Sea Stories by Brad Williamson
Those of you that haven't spent hours at a watchstation underway might wonder what a "Sea Story" is. In a functional sense, it is little more than an anecdote or short tale of an event or events that took place in the life of the story-teller while on-board the submarine.
For the story-teller, it could be bragging, boasting, decompression, passing on of critical truths, teaching the unqualified, or a hundred other things. For the listeners, it was always taken with a grain of salt, because sea stories had a way of evolving, in which the story-teller always became the 'good guy', and the tale, despite having taken on the proportions of Paul Bunyan and the blue ox, Babe, was still unarguably "true".
Whatever it was about, it usually started with the expression "this is a no-s_____r".
Regardless of who was talking and who was listening, sea stories were a way of life, a part of the tradition of sailors from ages past, a way of passing time, that filled our endless hours and sometimes, for a brief moment or two, helped us escape the reality of the present.
We hope you enjoy these.
The passing of time has taught us that while the story might remain relevant and funny, years of experience and wisdom earned the hard way make us more careful now with our words and stories than we were then.
It is not our intent to disrespect or demean any individual in the re-telling of these sea stories, but to share the humor and camaraderie that surrounds our shared experience.
We trust you will enjoy these stories in the spirit intended, as it is not our intention to hurt or offend. Contact me if you feel we should modify or remove a specific story.
On the other hand, in the true spirit of sea stories, I imagine you have a few in which I feature prominently, and I expect you to share them as well.
~ Brad Williamson, Lead Admin
Sea Stories sorted by author, alphabetically from a-z, by command. Click on headings to change sort.
- Brad Williamson
- Sea Stories - SSN 680
Great sea stories have a few things in common. They are all based, at least loosely, on some real event. They all hold the listener's attention - not usually too hard to do on day fifty-eight of the 'Sea of None of Your Business' hostage crisis. They all generally start with the expression, "This is a no-sh___er."
The title 'Sea Story' can be deceptive. That name comes from the fact that they are usually shared at sea when time, distance from friends and family, and general boredom coalesce into a fertile ground for the emergence of the shared community experience we called a 'sea story'.
Not every sea story, however, starts at sea.
This is one of those stories. And it's a no-sh___er!
The year was probably 1980 or 1981. I was a staff instructor at S8G, the land-based prototype for the Trident submarine reactor and engine room in upstate New York. Though I'd never been to sea, I was an 'old hand' by that time, at least in my estimation.
I'd shown up at S8G while it was under construction. My qualification walk-through included climbing into the containment hull by ladder via a hole in the bottom of the engine room and saying such memorable lines as "When they are installed, the AFW pumps will be located here", and "Normally, this space would be occupied by the Control Rod Drive Mechanisms, which won't show up until the core is delivered". I learned how Reactor Protection and Nuclear Instrumentation operated, not from the manuals (there weren't any) but from the engineers that designed the Reactor Protection System and the Nuclear Instruments.
I'd been part of the crews that had taken the reactor through its first criticality, and all the subsequent phases of testing. I'd been through the critical final stage of testing - Phase 8 - accident condition testing of a new line of nuclear power units, testing that is only done on the first reactor of a series. We had operated solid for weeks - performed real rod ejection events - started up with no reactor coolant circulation. We'd over-sped the main engines (not on purpose) and tossed a whole stage of turbine blades. Scraps of those lost blades kept showing up in the condensate strainers for years! We'd even experienced the fleet's first genuine 2F-2F hi-power scram, with power reaching a level that made your eyes bug out before it finally turned to the collective sigh of relief of all Maneuvering watch-standers.
By this time, I was working on my EOOW quals, quite an achievement for an ET2 staff pick-up. In short, I was young, cocky, probably over-qualified, and, without question, prideful instructor that thought he was God's gift to S8G.
- Brad Williamson
- Sea Stories - SSN 680
Editing photos for “Up Scope!” the other day, I was working my way through “The Seventies” post-processing and writing captions for twenty-or-so galleries of images submitted by Neal Degner for the years 1974-1977. I stumbled across a photo of an unusual ship, a haze gray catamaran with the Military Sealift Command (MSC) stripes on her stacks. Curious, I decided a little research was in order, partly because those twin-hulled catamarans were as rare as the Pegusus class hydrofoils during the 70’s and 80’s.
Thank you internet. A few clicks later, and the ship was identified as the USNS Hayes (T-AGOR-16). Named after Dr. Harvey C. Hayes, a pioneer in underwater acoustics and the former head of the U.S. Navy Sound Division of the Naval Research Laboratory, the “Hayes” class oceanographic research vessel was re-purposed in the mid-80’s as an acoustic research ship...
- Brad Williamson
- Sea Stories - SSN 680
Duty in Subic Bay. Just another day on the Bates. In fact, just another night on the Bates. Sometimes you just wanted to scream.
I wasn't a big fan of the night life in the 'Po, but stuck on the boat was stuck on the boat. I'd rather be sipping an icy San Migoo' and buying skewers of mystery meat from a street vendor's grill by the metric ton. Or a bucket of shrimp fried rice.
But I took my turn like everybody else. I was the Engineering Duty Petty Officer, and it was after midnight. I'd been back aft on a casual tour, and engineering, like most of the boat, was deserted. I shared coffee and stories with the Shutdown Reactor Operator, found a lighter for the Roving Watch, and then wandered up topside.
- Brad Williamson
- Sea Stories - SSN 680
On the bridge of our Sturgeon-class stretch-hull, the USS WILLIAM H. BATES (SSN 680), the OOD and I enjoyed the last few minutes of fresh air as we headed out past Point Loma to our dive point. The tranquility was broken by a gaggle of midshipman peering up from the access trunk, asking permission to come to the bridge. One by one they made their way up the ladder, each proudly sporting their newly purchased ships ball caps. Soon the six of us were squeezed in tight as we enjoyed one of the best parts of the op.
Answering Ahead Standard into the wind, it didn’t come as a surprise when the OOD’s ball cap was blown overboard. A stream of invective followed his brief glance back at the blue and gold disappearing into the wake and I commented that it was typical of the wet-behind-the–ears middies to blatantly ignore naval tradition and continue to wear their brand new ball caps when the OOD had just lost his.
- Brad Williamson
- Sea Stories - SSN 680
Fall of 1982, and we have navigated the island strewn channel into the harbor at Sasebo, Japan. As we make our final turn into the port, we see our target, the USS TUSCALOOSA (LST 1187), anchored out, awaiting our arrival. The wind is brisk, but not too cold, and line handlers are mustering topside in preparation for mooring.
Communication on deck is difficult. Eight or ten news helicopters orbit the boat like a swarm of angry bees, the whine of their turbines adding to the noise level and the metaphor.