My First Time on the Flight deck

Flight Deck, Take One
U.S.S. America somewhere in the Mediterranian Sea 1974

For my first six years in the U.S. Navy I worked in Naval Aviation as an aviation electronics technician aboard aircraft carriers and other various assignments ashore.

In the beginning…there is your first cruise, your “cherry cruise”. Commonly referred to as a NUG (New Useless Guy), you don’t know shit about life at sea and even less about warships. “How do I find my way around this floating behemoth?” “What do these numbers on the bulkheads mean?” “Where can I eat?” “How do I get to sickbay?” “Why is everyone so unfriendly?” You are either too proud to ask or too scared of looking like a dumb ass rookie. People are not friendly, partly because you are a rookie, something to be disdained and partly because NUGs are most likely to get seriously hurt on a carrier so no one wants to go through the pain of befriending a NUG only to have your buddy hurt or die.

On my first cruise my squadron assigned me, for the entire cruise, to the Aircraft Intermediate Maintenance Department (AIMD), a bench job in a shop forward of the hangar bay. My job was to troubleshoot and repair deceptive electronic counter-measure systems that the guys working on the flight deck removed from the aircraft and replaced with a “good spare”. Each squadron had an obligation to send someone to the AIMD shops in order to benefit from the central pool of repaired equipment.

This was a coveted job by most standards – air conditioning, coffee at the ready, smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em. There was a hatch in the deck near my workbench that led to a storage area for the Chief’s mess. During underway replenishment of supplies (UNREP) a crew would lay roller lines through the shop and slide various food items down the line to the storage unit below decks. For helping out, the crew lead would “comp” you a 5 pound canned ham or some other food treasure. Life in this shop was good.

Somehow though, I couldn’t shake this feeling that this wasn’t where I belonged. I talked to my supervisor about going back to my squadron and working on the flight deck. This was met with great jokes at my expense and the general perception in the shop that I didn’t know a good thing when I saw it. Besides, he explained, I had been specially trained to a higher level and was handpicked to do this important job that was beyond the skill level of most techs that worked on the flight deck. I had an obligation to pay back for the extra training and the Navy’s confidence in my ability.

During a meal on the mess decks one day I ran into the Command Master Chief from my squadron who asked how I was doing. I told him I was doing fine but was thinking I would like working on the flight deck better. I went on to explain how I loved aircraft and it seemed silly for me to be working in the bowels of the ship while the aircraft I loved were up on the deck where the action is. He took me to the squadron’s avionics shop, introduced me to the shop Chief, and asked the Chief to have someone take me up on deck during flight ops. I was told I could come to the shop in my off time and learn the ropes. My first time on the deck during flight ops was one of the most memorable events of my life.

We were in the eastern Mediterranean off the coast of Cyprus. It was daytime but you could barely see past the stern of the ship due to the heavy morning fog. We were up there to participate in aircraft recovery ops, also known as “traps” (landings). The guy I was tagging with pointed to a spot and told me to “stand there…don’t move…unless I tell you or unless all hell breaks loose, then get your ass off the deck by any means possible.” Then over the flight deck loud speakers came the announcement “Dakota 202 in-bound”. This meant an F4-J Phantom from our squadron (call sign Dakota) was about to make an arrested landing. Peering aft into the fog I couldn’t make out anything but I could hear the unmistakable shriek of the McDonnell-Douglas F-4 Phantom jet that had so terrorized the enemy on the Ho Chi Min trail in Vietnam just months earlier that year. It got louder and louder as I strained to see something... anything. All of a sudden a 56,000 pound fire-breathing metal dragon appeared like an evil apparition, and slammed down on the deck amidst a shower of sparks. As the pilot pushed the throttle to full (incase he missed the arresting wire) the aircraft came to an abrupt halt while the plane continued its roar, as if protesting the fact that it was once again earth bound. As the cable was retracted and the tailhook was raised, the pilot quickly goosed the engines and spun his beast off the angle deck with a final roar. I remember one thought going through my mind: This is the most violent and awesome thing I have ever experienced in my life! It was pure power, something to behold and my blood raced through my body like mad. I couldn’t wait to work there permanently!

I learned over my years at sea that those who have spent cruises on the flight deck amidst the violence, chaos, and danger, develop an unspoken bond, whether they knew each other when they "did their time" or not. The flight deck is a very unique environment, comfortable to very few of America's warriors and even less of the country's general population. I have seen alleged VIPs quiver with fear when stepping down from a helo or opening that last hatch and stepping out into the danger zone, yet the danger zone is mastered largely by everyday guys, some who were told by teachers and judges that they would never amount to anything. But...there they were, engaged in this amazing technical ballet with the responsibility of pilots' lives, hundreds of millions of dollars worth of aircraft, and the safety of their shipmates in their hands. Not only that...they looked good doing it! It's hard NOT to when you're shooting Tomcats, Vigilantes, and Intruders off the steam catapults at the speed of cool! Hats off to the men of the deck, those warriors that endangered their lives daily to act as America's most awesome projection of power and strength around the world.

Guitars

Guitars are a big part of my life. I play music every day that I am not traveling away from home. It's my medicine. It's sooths me when I need comfort and it gets me pumped up when I need it.

When I was ten years old living on an island off the coast of Alaska, I heard my first rock and roll song. The year was 1964, I was at a friend's house and he put on an LP by The Ventures. We listened to several songs and then the song "Walk, Don't Run" reached inside me, shook me to the core and said, "you must get a guitar so you can do that too!". I was instantly hooked and HAD to have a guitar to learn to play that song. It's all I thought about for weeks. I finally talked my mom into buying me a used Silvertone acoustic guitar for $10 (with painted on tiger stripes, woo hoo!). We had a music teacher at school who knew how to play guitar and he tried hard to get me to take lessons but why fool around with learning musical scales when I could, instead, sit in my room and figure that song out by myself?

My mom got a music book from somewhere that had traditional folk songs such as You Are My Sunshine, Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley, and On Top Of Old Smokey. I was interested in the book since it had chord diagrams which I could learn to play by myself. There are several milestones in a guitar player's evolution that open up whole new worlds. Learning these chords was milestone number one for me. I could take some of these same chords and apply them to new rock and roll songs I was hearing on the one radio station broadcast on the island. Groups such as The Dave Clark Five, The Beatles, and Herman's Hermits were being played over and over and I was learning how to make the chords I knew fit those songs...in the crudest of fashions of course but it set a foundation for me to learn to play by ear.

In 1966 we moved to a small town outside of Washington DC where rock and roll was in full swing. I had access to so much more music than I did on that tiny island in Alaska. As I heard more songs and learned more chords I could play a lot of the hits songs of the time by all the hot bands: Buffalo Springfield, The Rolling Stones, The Doors, Jefferson Airplane, The Kinks, Strawberry Alarm Clock, The Electric Prunes, The Hollies, The Mamas and Papas...the list was endless. I got all excited by a group that originally hailed from Boise, Idaho called Paul Revere and the Raiders. It was their song Just Like Me that led to my second milestone as a guitar player - bar chords! Once you mastered bar chords, you could play damn near anything.

When 1968 rolled around we moved back to Alaska, this time to Anchorage which was a big city and I still had access to a lot of music. There was lots of rock and roll to be had at that time: Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Byrds, Steppenwolf, The Moody Blues, The Who, Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels, and while I learned to play all that music, it was then that I joined my first band in junior high school. It was very cool to be a guitar player in a rock and roll band, on stage in front of your whole school at the dances but it was Simon and Garfunkel's mastery of folk rock music that really captured my interest at that time. Learning to play Paul Simon's intricate guitar riffs was very difficult for me at the time but it led to my third milestone - finger picking. What a whole new world opened up with that skill. No other guitar players I knew at the time were learning how to finger pick so it enabled me to get into some music groups I might not have been invited to otherwise. For the first time I was playing music with people that knew how to harmonize vocals and intertwine guitar runs.

After many years of playing in talent shows, pizza joints, coffee houses in Europe, bars, state fairs, corporate parties, and weddings I still have that drive I started out with 43 years ago. Every time I hear a song that appeals to me I grab a guitar and start figuring it out. I hope to keep doing that until the day I die.

Today, now that I can afford really good instruments, I have come to view my guitars as pieces of art as well as fine musical instruments. They just look great hanging on the wall! I built a workbench specifically designed to work on guitars and set about building my own electric guitar. It's a Stratocaster shaped body but I wired it a bit differently, replacing one of the tone pots with a switch that will give me the two pick up positions you never get from a Strat.

Here are some of my favorites...my Gibson Les Paul Custom, my Gibson Hummingbird acoustic, my Gretsch Double Anniversary, and my Spector LX-4 bass.

Independence Day

It’s the 4^th of July and time to remind ourselves about the birth of this nation. Hooray for those treasonous traitors of the American Revolution that put everything, including their lives, on the line for freedom.

Think about it. Had they lost the war of independence, they would have been hanged, shot, or burned at the stake as traitors to the king of England. But they won and so they became our founding fathers, the heroes that gave us this great country. Along with freedom that they gave us the gift of a brilliant constitution that guarantees that no part of the government can ever again have absolute power over the nation or its people.

So the next time you hear someone speak out against the government or challenge their ways, remember – those are the behaviors of free people. That’s how we got here and it is how we will stay here. It is legal, it is moral, and it is expected of free Americans.

In recent years, many ideas, thoughts, principles, and behaviors have been looked down on or hushed in the name of “political correctness”. When you hear someone chastise another person for being politically incorrect, challenge them that political correctness is often nothing more than censorship – plain and simple. This contemptible form of censorship guarantees that those who are weak of mind or spirit can walk through life and have it their way without having to face inconveniences such as freedom of speech, challenge of thought, or staging of new ideas.

On this Independence Day remember our forefathers...they were rebellious, they stood tall against tyranny, and acted on what they believed in. Take back your freedoms and bring forth your ideas, no matter how far out they are. These are uniquely American values, worthy of restoration. It is your heritage!

Columbia Gorge Waterfalls

During Dan's visit last week, he and Irene, and I went to explore the Oregon side of the Columbia Gorge known as the waterfall area. There are over 75 waterfalls on the Oregon side of the Gorge but only a hand full on the Washington side. This is due to the the underground strata leaning to the south. Potential falls on the north side of the river tend to collapse under the weight of the water or give way to landslides.

We headed west from Washougal, crossing the I205 bridge, and took Marine Drive to Troutdale. Once there we took the Historic Columbia River Scenic Highway along the Sandy River, up over the mountains and down to Crown Point where the Vista House yields an awesome view of the west end of the Gorge. From there we wound down the road through rain forest to the bottom land along the river. It is here that you come face to face with some of the prettiest waterfalls in North America.

Our first stop was Latourelle Falls where we hiked into the drop pool. The water plunges 249 feet off columnar basalt cliffs. At the bottom, you can see the underside of the basalt columns where the constant bombardment of the water has worn away the strata around it. All around are flowers and orchids of different sizes, shapes, and colors.

From Latourelle Falls we went next to Wahkeena Falls, a three tiered drop of 242 feet. Wahkeena Falls is unique among the major waterfalls in this section of the Gorge in that it possesses a significant alluvial fan in both size and elevation. The base of the falls lies a good 100 vertical feet above the road.

Next was Horsetail Falls, a 176 foot drop and the epitome of the horsetail form of waterfalls.

From there it was on to Multnomah Falls, the most famous of all the Gorge waterfalls. Being the most famous and having a lodge complete with gift shop and restaurant, it always draws a crowd. That's not usually our cup of tea but the views of this set of falls makes fighting the crowd worthwhile.

Leaving Multnomah Falls we headed east up the Gorge, past Bonneville Dam to Cascade Locks. The locks were originally built to ferry boats around the rapids known as Bridge of the Gods. The rising waters behind Bonneville Dam covered the rapids and made the locks obsolete. We ate at a small cafe here and were witness to what was quite possibly the worst cheeseburger on the planet. Drawing on my 53 years of experience and my active imagination, I simply could not conjure up, in my mind, a piece of meat that could pose as a worse threat to the continued proper functioning of my taste buds. It is difficult to describe but I will attempt to do so. Take an old pair of crutches that have seen considerable use and remove one of the leather pads that rest in the user's arm pits. Soak that in a bucket of warm water that is used to rinse dirty dish rags. Now cook it in a microwave oven for twice as long as it takes to raise and slaughter a new cow, place on a dusty, stale bun, and top with hardened Cheeze Whiz. Amazing...I can ALMOST imagine a worse one but not quite.

After a view of the stern wheel paddle boat that operates out of Cascade Locks, it was a quick trip home up the Washington side of the river and back to decent food!

Mount St. Helens South Flank

Our adventures last Sunday took us to the southern flank of Mount St. Helens.

As we drove towards the mountain, I thought back to Adak, Alaska where we were living when the now famous eruption of Mount. St. Helens took place in May 1980. At 8:32 Sunday morning, May 18, Mount St. Helens erupted. Shaken by an earthquake measuring 5.1 on the Richter scale, the north face of the mountain collapsed in a massive rock debris avalanche. It blew out that huge chunk you see missing in the picture above. Nearly 230 square miles of forest was blown down or buried beneath volcanic deposits. At the same time a mushroom-shaped column of ash rose thousands of feet skyward and drifted downwind, turning day into night as dark, gray ash fell over eastern Washington and beyond. Temperatures reached 660 degrees and the pyroclastic flows contained 24 megatons of thermal energy. The eruption lasted 9 hours but Mount St. Helens and the surrounding landscape had been dramatically changed within moments.

Our drive took us through the small towns of Battle Ground, Yacolt, and Cougar and through some gorgeous scenery including mountain lakes, forests, and, of course, killer views of the volcano. I couldn't help but imagine what it must have felt like in these tiny places when the mountain exploded. Along the way we saw signs instructing us to tune into AM 630 for travel advisories. The radio informed us that some roads were closed due to flood damage and others blocked by snow...in July!

Pressing on, we headed for a place called the Ape Cave which I had read about years ago on our first trip to Mount St. Helens. The Ape Cave is actually an empty lava tube, left behind by an ancient eruption of the mountain. As it turns out, it's a popular destination and since we had been in lava tubes before, we decided to hike one of the mountain trails instead...we encountered just a few people this way.

Walking through the forests on the southern (undamaged) flank of the mountain is an awesome experience. The forests themselves explode in green of every imaginable shade. Every now and then the trail would turn hard and it became obvious that we were walking on six foot wide lava flows that crossed the trail. In the middle of the trail we came across a mountain orchid of some sort (I don't know orchids very well), all by itself. It was an amazing piece of art and we never saw another one the whole day.