[ Excerpt from Spindrift ]

When the seas were really big, we would stand lookout on the bridge next to the OOD instead of up in the shears. We'd keep the conning tower hatch closed and dogged, and we lashed ourselves with "21 thread" ( half-inch line) to a pad eye on the splinter shield next to us, as soon as we got up there. We just stood there getting beaten around by the waves. It was actually fun and exciting for me, and any tendency toward seasickness was reduced considerably. I'd feel lousy below, but it was invigorating on the bridge in a big storm.

I recall vividly, in the Atlantic, waves resembling eight-story apartment buildings! I think I should point out that, unlike most ships, subs ride very low in the water. The deck of the bridge, where we stood, was no more than 10 feet off the surface of the water, so from our perspective those waves looked huge. We would head directly into the seas and we’d surf down the backs of the waves and plunge our thin bull nose bow deep into the oncoming wave. By the time the bow started to rise up on the next wave, it would already be covering the bridge, so we had to hold on to the splinter shield and actually be submerged in green, solid water! I would open my eyes and it was not foam, not spray, but GREEN. It was fun! We would whoop and holler and laugh and say ,"Will you look at that son of a bitch!”, or "Oh, oh, ....SSSHHHIIITTT!” I remember once losing my balance, and the wave washed me part of the way down the ladder to the main deck before I could hold on to something. Pretty exhilarating.

What happened from time to time was that the cook became accustomed to the direction of the seas and could cope with them. All of a sudden, we would change course and stuff would begin flying all over the galley - some actually thrown by the outraged cook. We would hear all sorts of cursing and crashing. Sometimes the OOD was considerate enough to notify the cooks of a course change - often times not.

From the standpoint of eating during heavy weather, there were other problems to contend with. First, there were those whose appetites had vanished - they had other problems. In moderately heavy seas, we would spread out a rubber mesh tablecloth so the dishes would not slide into our laps as easily. But if the seas were really bad, we would simply get our food in a bowl, then find a place somewhere on the boat to wedge our bodies. Then, holding the bowl as if our hands were gimbled, we’d attempt to eat. The other alternative for the cooks was to simply make sandwiches. The crews mess in heavy weather always looked like a food fight had taken place.

Sleeping was the other aspect of living that was greatly affected by heavy weather. We quickly learned to sleep on our stomachs and hold on to the bunk’s frame while we were asleep! I saw several guys actually tie themselves into their racks. It was really surprising that we could sleep at all. One of those sleep researchers would have had a field day on a diesel submarine!

The heavy weather, oddly, had less of an effect on the racks of those way down on the pecking order. There were, afterall, good racks and bad ones. The bad ones were so close together that when the man above was in his rack (someone was always there), it sagged so badly, leaving so little space that you had to decide whether you were going to sleep on your stomach or your back. You simply could not sleep on your side nor could you turn over after you were there. After choosing, you’d slide in to the bunk to be trapped for the night. Even heavy weather could not dislodge those guys. I know. I had one of those racks when I first came aboard Barbero.

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