JOURNEYS
Life at Sea
A rhythmic flow of life in motion
- Adam R. Cole // October 16, 2008
A Sailor aboard the USS Normandy scans for maritime traffic as the sun rises. © Adam R. Cole 2008
Life at sea is challenging and demanding but opens up for opportunities to have fun. Here Sailors jump rope during a special 'jazz and cigars' night on held on the flight deck. © Adam R. Cole 2008
“Now set the sea and anchor detail. Now set the sea and anchor detail.”
With these words, passed over the general announcing system of the ship (1MC), a naval vessel suddenly becomes alive, comes alive in a way that it transitions from being a body of metal to something that can maneuver across the vast sea of blue ocean water.
At this call, Sailors of all jobs man watch stations: consoles, radars, throttles and the like. The effect is equal to turning the key of car, but here, starting this engine means bringing huge gas turbines up to full power and getting all other sensors and equipment manned and ready. Nearly every person on the ship has some kind of job, whether it be looking out for other ships, literally driving the ship (a job known as helmsman), or taking up the lines (naval term for ropes that hold the ship) to officially get underway.
It’s amazing to watch, really, when you take a small step back and feel the rhythm of it. From the bridge (the cockpit of the ship), several sets of comms [communications] checks are accomplished – such that all parts of the steel body are connected. They talk on what’s called sound-powered phones (powered literally by sound), like a tin-can string system. Constant communication is essential to ensuring that the ship is fully ready to go, ready to push off, ready to be set free on the ocean blue.
A final report is given to the commanding officer, the captain of the ship: “Sir, the ship is manned and ready. Permission to make way for underway.”
Lines are cast off. A whistle is blown. “Underway. Shift colors,” is passed over the 1MC – flags flying at the forward and aft ends of the ship are hauled down and a single American flag is flown from the ship’s mast.
Once underway, a junior officer, usually an ensign, makes commands to the helmsman to guide the ship.
“Right standard rudder, steady on course 215 [this is the course direction, giving in true bearing].”
At the initial moments of a transit, navigating a ship is like conducting surgery – it has to be precise. Precise since the ship is operating in a narrow area, usually a channel, filled with vessels of all types like tugs and tows, sail boats and huge cargo ships. You have a navigator making recommendations, look outs making reports of what they see, someone communicating with the other ships via radio. All that and then, “Right standard ruder, steady on course 240.” A shift has been made to another portion of the outbound transit. Several of these shifts occur usually in a three hour span (though a sea and anchor detail can sometimes last up to 8 hours, if not more); in that span, utmost attention is required – the need for precision is constant throughout that span.
Once out of the channel and into open ocean, the ‘sea and anchor detail’ is secured (allowed to stand down) and a modified set of watch standers are stood up, one that allows the crew to sustain 24/7 motion without everyone having to go 24/7.
* * *
Out at sea, life takes a different meaning, one where the day-to-day operations of the world fade away, and the operations of a naval vessel take full precedence. ‘Higher headquarters’ passes down a set of tasks that the ship must perform. The operations are usually simulated scenarios of situations that might occur in a hostile environment – a ship, a crew have to prepare for the most threatening times, in order to be ready for anything during a deployment. Maintaining freedom of the seas is the ideal – leaning how to maintain that is the essence of training.
And so the ship transits out to an operating box, a imaginary box out in the middle of the ocean, to conduct its training scenarios and also real-world operations such as landing helicopters, shooting some of the guns (50-caliber) that are on board, and refueling. The officer of the deck (usually a lieutenant junior grade [O-2]) is given the responsibility to get the ship where it needs to be and safely carry out the assigned operations. Everyone else, every watch station, works in tandem to make that happen.
The challenge, for those that are watch at any given time, is to ensure that a.) the ship is safely navigating through international waters – not running into any ships b.) required checks (most of them for safety)are completed before conducting certain operations and c.) ensuring that all systems remain ‘go’ – if something goes down, an engine, a radar, someone must be immediately sent off to trouble shoot.
While working with other ships, communication is crucial. Special commands expressed through signals, a sort verbal morse code of sorts, give direction to where people need to go and when – and/or what type of orders should be executed.
Exactness in execution is the norm in this type of environment. One is constantly paying attention to the oceanographic landscape, while also keeping a close eye on what the operational big picture is. When given a command, you must move. And be ready/wiling/able to make that move smoothly and safely.
* * *
Within the seriousness of naval operations is life as life – as best as that can play out. For the most part, you’re either on watch, doing duties of your job, or sleeping…there’s not much time beyond that. But it makes the moments of relaxation, however brief, more cherished. The moments at meal times, the moments as the sun goes down and you can breathe in another day nearly complete (though days are never ‘complete’ because they always simply roll into the next watch).
The meaningful moments are the camaraderie, the sense that you are part of a crew, part of unified body working toward a greater goal, whose bottom line is freedom and democracy. As hard, as tiring as it may be sometimes, at least you have others to share it with – and have moments where you can connect deeply with them, where that person no longer is just a simply a co-worker but almost like family.
These types of bonds are given a platform to flourish in designated morale and welfare events put on while underway. Such as when the ship does an ice cream social or has a ‘jazz and cigar’ night, amidst the setting sun on the flight deck. Its surreal…that while so much of the time can be so strenuous – moments exist that are pure joy. It makes you realize that this isn’t just a job, this a full adventure, filled with struggles, yet also filled with exuberant moments.
* * * “Now set the sea and anchor detail. Now set the sea and anchor detail.” These words are spoken once again, this time to symbolize the return to port. As before, at the call, nearly all hands (the whole crew) go to their respective positions.
The transit home begins at a specific buoy marker, which signifies the ship’s entrance into a channel meant to designate a path to follow on in. The same precision is needed as when the ship first exits out to sea.
One track (the amount a ship goes on a specific course) at a time, slowly but ever-so surely, the ship makes its way back to where it started.
The moment of seeing land is almost surreal and the moment of seeing the piers is even more surreal. Perhaps because once you go to sea, and adjust to sea, it becomes routine, becomes life. So that when you do pull in, when you do finally reach a stopping point to the 24/7 at-sea existence, you’re almost not quite sure what to make of the new reality that is about to take place as soon as the boat is hooked up to the pier.
As you close in on home, you can feel the brakes about to be put on, you can feel life returning to normal (at least somewhat), of being able to step off this metal structure and onto the earth, to be shared with loved ones, to be shared with people of all life walks. Those moments, even just thinking about them, are so much richer when you step away from them, like you do when you go out to sea.
“Moored, shift colors.” A whistle blows. Flags are again raised from the forward and the aft of the ship. The ship is officially stopped, tied up.
“Secure from sea and anchor detail.” The lifeblood of the ship, its people, attending to equipment, disperse away from their assignments: mission complete.
The ship is at rest while the crew members go home to rest. Just another day at the office.