Remember The FID, Trial By Fire

Forty six years ago today, while conducting flight operations on Yankee Station off the coast of Vietnam, the USS Forrestal caught fire, resulting in the largest loss of life by the U.S. Navy since world war two.

I was in boot camp in 1979, when I first saw the Navy training film "Trial By Fire", and heard the story of the USS Forrestal fire. The Chief that taught us fire fighting that day at RTC Orlando, was a survivor of the fire. He taught us the lessons that were learned that day in 1967, where 134 of his shipmates had paid with their lives. I never have forgot those lessons and they served me well throughout my Naval career, having been involved in several fires at sea.

134 brave men paid the ultimate price on that July day, and 166 more were injured. The names of the 134 who perished are inscribed forever on panel 24E of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial wall in Washington D.C. Those of us who saw the films of this fire over and over throughout our Naval careers, may not know all the names, but I can tell you this, they are not forgotten.

I was reminded about this today by a good friend and shipmate, who also posted the words from the Forrestal's Skipper to the ships crew on that day. It bears posting here, hat tip to Big John for reminding us all.

 July 29, 1967 "Men of Forrestal, this is the Captain. There are no words that say what comes from our hearts tonight. Yet we must try. I ask you to join with me in this humble effort to express our thanks and our deep, deep debt to Almighty God. Let us pray: Our heavenly Father, we see this day as one minute and yet a lifetime for all of us. We thank you for the courage of those that gave their lives in saving their shipmates today. We humbly ask you to grant them peace. And to their loved ones, the conciliation and strength to bear their loss. Help us to renew the faith we have in you. We thank you for our own lives. May we remember you as you have remembered us today. From our hearts we turn to you now, knowing that you have been at our sides in every minute of this day. Heavenly Father, help us to rebuild and reman our ship so that our brothers who died today may not have made a fruitless sacrifice. Amen" -Captain Beling

46 years ago today, 134 men died on the USS Forrestal in the fire. They gave their lives to save the ship and their shipmates in a time of need. They were Sailors to the end and Heroes for eternity. FID- Forever in Dignity and First in Defense.

We honor and remember them today and everyday.

Master Chief Sends.

Bambi's Voice

I have been watching a lot of deer lately, and have been plotting and thinking about deer season a lot as well. I got this story from an old Navy friend, and it is just too cool not to share.

 

DID YOU KNOW.....that the kid who voiced Bambi grew up to become the youngest Marine drill instructor and served three tours in Vietnam!

Donnie Dunagan was only 6 when Walt Disney hired him to be the voice of Bambi. He was discovered at a Memphis talent show, and actually performed in 8 movies as a little child. He had a promising career that was cut short because his family fractured. He spent his time as a kid and teen in different boarding homes, until he joined the military as a teen.

He had a pretty good career there too. He was the youngest ever Marine Drill instructor and served three tours during the Vietnam war. He said he was fortunate to be in a leadership position for over 25 years.
...
However, his true identity as Bambi remained hidden while he was in the military. He thought people wouldn’t have taken him seriously if they knew he voiced the famous fawn. It wasn't until years later, when he was 70, that he made it publically known.

He was attending a banquet, when a casual comment tipped media off that he had been a child star. After that, Disney got back in contact with him and he participated in the DVD featurette about the Bambi cast. He's now getting DVDs from them to give to orphanages.

Fans are ecstatic that he's come back into the spotlight, and he's now proud whenever someone calls out "Major Bambi" out on the street "I love it to death," he says.

Old Capt Sends.

RIP J.J. Cale

If you ever have been a Lynyrd Skynard, or Eric Clapton fan, then you have heard this man's songs. Among the many of his compositions, include Cocaine, Call Me The Breeze, and After Midnight. J.J. played around the Atlanta music scene a lot in the 70s when I was in that area. Oddly, his last album which has just recently been released was titled "Roll On", and now he has.

Sharing from his web site;

JJ Cale Has Passed Away

JJ Cale passed away at 8:00 pm on Friday July 26
at Scripps Hospital in La Jolla, CA.

The legendary singer / songwriter had suffered a heart attack.
There are no immediate plans for services.
His history is well documented at JJCale.com, rosebudus.com/cale,
and in the documentary, To Tulsa And Back.

Donations are not needed but he was a great lover of animals so, if you like,
you can remember him with a donation to your favorite local animal shelter

Old Captain Sends.

In Chubby's Church

I present one of my newest friends. I have named him, or her as the case may be, Chubby. Chubby lives in crystal clear water in an undisclosed southeast Georgia lake. Chubby and his, or her brethren call out to the fly fisherman in me.

Tom Brokaw once said "If fishing is a religion, then fly fishing is high church". I'm not sure if fishing is a religion or not. I do know that fishing provides me with plenty of religious experiences, but I digress, because this is about the church of Chubby.

Fly fishing may be more of a disease, or sickness than a religion. It can almost posses me, and in ways it carries me back to my beginnings catching small fish on a cane pole from Carole creek which ran through my Grandfather's pasture, and from the muddy winding Sweetwater creek which Carole creek emptied into. That may be were I started giving fish names, because I would catch and release them over and over. So, this week when the opportunity arose to do a little fly tossing for bass in the crystal clear water, I named my newest nemesis, or friend Chubby, because he/she was the big fish in the pond.

Throwing the smallest, lightest lines and fly I could still spooked the fish, so I had to resort to making a cast and allowing the water to settle then start the slow dance of the fly to entice the prey. This prove to work somewhat well, and it was the only game in town. I caught numerous panfish and a few small bass, but Chubby just refused to play.

Now while I might have you thinking, oh no, another story about the one that got away, let me just say that is not the Old Captains intent. I prefer to think of it in another light, any day you get to fish is a blessing, and to be able to share that with someone else, and even to relate the story at a later date, proves nothing escapes from memory. Some people fish their entire life and think that fishing is only about catching fish, and I will admit that, that is an important part, but only a true fisherman will understand the surrounding beauty and peace that comes from time on the waters.

Old Ernie Hemingway said, " having someone at your back while you fish, is as bad as having someone look over your shoulder while you write a letter to your girl". I think having the right companion to share the experience with makes it all the better, and in the case of the battle of wits with Chubby, there was a witness, so I also have temper the embellishment of the adventure.

In closing I will tell you it was a great time and a great blessing to spend time in Chubby's church, where I learned even more the lessons of the humility of fly fishing. Thanks for the lessons and the blessings.

THE END

Old Captain Sends.

Rock City

On a nostalgic journey today, while doing Monday morning chores at the BAQ (Bachelor Officer Quarters), here between the swamp and the sea.

I was put walking early this morning, and wishing it would dry out enough to cut grass, and noticed a small bird coming and going from our old Rock City bird house. The got me to thinking about Rock City and what a magical place it is, and also what a unique advertising idea it created.

In 1932, Garnet Carter decided to open his wife neatly manicured gardens atop Lookout Mountain to the public. He developed a strategy of painting barns along roadways as a means of advertising his venture. "See Rock City" was painted on the roofs and sides of barns, from the great lakes to the Gulf of Mexico. Numbering over 900 hundred in the heyday to just around 100 still existing today. Rock City was opened at a time to give the depression weary nation a destination for a road trip and a vacation.

In the 1960s it was magic for me to see those barns along the roadway and Rock City was a magical place as well. I can remember looking at View Master slides of all the rock formations, and wanting to be there so bad. One should also remember at this time Kissimmee Florida was still just a cattle town and Orlando at best was full of orange groves. No magic kingdom had yet to forever change that natural landscape, so the natural rock formations, and the ability to see seven states called to us, the children of the red dirt country.

More than a few years back, I carried my own sons there, and they enjoyed it as well, proving that some things never seem to totally go out of style. We have owned the bird house since that trip, and countless birds have been born, and lived in it. It does show some signs of wear but still shelters yet another summer of new birds.

What a legacy Garnet Carter, a man who's first name is the same as a type of rock, has left us with. It brings memories of simpler times, road trips, and cheaper gasoline, and reminds us all to look for beauty in the natural world, such as the rock formations in his wife's beloved garden.

See Rock City!
Old Captain sends.

GPS And The Modern Fisherman

 

 

 

 

The Global Positioning System (GPS) is a space-based satellite navigation system that provides location and time information in all weather conditions, anywhere on or near the Earth where there is an unobstructed line of sight to four or more GPS satellites. The system provides critical capabilities to the military, civil and commercial users around the world. It is maintained by the United States government and is freely accessible to anyone with a GPS receiver.

I have always contended that GPS, really just means girl pointing and shouting. Hey it works great in aircraft, but can give us fits down here in the real world.

I have friends who think it is the greatest invention of all time. They won't leave home to drive across town without checking the GPS on their car, or smart phone. More power to them, but give me a map, or nautical chart any day. Add a wet compass and I can get you pretty much any where you want to go. I have had GPS direct me to an obsolete stage coach road, that a mule could barley traverse in the mountains, and once in San Diego in a rental van, I witnessed the driver drive around a city block three times, because a female voice from the GPS kept saying left turn now.  At least it was a pleasant voice pointing and shouting.

In regards to the modern fisherman, GPS works great for fast marking of good fishing spots, so that you can get back to them. Now, for the cautionary side, what it will not do for you is let you know when channels change, sand bars shift, or tides change. Always remember it is a point to point system.

Why oh Captain, are you providing this Saturday morning review of your history with GPS you ask? Well as some of you know the month of July has presented it's share of challenges on the water. Heat, storms, runaway tubes on mountain rivers, and the story does not end there.

On Friday, we set out on a beautiful summer morning, in hopes of filling the fish box and beating the afternoon summer squalls. All was going splendidly well, right up until the decision was reached to change location, the tide was dropping and off we motored to a low tide fishing spot, where we had had good luck in the past. Ah, a leisurely ride a cold drink and good conversation, following the GPS track on the screen, what could go wrong, done this thousands of times. This was right up to the point where entering a smaller tributary, our GPS track carried us right up a sand bar and after a hard sudden stop, and the re-decorating of the bow of the boat with sun warmed bait shrimp, we find our selves in a situation akin to the one Noah found himself  when he parked the Ark on top of Mount Ararat. High and dry, with a tide still dropping and storm clouds gathering.

No amount of pushing, pulling, digging, or crying helped. Nothing at this point but to sit it out and wait for the water to rise. Moral to be added here, sometimes obstacles are placed before us to remind us that we are not in charge and just need to slow down. Not always a lesson we want. We had other boater sail by while looking at us as if to say, look at those two dummies run aground, never once did they offer assistance, most likely because they knew we just needed to wait on the tide to rise. The tide did rise and we were freed from our perch in the river, and even beat the major rain back to the ramp.

Another memorable trip out on the water, and other than a little extra soreness, no worse for the wear  of the grounding. Our lesson again slow down and smell the roses, or in our case the bait shrimp, and never trust a Girl Pointing and Shouting,

Old Capt Sends.

Admin Day Between The Swamp And The Sea

After the triumphant return from an excursion into the red dirt country, and after a restful, thankful Sunday, it is admin day at the shack between the swamp and the sea. I hate admin days! Book keeping, house cleaning and laundry. Feeling like Uncle Charley from "My Three Sons" again. The young adult male left in charge of the outpost, didn't let anything bad happen while I was out, but on the other hand didn't do any preventive maintenance or cleaning either. Welcome back Captain.

It is now noon, and I am finally ready to cut the grass, hopefully before an afternoon squall, and did I mention a tropical storm formation possible in the Atlantic, which may be headed our way. We are not even into the dog days yet! Anyway after a morning of paying bills and an hour and a half of looking for lost stamps, I am ready for some outdoor activity, that does not require a lot of thought. Some days being the Captain of this enterprise is not all that it is cracked up to be, however I think I'll keep the job, and thankful to have it.

Just read the beginning of the 103rd Psalm, and feeling very renewed and lucky to be me! Now off to get that grass cut.

Old Captain Sends.

In-land Crusing, Or You Can't Steer A Tube

This is a cautionary tale of the Old Captain's adventures back home in the red dirt country. Most all who know me know of my love of the water and wild places, this shall be the tale of a lovely Sunday afternoon cruise. Cruise indeed, actually a tubing experience, at least that is what it's called.

Aw yes, tubing, floating lazily down a slow moving mountain river, with ones posterior stuck into a canvas covered inner tube, dragging along a cooler of ones favorite beverage. The very thought brings to mind an idyllic setting, also thinking back to the fun we used to have in the 1970's rambling raft race on the Hooch. All in all, a capital idea.

My intrepid group of explorers, first took to the task of stocking the cooler for said experience. Two store stops and a cracked windshield later we arrive at the point of embarkation Here is where one signs a page in spiral notebook and pay up for your tube rental. At this point our group of intrepid explorers is informed, no coolers, no cans, no bottles. So much for said cooler stocking. Then we are informed we can have a personal size cooler, but should not let cans be visible. A personal sized cooler is produced and re- stocked, then we await transport to put in site, along with a dozen or so of various Yuppie tourists.

An old model 1970's short school bus arrives and we are herded onto it, very reminiscent of some transports I rode in during my military time. The driver looks like Kid Rock, I kid you not, no pun intended. Behind it is towed a trailer filled with tube floats and life jackets. When we arrive at the put in sight it is determined that there are not enough life jackets to go around, and one is a requirement for each person. Kid Rock charges off to save the day and retrieve more life jackets.

At long last, properly briefed on the dangers of missing a vital left turn in the river and on not missing the take out spot, we are off into the water. Almost immediately the idyllic thought changes as every one floats off in their own direction. Here it should be added that an out of control inner tube can be next to impossible to maneuver. leaving one out of control in fast moving water, and at the mercy of the river. We have used the straps of two life jackets to fasten two tubes together, a move which may be regretted at a later time. We are pulled under low hanging trees and floated into snaky looking washes.

The first couple sets of light rapids proved doable, and other than high centering a few rocks, all went well. That is, right up until the time when my beautiful float buddy decided to leave her tube in the midst of a rapid, hitting her head on a rock in the process. Once we had recovered and had everyone mounted back up on their float, we almost immediately are pulled under the largest river birch limb that I have ever seen. This is also a point when having two tubes strapped together, may have proved a detriment, as we each choose our own way through the branches, but wait beyond this fine obstacle. just up ahead lies the "fork in the river, where ye must turn left", you guessed it, we're headed to the right. We pull through and get back left, with the help of a friendly sun bathing local, who had nothing be warnings for the rest of our tubing experience.

Alas! Onward to the falls it's only class 4 how bad can that be. I and my beautiful float buddy are still attached by life jacket straps, and we have a conversation about us un- connecting our tubes, and maybe even downing the jackets. Too late for all of that, we are now committed. Hearing strains of Eternal Father in my head I tell my companion to just hang on, how bad could it be. There is a wide array of locals gathered around the falls just to watch the show of hapless tubers, floundering through the falls, and even one brave sole trying to fish right in the main channel. In we go! At the point of the first drop in the falls, my float buddy decides to leave her tube again, we managed to get her on to the side of my tube, where she road out the rest of the falls.

The take out point proved to be no less challenging, getting my float buddy safely to the side to get out, I found myself prematurely exiting my own tube and tumbled into the channel, which you guessed it was pulling me away from the take out. Hey, the water is only about knee to waist deep, just stand up. Slick rocky bottom, bare feet, perfect recipe for a broke ankle, wait! Another idea, lie back down and swim out along the bottom. Works perfect, I am out of the river and awaiting extraction.

Kid Rock, arrives back to pick us up in yet another 1970's short bus, don't care at this point, just get on the bus. This ancient warrior of a bus starts chugging and sputtering, just as soon as we start moving. The question is posed, does this thing have brakes? Answer, no. Just as we crest the highest mountain the bus runs out of gas. Kid Rock is on his fourth cigarette. We coast the next 5 or so miles through the mountains, at times backing up quite the traffic jam behind us. We coast into a country store gas station, we manage to stop at the pump, the bus tire is chocked and the bus is fueled, Kid Rock lights up number six.

Like I said in the beginning. just a cautionary tale. All in all a great experience, with a really wonderful group of fellow floaters.

Old Captain sends.