A Veteran's Journey

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If you’re listening to this audio, take a moment and close your eyes. Allow me to describe beauty beyond comparison from the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. This is not about jet aircraft taking off and landing. This is about what one can see and witness while in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I promise no loud, scary noises or other incoherent sounds.

USS Kitty Hawk

I know other Navy veterans may chime in about their own ship, which I certainly invite, but my perspective is from USS Kitty Hawk (CV-63), an aircraft carrier.

When I first arrived aboard Kitty Hawk in March 1975 after 15 months in Guam, I was assigned to V-1 Division / Crash & Salvage. Crash had a dedicated crew of about 14 guys, led by CWO2 Bos’n Ty Robuck, ABH1 Jeff Atteberry, the Crash Leading Petty Officer, and ABH2 Shelby “Big Willie” Williams, the Assistant Crash LPO.

I was one of two third class petty officers. ABH3 Gary Borne and I served together at NAS Agana, Guam, prior to transferring to Kitty Hawk. Gary taught me how to drive the Crash trucks while stationed in Guam. Crash’s job was simple: wait until something bad happened—like an aircraft crash on the flight deck—then, with the help of everyone else on the flight deck, try to put out the fire and rescue the crew.

I’ve previously posted several blogs about the activities on the flight deck, most notably regarding flight ops. Today’s post focuses on the brief downtimes between flight operations, usually anywhere from 15 to 20 minutes, depending on the mission, the flight schedules, and our location.

I’ve mentioned this before, but most days at sea for us back in the mid-70s, flight ops began at 1000 and continued until midnight.

Those of us working the flight deck needed to be on duty an hour before and remain an hour after. It made for some fairly long days; nothing compared to flying around the clock during our Sea of Japan transit, though.

And I have a lot of Navy veteran friends who constantly flew around the clock while in the South China Sea or the Gulf of Tonkin during the Vietnam War. I take my hat off to those guys. No complaints here…

However, in between flight operations, we’d almost always have a little downtime.

Sometimes during these brief breaks, I’d go into the Crash compartment for a cup of coffee, especially if the weather was a little “chilly,” like in the Sea of Japan. Other times, I’d remain outside and take in the atmosphere, so to speak.

Let me share some of what I and thousands of other Navy shipmates witnessed while at sea… out in the middle of the ocean. 

Bright Blue Skies

I don’t know what natural phenomenon it is, but when you’re out on the water, the sun seems brighter, the sky seems bluer, and the air tastes cleaner.

It doesn’t matter if you’re fishing a local pond in a small 10’ jon boat, or if you’re in the middle of an ocean aboard a 60,000 ton aircraft carrier. I’ve done both.

There were times, usually during the day—because the nights were totally different—when I’d look up at the brilliant bright blue clear sky. I’d briefly close my eyes, simply to get lost in my own thoughts. Of course, there were 200+ other flight deck personnel going about their regular duties, but I’d find those special moments.

But many times between flight ops, I made it a point to just stand next to the railing outside the Crash compartment on the starboard side of the island and take it all in. It wasn’t hard for me to do that, especially on clear days.

Then again, I’d probably be standing next to a few dozen 500 pound bombs in the area commonly known as the “Bomb farm,” located just outside the Crash compartment. These were ordnance, ready to be wheeled out and loaded onto the A-7 Corsairs, the F-4 Phantoms, and the A-6 Intruders.

But I digress…

Crystal clear water

I used to tell a story of when I was a young kid out at our place at Kingsley Lake, Florida. We’d take the 14’ Stumpknocker fishing boat out to the middle of the lake—it was only about thirty feet deep—and drop anchor. One of us would swim down to the bottom and “rake” the bottom clear of plant life to expose the brilliant white sand, then swim back up to the boat. On a bright, cloudless day, I swear we could see the bottom of the lake… it was that clear.

When you’re out in the middle of the ocean, you’re surrounded by… you got it: water, lots of it. Most of the time, we’d have other ships around, the carrier task force.

But looking down from the flight deck—about sixty feet to the surface—I’d see blue water so clear that now and then I could spot a humpback whale or two off the starboard bow (they were so big they were easy to see), or perhaps a school of dolphins racing each other to see who could keep up with the ship, or even a school of flying fish, though they were harder to spot unless the sun was just right, glistening light off their transparent “wings,” as they sailed 200 meters on ocean breeze just a few feet above the calm water.

There… directly below us… was the cleanest and clearest water I’d ever seen. I can still visualize it today, right now, as I write this.

My wife & I took a cruise down the Mexican Baja Peninsula several years ago. Yeah, the water was clear, but it didn’t seem as clear to me as when I was in the Navy.

I don’t know; maybe I’m just a little biased. Anyone else?

Clean, Clear Salty Breeze

The front of the ship is the bow; the rear is the stern or, if you’re on the flight deck, the fan tail. Both offered unique sights, sounds, and experiences, depending on what you might be in the mood for.

On the bow, the salty breeze was usually pretty stiff. Because the flight deck extended over the bow, you really couldn’t see the ship’s “bulb” cutting through the water like a sharp knife through warm butter. That is, unless you crawled out onto the safety nets (I never did that, not even at night!).

But if you were in the forecastle—the large compartment forward on the ship where the anchor chains are stored—you could stick your head out of the portal and look straight down. Now, that was a sight! And yes, I took the opportunity to do just that many times.

The air was always clear and clean. Unless, of course, you were following behind a diesel-powered smoke burner. But when you’re on an aircraft carrier, it’s rare you followed anyone.  

The fantail offered a completely distinct look and feel, primarily because of the churned up water from Kitty Hawk’s four propellers. At night, we’d often see the phosphorescence: plankton glows a beautiful turquoise blue-green when churned up in the ship’s wake.

And letting my eyes follow this miles-long pathway toward the never ending horizon, where the indigo sky meets the water… well, I was awestruck by the view.

Red Sky at Night…

… Sailor’s delight. Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning.

I don’t know how true this ancient adage is or if it’s just an old wives’ tale. But from my perspective, the sunrises and sunsets when at sea are nothing short of spectacular. I’ve only witnessed the quick “double flash” of the sun at sunset a few times—that is, when it sets below the horizon, there’s a momentary “flash” of light.

Even though we’d have flight ops throughout the day and most of the night, there were times when the sunset was almost indescribable. If you happen to view the sunset just as it touches the water and there is a gentle ocean breeze that causes slight ripples on the surface, you can almost feel an inviting pathway, leading you to the edge.

No two sunsets (or sunrises) are the same and with the glory of God’s beauty, the various combinations of oranges, yellows, reds, peaches, and every hue and shade in between were… well, breathless. Throw in all that reflection off the ocean surface and it’s a sailor’s cocktail, waiting to be drunken in.

From what little I understand, the reason the colors are so vivid during sunrise and sunset is because the atmosphere is the thickest on the horizon—all that means to me is there’s more air to dilute the light, loaded with dust and moisture particles. To a physicist, the red wavelength is the longest in the color spectrum, hence we can see it farther away. Blues are shorter wavelengths and thus are scattered and broken up before they reach our eyes.

Well… that’s what they tell us. Personally, I just think it’s God’s way of showing us his awesome love.

The Night Sky

If I’m going to write about the brilliant bright blue sky during a day at sea, I’m also going to reflect on the night sky. When you’re in the middle of the ocean, there’s no light pollution… anywhere. Everything is so clear and so well defined.

On a clear night, the sky is lit up by millions of twinkling stars. It is one of the most incredible sights I’ve ever witnessed. It was almost like the stars were calling to you with a warm, “Hi and welcome to tonight’s special show.”

And with the calm, glass-like ocean surface, you literally cannot tell when the water on the horizon ends and the starry sky begins. The Milky Way is clearly visible—there’s no doubt that it’s there. And when there’s a shooting star overhead, everyone takes in a deep breath and makes a wish.

I’ve heard today’s sailors describe it as a “real world high-def.” It’s almost surreal because you know—you know—what you’re looking at, but your eyes have literally never seen how bright the night sky truly is. Only then do you realize all those National Geographic magazine photos you saw growing up weren’t fake or touched up. It really is that beautiful.

What pictures can’t display is the tranquil feeling of physically being there: one person on a huge ship with 5,500+ of his closest “friends.” Yet here you are in your own little bubble, witnessing something that only a few lucky people in the world will ever see.

I didn’t work the night shift too often—too quiet for me. If memory serves, my good friend Gary Borne took night shift duty most of the time. But those few times I found myself working throughout the night, I’d venture out onto the flight deck (there were no flight ops, only maintenance).

Sometimes, I’d lie down on the steel deck and look up at the night sky. And as I glanced around me, I’d see another shipmate or two doing the exact same thing.

I still do that these days, at the beach or when we owned a house at Kingsley Lake. And yes, the night sky is still wonderful, but it just doesn’t compare to what it was like it when at sea. Take what you see on these clear nights and multiply it tenfold. Then you’ll get a sense of what it’s like at night while in the middle of the ocean.

And now… today

Even now, there are certain things that trigger one of these fond memories, whether it’s a walk on the beach at night, a drive down a country road after a summer morning rain with the dew glistening off the grass and wildflowers, or a song that comes on the radio from the 70s.

There are other things that still mesmerize me. Like watching a campfire with the white hot glowing coals at the base, or the constant flight of a thousand embers, floating up and burning out as they race to rise. Or watching the constancy of ocean waves gently breaking as they wash ashore, bringing new life for shorebirds to find, and thus completing another circle of life. Or walking along an uncrowded beach at dawn, watching millions of diamonds flicker with the reflection of the brilliant slowing-rising sun, bringing with it a new day for us all.

Winding Down

Back during my time in the Navy—my late teens and early 20s—my spirituality, religion, or whatever you call it, tended to drift in and out. I don’t know how else to put it, but I know I’m not alone in that regard.

I’d been raised a Methodist and attended Sunday school and church most of my growing-up years in North Central Florida.

But when I had those moments described above and all that surrounding beauty, I do remember wondering— sometimes out loud—what an awesome God we have. I mean, who/what else could surround us with such wondrous beauty out in the middle of nowhere?

Right?

Quiet, serene, tranquil—you can’t help but feel there’s a higher being out there, holding you in their arms, loving you when you need it the most.

Today, that’s where I find my solace and my peace: mostly in nature… especially when I’m sharing it with family or friends.

When I began writing this week’s blog post, I asked you to close your eyes as I tried to describe what I and thousands others have witnessed when at sea. Simple words, however, cannot express the feeling one has; it just wouldn’t do it justice.

As one shipmate described, “You just feel like you’re being swallowed up in nature’s beauty. I’m just one small being on one ship in one ocean on one planet in one galaxy in one universe; yet surrounded by all this awesome beauty, I feel I’m on top of the world.”

But know this… something my father told me years ago.

The next time you look up at the night sky and see the moon, the dippers, a special constellation, or one of the visible planets… know that we have thousands of active duty men and women around the world helping to preserve our precious freedoms and they may also be looking up at the sky, seeing the same wonderous beauty as you. Take a quick moment to say, “Thank you.”

Until we meet again,
Andy