripped off my hat, my glasses, my binoculars, and my watch. It was all I could do to hold on, even though I had a harness on and was strapped on to the sail. Immediately I could not breathe, although I was under water.
I had an errant thought at this point, taking me back to my boyhood days on the Jersey shore in Atlantic City. There, we would jump into the North Atlantic surf and dive under the waves. The surf was very loud, but once you were under water, it was quiet. I had the same sensation now, except the quiet had an indescribable eeriness to it. And it is a quiet I will never forget.
After what seemed like an eternity, but what was really a few seconds, I was in the air again. Could not breathe.
Staring at the next wave…which was pretty much just like the last huge one.
I think we took 5 or 6 big ones like that total. While I was getting crushed, the CO and lookout finally got the upper bridge hatch open. I tried to explain to the CO that I could not breathe, but I think he figured it out pretty quick. He told me to hold onto his back and he would climb down to the control room. We quickly realized this was not going to work since we had these pumpkin suits on and the hatch is only big enough for one person at a time. I struggled down to the ladder, got my hands and feet on it….and dropped. Dropped about 15 feet straight into the control room. By now, I had my breath back enough to call for the Corpsman and tell him I was injured with intense pain to my left side.
He helped me get to the Wardroom (which doubles as a medical facility on a boat) and we removed my pumpkin suit, clothes, and long johns, until I was covered with nothing but a sheet. The boat was still pitching and rolling, but not as bad as it had been. The HM1 wanted me to urinate into a bed pan to see if I had any internal bleeding, right there on the wardroom table. I told him, "Doc, there is no way in hell this is going to happen, here, while I am naked on the wardroom table where we eat. Help me get to the head." So he helped me down the passageway and I took care of the necessary business. No internal bleeding.
After a short time, we cleared the roughest of the seas. The officer sent up to rig the bridge for dive found my watch, but it was wrecked. I still have it, crystal shattered, band broken. A VMI graduation present…wrecked. I was able to move to a regular berth (in the 9-man berthing) since I had a top rack and there was no way I would make it up there. They gave me the 800mg Motrin horsepills for the pain as we ran all night at high speed to get back to San Diego.
Next afternoon, we pulled into the sub base at Point Loma to a waiting ambulance. Although I could walk by now, it hurt like hell with each step I took. Not to mention they did not make any attempt to make the ride comfortable. Once we got to Balboa Naval Hospital, they took my information and told me to wait.
Four hours later, they took some X-rays and determined I just had some bruised ribs. Gave me some more Motrin, put me on light duty for a week, told me not to worry about the blood in my left eye or bruises on my left cheek, and sent me home.
Alone.
My wife had flown back to San Diego and then caught a flight to her parents in Mississippi, where we were going for Christmas. A Deputy from COMSUBRON 11 had called her to tell her the boat had an accident leaving port, but that everyone was OK. She was not given any information on my condition. She explained her plans, the ones we had made months prior, and he told her that nothing was wrong with me so she should go. So she did. I don't fault her for going, she made the right decision based on the information she had. She would have stayed had they told her I was injured.
I flew out and met her a week later.
My left ribs still become uncomfortable if I lay prone for an extended period of time, and it has been nearly 14 years.
I have nothing but respect for the sea. It can be calm one second and deadly violent the next…
But that's what sailors do…go on ships…which are only RIGHT if they are at sea.
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Comments
As an enlisted bubblehead, some of my buds would not pass up the chance to urinate on the wardroom table and miss the mark of the tin pot.
At least that was the bar talk over Scotch and water some said was only a fairy tale.
now that's what I'm talking about!
Bull Sir,
FOXTROT ALPHA RIGHT!!!!!!
Thank you much,
BullNav,
I doubt you would remember me, as I was a young MM2 at the time, but I remember the day in December of 93 you speak of. I had only received my fish in October of that year, as a nuke MM. 14 years later I am now a post-EDMC MMCM, but those years do not dull the memories of that day at all. As a matter of fact, we were telling stories of that day with another shipmate from my San Diego years and from that very same boat. The only day more memorable occurred 4 months after the day you described, in March of 94. A rough period for us all, not least of all that particular CO, but by the time I left in 98 I would not trade my years on board for anything.
MMCM SubCav
MMCM - thanks for the comments. And thanks for remembering. Heh, you outrank me now...
As to 13MAR94, I am working on that one. That is a story I have told numerous times, especially as NAV. I just have to figure out how to do it right...
Deborah - thank you for your comments. For the record, I laughed when HM1 made the request of me. I still laugh about it...
Doing 12kt out with a 6kt ebb! I knew there was a reason we did tide charts as part of the pre-underway planning. Bet you didn't forget that lesson as a NAV, did you? Between that u/w and the bottom BUMPEX sounds like you guys had lot of fun after I left. The one thing I kept wondering ... were you wearing the Dêth Helmüt at the time?
Ahhhh, the fabled Deth Helmut. Although I still have a couple of JC JO's T-shirts, I had not thought about it in a long while. No I was not, but I may as well have been. I did make it off the boat with my career intact, unlike its other owners...
Bull Sir,
On 10-05-07, at 0900, will attend recruit graduation ceremonies at MCRD San Diego.
My # 1 is Honor recruit for the Batt.
The Dress Blues are on the Corps!
Proud Pappa
DAMN proud Pappa
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Dear BullNav: First, your hanging on through sheer will-power alone is an amazing accomplishment. Second...Motrin...for torn cartilage between the ribs?!? Third, thank you for your service and for a style of writing which brings life to your posts. Lastly, you may wish to try a pillow (not to full) parallel to, and slightly under, your left side when laying prone...it aids in relieving pressure on the cartilage. Okay, I have to admit I laughed aloud at the HMI's request, but only a little.
Veritas et Fidelis Semper