I have spent over two and a half decades in the service of my Country. I have sailed into places most in the world only read about in National Geographics, or in the news. Rich countries and poor, I've walked the shores of both.
I would like to tell you of my thoughts of the people (and their lives), and the places (and their efforts to show their pride) we have sailed into (and hearts never quite sailed out of).
In the late 70s, early 80s, we played cat and mouse with the Soviets in the Bering Sea (between Alaska and Siberia), it was a rough time between are two nations, and war ships carried out their orders, goading and listening in on eachother's messages. There were often "skirts" across the borders then back into one's own water, but it seamed to be harmless (though exciting). Then one day, we caught one vessel clearly on the wrong side of the border...
We borded her (an AGI posing as a fish processing plant, but carrying armament usually reserved for an escort destroyer, and an antenna array that would leave NASA drooling).
What the "captains" were doing, is not my concern, as we (boarding teams), were supposed to be cataloguing and counting fish in their holds. This particular vessel ended up not in violation of the fishing regulations (as later found), but in violation of crossing a soveriegn border, and unable to declare "innocent passage"...so we waited while the state department decided what to do.
In the mean time, sailors are a boasting bunch to begin with, as well as curious about things. One of them spoke broken english, while two of us spoke Russian.
First, the trading began with patches and pins of rank, followed by hats, and uniform parts. Then eventually out came the Vodka, and Coca Cola, the girlie magazines and the canned borsht, and Sturgeon eggs. Russian Pepielnetza (cigarettes) will kill an American in a day, but American Marlboros (though taste like sucking air), were status symbols to those who swapped them. A few of us even got a quick tour of the enginerooms...
The engineers could be heared cursing above the sound of the plant, but when an American walked by, there was nothing but beaming pride in their engines (and it rubbed off on the obersvers).
Our turn, we let a couple of curious machinist mates take a look at our Rigid Hull inflatable with its twin 125 Johnsons...and multiple frequency RHF VHF UHF integrated radios (which were turned off).
The engineers were fascinated with the "dead mans kill switch", which would stop the boat if the Cox'n was not at the controls. The other fascination was the combination of rigid hull and pontoons made of the new material called "kevlar".
One Russian (Ukranian) engineer scoffed at the speedometer registering a maximum of 60, until we translated that 60 (mph) into kph...much to his wide eyed shock.
After eight hours, the captians parted company with sour looks on their faces, but the boarding teams and Russian crew, held hidden smiles, and a new found respect for eachother. Of course our departure was solemn and serious, but when the sea painter was cast away and we began to pull off, the sailor handling the line winked and grinned, so only we could see. And he slipped a bit of the "Playboy" magazine he newly acquired from the top of his tunic, which made our captain choke, then start to chuckle.
During our debrief, contraband was never brought up, nor volunteered. However, the next time we saw that Russian processor plant (about 12 months later), they were on their side of the Bering by 1/2 a mile, and there was a semiphore signal flashed to us from their flying bridge, that simply said, "good sailing border guardsman"...
v/r
Q
I would like to tell you of my thoughts of the people (and their lives), and the places (and their efforts to show their pride) we have sailed into (and hearts never quite sailed out of).
In the late 70s, early 80s, we played cat and mouse with the Soviets in the Bering Sea (between Alaska and Siberia), it was a rough time between are two nations, and war ships carried out their orders, goading and listening in on eachother's messages. There were often "skirts" across the borders then back into one's own water, but it seamed to be harmless (though exciting). Then one day, we caught one vessel clearly on the wrong side of the border...
We borded her (an AGI posing as a fish processing plant, but carrying armament usually reserved for an escort destroyer, and an antenna array that would leave NASA drooling).
What the "captains" were doing, is not my concern, as we (boarding teams), were supposed to be cataloguing and counting fish in their holds. This particular vessel ended up not in violation of the fishing regulations (as later found), but in violation of crossing a soveriegn border, and unable to declare "innocent passage"...so we waited while the state department decided what to do.
In the mean time, sailors are a boasting bunch to begin with, as well as curious about things. One of them spoke broken english, while two of us spoke Russian.
First, the trading began with patches and pins of rank, followed by hats, and uniform parts. Then eventually out came the Vodka, and Coca Cola, the girlie magazines and the canned borsht, and Sturgeon eggs. Russian Pepielnetza (cigarettes) will kill an American in a day, but American Marlboros (though taste like sucking air), were status symbols to those who swapped them. A few of us even got a quick tour of the enginerooms...
The engineers could be heared cursing above the sound of the plant, but when an American walked by, there was nothing but beaming pride in their engines (and it rubbed off on the obersvers). Our turn, we let a couple of curious machinist mates take a look at our Rigid Hull inflatable with its twin 125 Johnsons...and multiple frequency RHF VHF UHF integrated radios (which were turned off).
The engineers were fascinated with the "dead mans kill switch", which would stop the boat if the Cox'n was not at the controls. The other fascination was the combination of rigid hull and pontoons made of the new material called "kevlar".
One Russian (Ukranian) engineer scoffed at the speedometer registering a maximum of 60, until we translated that 60 (mph) into kph...much to his wide eyed shock.
After eight hours, the captians parted company with sour looks on their faces, but the boarding teams and Russian crew, held hidden smiles, and a new found respect for eachother. Of course our departure was solemn and serious, but when the sea painter was cast away and we began to pull off, the sailor handling the line winked and grinned, so only we could see. And he slipped a bit of the "Playboy" magazine he newly acquired from the top of his tunic, which made our captain choke, then start to chuckle.
During our debrief, contraband was never brought up, nor volunteered. However, the next time we saw that Russian processor plant (about 12 months later), they were on their side of the Bering by 1/2 a mile, and there was a semiphore signal flashed to us from their flying bridge, that simply said, "good sailing border guardsman"...
v/r
Q
s and ferrets*