April 2008 Archives
Hey, in case you haven't had enough stories about life aboard an aircraft carrier (or maybe there's the outside chance that my story made you interested in more), check out the PBS mini-series "Carrier." The film crew went aboard the USS Nimitz for a while and documented the sailors' lives, warts and all. I've heard both good and bad reviews, but I will say that, according to some e-mails circulated at work, the Navy was interested in more than just a 10-hour recruitment video. Much like my visit to the Reagan, the Navy wants people to know the kinds of lives these people lead, their thoughts and hopes and fears and doubts, all in the name of protecting us. Pretty heavy stuff. Check it out; our DVR is set so I can watch when my semester is finally over.
The next morning after breakfast with the crew, we took some more touring below decks. The day before, we had already seen the areas devoted to the crew's personal well-being: the chapel, outfitted with elements for people of all religions; the surround sound movie theater; and the Internet café, where a line was constantly forming as the sailors waited to check their snail-slow NMCI accounts. On the second day, we were treated to a tour of the foc'sle, where the anchors are stored. The Reagan's foc'sle has the reputation of being the cleanest in the fleet - another point of pride for the crew. At different times of the day, we also saw the engine shop where aircraft engines are brought back to life and the inner workings of the catapult room. We were also led outdoors to the stern, where we noticed that the ocean was high and that the ship was moving along at a very good clip. It impressed me that something that big could move so fast - though every time it did make a maneuver and every time a plane landed, you could feel it no matter where you were on board. We took a walk through the Reagan Room, a museum-like setting that honored the life of the ship's namesake. We even went down to waste management, where our hosts made it a point to highlight the recycling and impressive "green" efforts underway daily throughout the ship.
Our last big stop was at the cavernous hangar deck, where a Hornet pilot showed us the cockpit of his plane and freely answered our questions. My key takeaway from that experience was this: an ejection seat is like a ballistic missile, so don't mess with it. Also, since it is true that pilots lose an inch or so of height during the ejection process and can still break a few bones before it's all said and done, it really is a last resort. They wouldn't let us sit in the cockpit for that reason, but as you can imagine, I was actually a bit relieved. Overall, the efficiency and space management of the flight deck continued down into the hangar, where planes undergoing maintenance were carefully stowed to maximize the utility of the space.
We had one last farewell and exchange of thanks with the Captain and Admiral before we headed down to a Hawkeye pilot ready room to talk with them about some of their flight preparations. They were kind enough to give us a general idea of where the heck we were in the ocean (about 100 miles from San Diego, they said), and they walked us through the pilot's scoreboard, which kept track of each Hawkeye pilot's landing statistics (they all looked green or yellow, which was passable). While we sat in the room, I watched our return flight C-2 land on Channel 25 and knew that our whirlwind tour was coming to a close.
Sure enough, we soon strapped our horsecollars and cranials back on and were given a few final instructions about boarding the COD. Even through everything I'd experienced, I was still a bit nervous about this part. We said goodbye to our tour guides, boarded the plane and strapped back in. The rest happened so quickly that it is nearly a blur. There was the anticipation of not knowing exactly when we would take off. There was the signaling of the flight crew and their "let's go, go, go!" yell, with their wrists circling in exaggerated motions. And then I was flying out of my seat, pressed completely against the harness, my knees nearly hitting the seat in front of me. In three seconds, it was all done and we were airborne. Those of us who could turn around and see the rest of our tour group gave each other thumbs up, and we all laughed. I joined in, partly because of the huge thrill of participating in a catapult launch, but also because I still couldn't believe how lucky I was to be a part of this experience, and how fortunate we all are to live in a country that can provide such vessels and willing volunteers to operate them as a means to defend us and our freedom.
If you ever get the opportunity to do something like this, do it, no matter your opinion of wars or politics. It is worth it.
After lunch and another safety brief in the "distinguished visitor" (a label we had for the duration of our trip) ready room, we were ready to take a trip out to the flight deck. The Top Gun theme was racing through my head as we donned our cranials once more and were led, single-file, out to an area that was clear of planes for the time being.
The first impression I had of the flight deck was how loud it was, even through the double hearing protection. The rest of the time, I was wide-eyed with amazement at just how cool it was to see an F/A-18 Hornet coming from two miles away with its tailhook down, zooming by us in a split-second at full throttle so the pilot could pull off if anything went wrong, and then just as fast being caught by a cable and, wings vibrating, pulled to a stop. And in reverse, it was amazing to watch a multimillion dollar aircraft being lined up at the catapult with its afterburners blazing, and to try not to blink as it shot through the sky mere seconds later with little warning. My appreciation for the bravery of pilots went up several notches.
We stayed on the deck for a long time, long enough for me to go slack-jawed with nerdy interest in every detail of the operations. We learned about the different colors of flight crew shirts and what they mean, and we saw EA-6B Prowlers, E-2 Hawkeyes, and more Hornets take off and land throughout the day.
The next stop was the flight deck control room, where we watched a decidedly low-tech approach to managing the locations of each aircraft: the crew used a 2-D diagram of the flight and hangar deck populated with cardboard cutouts of each plane, then moved them to their current position on deck, a la Risk or a World War II battle strategy scenario. The irony wasn't lost on me, but who could argue with what worked?
As our plane circled to land at San Diego International Airport, I still couldn't believe how truly lucky I had been to be selected for this unique opportunity. I was momentarily distracted by the view of the ocean and rolling hillsides topped with palm trees as we made our final descent to the perfect Southern California air, and I let my imagination wander again to what the next day would bring.
I didn't have long to wait. Early the next morning, my co-worker Ryan and I awoke and made the short drive across the Coronado Bay Bridge to Naval Air Station North Island. After a short wait in the parking lot where we met our fellow tour group members, we were promptly escorted onto the base and given several safety briefings about our upcoming flight on the COD (or "Carrier Onboard Delivery") mission. We learned that we would be facing backwards the entire time in the C-2, for our safety. We were warned that the C-2 is not a commercial aircraft, so we shouldn't be worried about exposed hydraulic fluid and oil leaks. We were told that we couldn't have any loose items on our bodies as we landed, for fear of it flying around in the extreme deceleration and hurting someone. After this comforting information, we were outfitted with a "horsecollar," a green inflatable safety device that fit over our necks like its namesake, and "cranials," partial helmets that offered eye and ear protection and at least nominal skull protection if something fell on our heads. We would become very familiar with the cranials over the course of our trip. The air crew also offered up some "foamies," regular dime-a-dozen foam earplugs. They suggested that we'd need them in addition to our cranials. They were right.
Despite everything, it's a beautiful day.
One year has passed, but the memories are still fresh. I can talk about it now, sure. I can speculate and wonder why it happened. I can talk to co-workers about the larger implications. I can get myself busy enough that it doesn't distract me. It doesn't define me, and it doesn't define my community. But one year isn't quite long enough to forget feeling utterly helpless, forced to watch the news unfold in my cubicle between frantic calls back to Gina in Blacksburg. The relief at knowing she and most of my friends were okay. The grief in imagining that so many others weren't and in realizing that one of the victims was a friendly, smiling guy I had taken a few classes with freshman year. The shock in simultaneously recognizing him and internalizing the cold truth, a closer and more horrible truth, in the span of a second. The shame in trying not to imagine what the families and close friends were experiencing at that moment.
One year later, I still can't pass by the memorial websites when I happen upon them. I still get choked up when I glance at a few, then read about the collective accomplishments of so many bright individuals, always finding out something new, though it's tempered by their forever-unfulfilled goals. It's a finality and a reality that I loathe to remember but don't ever want to forget.
So today, as the news recycles footage and tries to say the same thing 1,000 different ways, I will join my Hokie Nation as we unite once more and remember the 32. I will continue praying for the families that are bitter, grieving, and still looking for answers. I hope they find them somewhere.
I remain proud to be a Hokie, I am proud of how the University pulled through last year, and I will keep this pride forever, even as we all lean on each other in our remembrance and healing. As we hope that this never happens again.
Now let's get busy living.
Gina and I have canceled our original honeymoon plans. We're heading here, to Sealand, for a nice vacation, unless the local ruler mistakes our visit as an overture to war and incarcerates us for a couple of weeks.
While it sounds like some sort of Disney theme park ride, or a cheap knockoff of Shamu's digs, Sealand is actually an abandoned British World War II-era sea fort that, 40 years ago, seemed like an inviting place to Roy Bates, who promptly set up a sovereign nation and declared himself Prince. Wacky ol' Sealand has stood the test of time and at least a few invasions, I'm sure, and even a fire, and now it's making new headways in the realm of secure Internet hosting.
So, those of you who may aspire to visit every nation, or at least continent - what are you going to do about this place?
Have I mentioned Twitter yet? No, I don't think I have. I think the name is still growing on me, but it's a cool message-anywhere service. In case you were wondering what the heck the "Diet Ramble On Zero" sidebar was... now you know. I'll send messages there during those times when inspiration strikes and I'm not on a computer (and now those of you reading in RSS now have a reason to visit the main page from time to time).
My thanks go out to Rob and Josh for trying out the cutting-edge web stuff first so I can copy from them bask in their knowledge. Oh, and Tom's doing it now, too, even though he's a self-proclaimed exile of his generation.
Hey, the carrier trip write-up is still coming. It'll be good when I finish it.
Gina pointed me to this ad. We've already ordered five to completely outfit our new home, wherever that might end up being, and the jingle will soon be on my iPod: