Typhoon

Typhoon

By Garland Davis

 

Everyone who reads the crap I write may not have experienced the joy of riding a Forrest Sherman can through a South China Sea Typhoon.  I’m an old Bastard if I repeat myself chalk it up to senility and dementia.

There is not a roller coaster or amusement park ride anywhere that can hold a candle to riding a destroyer into heavy seas at high speed trying to maintain station on the carrier.  If you like carnival rides, then this is the place for you, it doesn’t cost anything and lasts for days.

It comes with swells that look like a three-story barricade moving toward the bow that bounce those in the ship around like a flea on Miley Cyrus’ twerking butt. The extreme pleasure of being thrown around like the peas in a baby’s rattle is something that the average person cannot even imagine.

The big assed carriers roll a little and just push through with a slight pitch and roll.

Not so the Tin Cans. It’s “roll and toss and pitch you rusty son-of-a-bitch.”

There is a majesty to heavy seas.  It is damned near impossible to witness the incredible power of heavy seas and deny the existence of a creator.  Only a God could wield that unrestrained power.

One moment, it seems the bow is pointed toward the heavens and the next moment is buried in a forty-foot swell with water streaming through the scuppers, scouring the decks of any unsecured objects, and smashing up over the pilot house.  “Put another quarter in Mama, I want to ride it again.”  Accompanied by lateral motions, figure eight stern gyrations, the slamming of the screws as they come out of the water, and the visible flexing of the expansion joints.

Inside the ship, men are tossed about, forgotten items fall out of hiding places in the overhead vent lines and wire ways.  Meals become an endless succession of soup, canned chili, cheese and horsecock sandwiches, coffee, bug juice and milk if available.  Now we know why they pay us sea pay.

If you are lucky and have bunk straps, you lash yourself into your rack to try to get a couple hours sleep, or else you hang on and hope to stay in the bunk.  Your teeth hurt from clenching your jaws. Your smokes go flying from your pocket to never be seen again.  Guys shoot their lunch.  Cockroaches are packing to go ashore as soon as you hit port.  The cooks in the galley are cussing as they try to put together a meal.  And guys safely in their racks who need to take a whiz ask themselves,

“Do I really want to struggle to get to the head to wade in vomit and water swirling across the deck and try to piss in a moving target while trying to not puke myself.”

“Stand by for heavy rolls,” means that all the shit that just flew by you from starboard will be coming back from the port side and you wonder is there anything left in the overhead that hasn’t fallen and hit you in the head.

“Now supper for the crew, watch standers head of the line.”

“Hey Dave, do you think it is horsecock sandwiches?”

“Does a hobby horse have a wooden asshole?”

“Bring me back some crackers, I’m afraid if I go to the mess deck and try to gag down another horsecock sandwich I’ll puke again?”

“Damn, who is steering this son-of-a-bitch?  Who has the helm?”

“I do, next watch.”

“How did I end up on a sea going vomit barge? Fuck it, I think I’ll strike for Corpsman and hide in Sickbay for the rest of my career.”

“Hey you know you love it, where else could a redneck like you from North Carolina with the I.Q. of a cockroach get a job throwing trash in the Pacific Ocean?”

“Hey, you assholes knock it off, grown folks are trying to sleep.”

And so, it went, for days at a time, crap banging around in lockers, shit sliding back and forth across the decks, the acrid smell of gastrically dissolved cheese and horsecock sandwiches mixed with stale coffee permeating the berthing compartments and heads.

Stumbling around, zinging off bulkheads, doors, piping and each other and being seventeen or eighteen years old and realizing that the recruiter who promised you a thrilling life of wonder, oriental girls, and adventure was a lying shore duty son-of-a-bitch.

 

 

 

 

 

Standard

12 thoughts on “Typhoon

  1. John Croix USN(ret), 1961-1988 says:

    Any tin can before fin stabilizers was a fun ride in any kind of heavy weather. Once they added fin stabilizers you still had a rough ride but it added a snap stop at the end of the roll. And if they complained you could adjust the sensitivity until no one could walk upright in a calm sea.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. djp4him says:

    Been on many of those rides. I remember one specifically while “trying” to out run a typhoon in the South China Sea. Before the seas got too rough the Captain ordered that the crew go through every space and secure everything that could possibly move. Once all spaces were secure the Old Man came over the 1MC and ordered the whole crew to our berthing compartments with no movement throughout the ship except for watches, meals, go to the head or emergencies. He said he would let us know when we could return to our regular daily routine. Being an FC we had no watches so played many games of poker and watched movies that the IC gang kept going for us. Most of the guys stayed in their racks except for the periodic dash to the head to puke up the vial as most weren’t eating. I never got sea sick and meals were mostly eaten by those with iron stomachs as the rest couldn’t handle it. Four days later we returned to our regular daily routine. This was also on a Forest Sherman class tin can.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. HWright1932@aol.com says:

    GARLAND YOU NEED TO BE ON A SHIP CARRING 2 OR 3 HUNDRED ARMY TROOPS IN WEATHER LIKE THAT PUKE EVERY WHERE THEY STAY . WE DID NOT EVEN WANT THEM AROUND SHIPS COMPANY . POOR BASTARD

    Liked by 1 person

  4. JPetersen says:

    Sounds familiar. Rode out a typhoon of Guam onboard an AFS (USS San Jose) in 89. One wild ride, made life hell down in the pit, but I loved it. Standing on the main deck starboard, looking aft, and seeing the ship flex the way it did was weirdly cool.

    Like

  5. Jim Wheeler says:

    I was a Mess Cook/Cook on the Forrest Sherman (DD931) however we were in the Atlantic. I know exactly what you were talking about.

    Like

  6. Bruno Szewczyk says:

    memories are made of this Dave, I experienced it on a smaller scale in a one stack troop transport from Whittier AK, to Pearl Harbor – worse storm in 10 years in gulf of AK don’t evey you guys at all punches holes in very pretty waves

    Like

  7. Glenn Stang says:

    Rode out my first ones on USS Southerland DDR743 60 to 63 time frame. Long hull Gearing class. What fun. Never again I hope. What a ride. Scary as hell to every one of us. Riveted hulls and and all. Rode a few in DGS to but nothing like the old ones.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s