To begin with, having no good reason for not having posted in nearly a month and a half, I won't bore you with any. The biggest reason is inertia; finally having overcome that obstacle, let's get on with it. I had been planning to go in-depth on depth charges, but something else has come up to make depth charges No. 2 on my list.
No. 1 is the move. Monday it was decided was to be the day SLATER would be moved the mile down the Hudson to the other side of the river. Since the propulsion plant is completely non-functional, we made the move with the help of a pair of tugs. These two tugs move us on a purely volunteer basis, so we have to go whenever they have time. The big reason I mention this is that I had a mere 3.5 hours notice that the move was being made. Needless to say it took only 45 minutes for me to get out the door.
Upon arrival, there was a crane standing by to remove the gangway and a sizeable contingent of line handlers both ashore and aboard. But as soon as I stepped off the gangway onto the deck, I paused. Something was different. Something didn't feel right. It took me a mere second to realize what it was. But soon the alien vibration in my feet became clear as day: there was a diesel running somewhere! Rounding the No. 3 gun, I became aware of the blue smoke exhausting from the Emergency Diesel. By now, the rhythmic "thunk-a-click-a-thunk-a-click-a" was audible and only grew louder as I descended the ladder into B-4. At the foot of the ladder I was met by Carl, to whom I immediately exclaimed: "Hot damn, it sounds like an engine room now!" I don't know why the sound of that diesel made me grin as wide as it did, but after chinning for a couple of seconds, I went down the ladder to the lower level where I met Gus and made the same observation to him that I had made to Carl. Again, I don't know why seeing that diesel turning over, warming up to generate the electricity for the ship suring the move, seemed like such a beautiful sight to me, but it was. As much as I wanted to stay part of the Engineering Department for the move, Deck Division needed all the hands they could get, including mine.
After helping put canvas covers over the forward two 3" guns, the first tug arrived and began attaching itself to our starboard side forward. Once that was accomplished, we began to single up all the lines and the crane removed the gangway while the second tug busied itself attaching itself to the starboard side aft. Through the cold drizzle that fell throughout the process, one by one the singled lines were cast off and hauled aboard. Of course the hauling was my job, along with the other two volunteers who were assigned to the fo'c'sle with me. And then, ever so slowly, SLATER drifted away from the riverside and into the middle of the channel. It was a wierd feeling. The ship was dead for all intents and purposes, but the tugs lashed tightly to our side transferred their rumblings and vibrations into the hull of SLATER. It was almost like some sort of nautical artificial respiration. For the 20 minutes or so it took to make the move, SLATER felt like a ship and not a museum.
Now, here's where training took over. As we pulled lines aboard, one after another, the fo'c'sle began to look like a plate of spaghetti. I didn't notice this until after I had snapped several photos, but as soon as I did take notice, I thought "Oh, no. If 'Boats' sees this mess, he'll be pissed!" Some of the lines had been laid out down the port side, but the forward most lines has
just been left where they lay. I immediately got to work, "faking down" the lines that were to go through the bull-nose. Halfway through this, I reflected on how silly that was. There were no Botswain's Mates aboard, and even if there were, they might have made a remark about the mess, but wouldn't have expected anyone to fix it. But, to hell with it, I couldn't let those civilians think that's how we do things in the Navy. I won't say that when I was done the fo'c'sle was inspection-ready, but it wasn't bad at all.
During my adventures in marlinspiking, the tugs, one at a time, had transferred themselves to our port side, because the ship would be moored on the starboard side. Slowly but surely, the tugs moved us into position, heaving lines were thrown across, and lines were singled up. Of course, this was not as easy as it seemed. We would put turns in the line around the bitts, and then word would come "Three feet forward", so we would either need to take in or slack the line
three feet, depending on the orientation of the line. Back and forth, feet at a time, SLATER was moved into just the right position, the singled up lines were secured and then doubled up. Their jobs done, the tugs moved off, but not before engaging in some horeseplay that proved to be then antithesis of a tug-of-war.
Shore power was connected, the diesel secured, and the steel cables were passed ashore to add that extra bit of security to the mooring operation. All too soon, it was done. I can say that I have some sea time on a Navy ship, assuming that you apply liberal definitions to "sea" to include the Hudson River and "Navy ship" to include a 63-year-old DE incapable of moving under her own power. But I can say that I have more recent nautical experience than all of the students and a good 98% of the staff at work. That may seem like a minor point, but I'm proud of it.
I was on a schedule, so I had to get a ride back to the Albany side of the river before mooring was 100% complete. But once I got to my car, I took a second to snap a photo of where SLATER stood when I first saw her. But over the coming winter months, there will be plenty of heavy maintenance to be done, and I hope to be elbows-deep in it. Of course, I already know what my first project will be. I won't spoil it so as to keep intrest piqued, but let's just say that once I'm done with this, I may be eligible to cross-rate as a Gunner's Mate.
No. 1 is the move. Monday it was decided was to be the day SLATER would be moved the mile down the Hudson to the other side of the river. Since the propulsion plant is completely non-functional, we made the move with the help of a pair of tugs. These two tugs move us on a purely volunteer basis, so we have to go whenever they have time. The big reason I mention this is that I had a mere 3.5 hours notice that the move was being made. Needless to say it took only 45 minutes for me to get out the door.
Upon arrival, there was a crane standing by to remove the gangway and a sizeable contingent of line handlers both ashore and aboard. But as soon as I stepped off the gangway onto the deck, I paused. Something was different. Something didn't feel right. It took me a mere second to realize what it was. But soon the alien vibration in my feet became clear as day: there was a diesel running somewhere! Rounding the No. 3 gun, I became aware of the blue smoke exhausting from the Emergency Diesel. By now, the rhythmic "thunk-a-click-a-thunk-a-click-a" was audible and only grew louder as I descended the ladder into B-4. At the foot of the ladder I was met by Carl, to whom I immediately exclaimed: "Hot damn, it sounds like an engine room now!" I don't know why the sound of that diesel made me grin as wide as it did, but after chinning for a couple of seconds, I went down the ladder to the lower level where I met Gus and made the same observation to him that I had made to Carl. Again, I don't know why seeing that diesel turning over, warming up to generate the electricity for the ship suring the move, seemed like such a beautiful sight to me, but it was. As much as I wanted to stay part of the Engineering Department for the move, Deck Division needed all the hands they could get, including mine.
After helping put canvas covers over the forward two 3" guns, the first tug arrived and began attaching itself to our starboard side forward. Once that was accomplished, we began to single up all the lines and the crane removed the gangway while the second tug busied itself attaching itself to the starboard side aft. Through the cold drizzle that fell throughout the process, one by one the singled lines were cast off and hauled aboard. Of course the hauling was my job, along with the other two volunteers who were assigned to the fo'c'sle with me. And then, ever so slowly, SLATER drifted away from the riverside and into the middle of the channel. It was a wierd feeling. The ship was dead for all intents and purposes, but the tugs lashed tightly to our side transferred their rumblings and vibrations into the hull of SLATER. It was almost like some sort of nautical artificial respiration. For the 20 minutes or so it took to make the move, SLATER felt like a ship and not a museum.Now, here's where training took over. As we pulled lines aboard, one after another, the fo'c'sle began to look like a plate of spaghetti. I didn't notice this until after I had snapped several photos, but as soon as I did take notice, I thought "Oh, no. If 'Boats' sees this mess, he'll be pissed!" Some of the lines had been laid out down the port side, but the forward most lines has
just been left where they lay. I immediately got to work, "faking down" the lines that were to go through the bull-nose. Halfway through this, I reflected on how silly that was. There were no Botswain's Mates aboard, and even if there were, they might have made a remark about the mess, but wouldn't have expected anyone to fix it. But, to hell with it, I couldn't let those civilians think that's how we do things in the Navy. I won't say that when I was done the fo'c'sle was inspection-ready, but it wasn't bad at all.During my adventures in marlinspiking, the tugs, one at a time, had transferred themselves to our port side, because the ship would be moored on the starboard side. Slowly but surely, the tugs moved us into position, heaving lines were thrown across, and lines were singled up. Of course, this was not as easy as it seemed. We would put turns in the line around the bitts, and then word would come "Three feet forward", so we would either need to take in or slack the line
three feet, depending on the orientation of the line. Back and forth, feet at a time, SLATER was moved into just the right position, the singled up lines were secured and then doubled up. Their jobs done, the tugs moved off, but not before engaging in some horeseplay that proved to be then antithesis of a tug-of-war.Shore power was connected, the diesel secured, and the steel cables were passed ashore to add that extra bit of security to the mooring operation. All too soon, it was done. I can say that I have some sea time on a Navy ship, assuming that you apply liberal definitions to "sea" to include the Hudson River and "Navy ship" to include a 63-year-old DE incapable of moving under her own power. But I can say that I have more recent nautical experience than all of the students and a good 98% of the staff at work. That may seem like a minor point, but I'm proud of it.
I was on a schedule, so I had to get a ride back to the Albany side of the river before mooring was 100% complete. But once I got to my car, I took a second to snap a photo of where SLATER stood when I first saw her. But over the coming winter months, there will be plenty of heavy maintenance to be done, and I hope to be elbows-deep in it. Of course, I already know what my first project will be. I won't spoil it so as to keep intrest piqued, but let's just say that once I'm done with this, I may be eligible to cross-rate as a Gunner's Mate.
