A Moment of Navy Nostalgia

Dear Friends and Family:

This is why I personally loved the Navy - not so much the time at sea - Congress saw to that, [although I have been on every class of submarine made except Seawolf] but the other aspects,the commradere aspects of being able to count on each other and caring deeply about who we are to each other and the difference each of us can make. Brian Reynolds of Greenfish brings back special memories for Troy and I since we "courted" on Greenfish and watched her go from USS Greenfish (SS351) to becoming the SS Amazonas, a Brailizan ship on a very, very, very cold day in Groton CT in December 1973. What a great 20 years. . . love, Tina

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As the good times grow better over the years, the hard times fade; if we
let them. But the hard times, and the way we behaved then, are what have
made us what we are now. The monotony of endless mid-watches is easily
put aside when one remembers the glory of the night sky unbesmerched by any
lights. The fear of being swept away by seas high enough to break over
the tops of the periscopes dims besides the feelings of breaking free and
feeling the deck throb beneath your feet as the diesels drive the boat
forward. Endless hours on station, routine boredom broken by contact as
word was passed "break out the fire control tracking party" then more
endless hours as we, in our war, maneuvered away from those who would do
us harm; or close aboard if something new was seen and our interest peaked.
Times when, because of who we were and where we were, the opportunity to
pull fresh air through the snorkel was not given; After many, many hours
each step was labored as carbon dioxide increased and oxygen decreased -
a match struck quickly goes out, not enough air. Like old men burdened
with emphysema, we young men would labor to walk to our bunks; six feet, then
panting, rest a moment before waking a bit more. Watch stranders in the
Engine rooms and Maneuvering ask "What's the situation?" With wry humor
the reply would be "We have them surrounded" as we set next to them on
the bench momentarily to catch our breath. Early in the morning word would be passed "Prepare to snorkel, two main engines." The room watches would prepare their compartments, unlocking valves so they could be opened, opening sea values, oil valves, intake and exhaust vales; making the boat ready to refresh itself. "Commence snorkeling" and the diesels would growl and grumble to life, sucking air from the boat, pulling air down through the induction line, pushing water out through the exhaust system, and ears would pop as the altimeter
climbed a few thousand feet. The low pressure blower would start and surround
the boat in a protective coating of sound deadening bubbles; the engines
would settle into a steady beat as energy flowed into the batteries; to be
saved there and used carefully - a precious resource.

At times of inattention, the snorkel intake head valve would be pulled below the surface and in a reflexive moment, close tightly with a thud; to save the boat from being flooded. The diesels didn't care that there was no more air coming down the tube, they did what only they could do, pulling air from the inside of the boat, mixing it with a fine mist of fuel, and then squeezing it until it
exploded; the pressure of the exhaust laboring against the pressure of the sea as the exhaust was pushed to the surface. The altimeter would start to climb, quickly spinning as if in a climbing plane. The planesmen would labor to bring the boat back to the surface, urged on by exaltations of the diving officer who was not much older then they. "Jesus you guys can't do anything right get us back up damn it but if you broach I'll make sure you're a mess cook for life."

Men asleep gasp like fish pulled from the water, mouth full open in their
sleep to relieve the pressure in their ears, as the altimeter spun upwards;
11,000, 12,000, 13,000. The planesmen working to get the intake valve
above the surface again, but only just above the surface. Too high, and
it might be noticed - this would bring unwanted attention because of who we
were, and where we were. The boat settles deeper and the altimeter spins, 14,000, 15,000, and the high altitude safety shuts the engines down before
hypoxia can come to visit The Low Pressure blower falls silent as the
boat sinks quietly deeper. Inside is the pressure at the top of a
mountain, but no fresh air as the last gasps of the diesels belch smoke
into the submarine, and the air is filled with the foul spent breath of the
engines. "Flame out" is muttered, and the planesmen are cursed by all aboard.
In a few moment control is regained, the head valve is pushed free of the water and opens, air rushes back into the submarine pulled by the pressure from the top of a mountain. Faster than an airplane can dive, the altimeter spins from 15,000 to 0, ear drums are pressed tightly inward, perhaps to tear because the pressure inside the head cannot be equalized quickly enough. Sleepers awake, some pulled suddenly from deep slumber, confused as to where they are and what has occurred, gasping for air, with both ears throbbing from the change in pressure. "Commence snorkeling" For a few moments the routine had been broken, now it is again established. Routine is good, routine is uneventful, routine
will get you home. Then there is the smell of fresh air when the hatch is opened for the first time after a long period submerged, the smell of death as all that had found a home in the watery superstructure when it was below the surface,
in their world, die, dry, and began to rot in the hot sun. The boat is
submerged briefly to wash the remnants of life away as inside the ship is cleared, scrubbed, made ready for port. A quick shower is allowed, not enough water, too quick, but the feeling of running water over the skin welcome and sensuous.

The smell of land after a long time at sea, the feel of the pier the
first time you step off the brow after a patrol. The long time under a hot
shower thinking, as the dirt, grime, and smells washes away, that feeling
you didn't want to do that again - but ready to go the next time, perhaps.
The shipmates we knew and became close to. Those we wanted never to see again, but feel a sense of loss at their passing. Meeting again after the passing years to share memories of the good times, bad times scarcely mentioned, comrades again as we remember who we were, when we were Sailors.
Brian Reynolds
USS Greenfish (SS-351)