In Control...

Well, I finished Helicopter Control Officer (HCO) school on the base in Norfolk this morning--aced the simulator runs and the written test, and so am all set to begin running things in the control tower.  Bring it!

Not.

Of course, not.  This was only the initial step in the qualification procedure; no Skipper in his right mind would allow a newbie like me to run his/her helicopter operations based on a five-day course and a few launch-and-recovery runs in the sim.  As they say, the past week's study has given me just enough knowledge to be dangerous.  Very dangerous.

The course was fascinating--unlike the vast majority of training curricula I've endured over the past three decades--and I can honestly say that I learned a great deal about helicopters; their flight characteristics and performance "envelopes", avionics and safety/survival equipment, what makes them fly, and what doesn't.  I do confess to have put our poor instructors through the wringer--I was the annoying fella who kept asking questions and slowing down the proceedings.  I was also the oldest member of the class by about fifteen years, and the only one to show up in t-shirt and jeans rather than a uniform.


I have at least one more shoreside course to complete before I return to sea, and then I'll begin "under instruction (UI) training in the tower of whatever ship I am assigned to.  This "OJT" under the tutelage of an experienced HCO will give me a greater understanding of my duties regarding flight operations and safety, so that when I do finally "solo" I'll be far more ready to assume my duties.

I have a lot to learn and un-learn, and perhaps a few ghosts to put behind me, before I can assume the Air Boss chair.  But I'll get there.

Passing Arrangements

Hello All!
Sorry I've been a bit incommunicado recently; preparations for the Big Move segued a week ago into my return to work, checking in to the "pool" in Norfolk.  I have this weekend off, and will be catching-up on some housekeeping and doing some volunteer work at the Virginia Living Museum, and perhaps (if this beautiful weather holds) a bit of star-gazing tonight with a few friends.

I'm living in our house in Newport News; Lucy and I drove down two weeks back with a big U-Haul trailer full of stuff we really didn't want to entrust to the tender mercies of the movers--crystal, the telescope and music-box collections, and quite a bit more as well.  My Sweet One has since gone back to NY for the last month of occupancy in our house up there, and to supervise the Move itself, and then (in early May) she'll be coming down here again--this time to stay a while!

On Monday I'll begin the training I need to be able to competently perform my new duties as an Operations Chief; firstly a week of Helicopter Control Officer school in Norfolk, to be followed by a series of operations and communications courses.  Oh, and I'm due to renew my firefighting and survival quals as well...April looks to be a very busy month!

Stay tuned...

Tom

Watch The Skies...

 

Just a heads-up for the astronomically-inclined; this evening is the time to begin looking for Comet PANSTARRS! It should be visible soon after sunset for the next two weeks or so, low in the west. Look about a hands-width above the horizon. (you'll need to find a site with a clear western horizon and few lights to interfere with the view; a pair of binoculars would probably help as well). Remember, a comet DOESN'T "streak across the sky"--so don't be seduced by passing airplanes or other fast-movers. If you don't see it on your first attempt, don't give up--over the next week or so the chances of spotting the comet should improve. Good luck--and let me know if you see it!

 

 

Rain on the Sun

Once in a while I experience something (a book, a video, or even a conversation with one of my fellow mortals) that completely floors me.  Makes me simply stop and try to comprehend the wonder, the scale of our world, our universe, and our amazing species--so violent and cruel yet so creative and capable of great things.  This video brought me to one of these moments, and I thought to share it with you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Ghaf2du-XM&feature=player_embedded

Okay, give me a few minutes to catch my breath...

Changing Course

I'm just in from walking our english bulldog Delany through the woods that surround our little house here in Ballston Lake, New York.  It's a beautiful day out--nearly 40f and sunny without a breath of wind, and what little snow remains in the open is disappearing quickly--and I enjoyed strolling alone beneath the bare branches (adjusting slowly--as always--to the uneven texture of ground beneath my boots after months of steel decking) while The Beast made a detailed study of last night's deer activity through examination of their tracks and spoor.  The latter research was perhaps a little too extensive...

It is the third day of my leave, having shouldered my seabag and paid-off Supply on Friday afternoon.  I have now a little less than four weeks to relax, recharge the batteries, and prepare for the next voyage.  The relaxation sounds pretty good to me.  Peace and quiet after desert heat and winter's icy storms @ sea.

Oh, who am I kidding?  Lucy and I will spend the next month preparing for our impending Move back down to Virginia, a process mainly consisting of sorting, packing, and in a few cases selling our assembled belongings, plus making one or perhaps two runs down to the house in Newport News (a full day's drive each way) to prepare said dwelling for occupation.  In other words, the next few weeks will be rather busy, if not chaotic!

As an aside, HOW on Earth did we ever accumulate all of this stuff?!  26 years ago, when I met the lovely Lucy Marie Prochazka in Philadelphia, nearly all of my worldly possessions fit in my seabag and a small case for my old Pentax 35mm SLR.  Today, a mere quarter-century later the bulk of our personal property--furniture, books (and more books), telescopes, electronics and knick-knacks--will require a big truck and a few good men (well, strong ones, anyhow!) to transport back to the Commonwealth.  I'd love to say that I plan on reducing our load, but I really don't know where to start.

Tacking Before the Wind
When my leave is done (on the 25th of March) I'll report back to MSC's Customer Service Unit-East--otherwise known as 'the Pool', placing myself again at the mercy of that bureaucracy for processing and assignment.  But this time something will be different; instead of awaiting orders to report to a ship as an Able Seaman I will be sailing in a new capacity, that of an Operations Chief--at a considerable raise in pay.

Yes, a promotion, and a change in the course of my career in MSC.  No longer will I stand watches, perform roving patrols of the vessel, scan the horizon as lookout or even man the helm with a warship alongside to take fuel; my new job will be different, definitely less physical but no less challenging--and I'll still be working on the bridge where I feel at home.

Operations Chiefs act as part of the ship's Executive staff, with one Chief usually assigned per vessel working directly for the Operations Officer and indirectly for the Captain.  Their position as Assistant Ops, AOPS for short, involves operational and tactical communications, intelligence collection, control of close-in maneuvering situations, and managing the ship's scheduling and planning processes--in essence he is in charge of keeping the Captain in the loop, and effecting his orders.

Readers with a U.S. Navy background (I know you're out there, Shipmates!) will recognize similarities between this general description of my new position with that of my job in my previous career in uniform, that of Operations Specialist (OS).  This is no co-incidence; the Operations Chief billet is modeled on the OS mission of collection, processing, display and dissemination of operational and tactical information for the use of the ship's Captain in making decisions, and so they are endeavoring to hire OSs for the job--or, as in my case, promoting from other ratings within the 'company'.

Sea Change
So, a major alteration in the course of my maritime career, but why?  And why now?  An obvious answer is an increase in basic pay, coupled with better quarters and the opportunity for overtime, but I have never been that ambitious about these things in the past and now is no exception.

The only real reply is that over the past few years I have become somewhat tired of the day to day routine of my job as an Able Seaman; the long watches (standing...always standing), the janitorial duties of cleaning, polishing and cleaning again, the sometimes less-than-stimulating intellectual environment, and the often arduous working conditions (I think that it was while hauling mooring lines for four hours last summer aboard Joshua Humphreys in the 120f heat of Djibouti that I reached "critical mass" on this factor--it turns out that I am no longer 25 years old, and it is about time to admit it).

Even so, my own lack of ambition would have had me hamstrung--at least until Captain Jason Ivey of Supply gave me the encouragement I needed to make my application.  Over the years the Captain and I have been through a lot together, and I thank him here for seeing my need for a change in job description and for his assistance in preparing and transmitting  my "package" to the promotion board.  I'm proud to call him a true Shipmate and (if I may) friend.

So, a new job--still sailing the great ships that I love, but in a different capacity.  Even with my Operations Specialist background I know that my new duties will be challenging; the learning-curve will be steep, but I'm looking forward to the experience.  I'll certainly keep you informed of my progress thru this Blog, so stay tuned as the next voyage begins.

This ought to be fun! 

The "Chelyabinsk Event"

 A "dash-cam" image of the bolide over Chelyabinsk

A Star Falls on Russia
Last Friday I slept-in, having had the evening watch the night before.  My alarm woke me at 0900 and half-an-hour later I was walking out the base gate, walking in the chilled morning air to my favorite coffee shop on Rt 36, "Jersey Shores Coffee Roasters".  Not that I drink coffee, mind you--this little cafe simply has the best Wifi within easy walking distance of the Weapons Station; twenty minutes' stroll brought me to the little blue building with the yellow roof and the somewhat incongruous (to me, at any rate) mural of a surfer "hanging ten" on the exterior wall.

Ordering English Breakfast and an onion bagel I settled down at my usual table and booted-up my laptop to check email and see what was going on in the world.  At this point I must explain that I strongly dislike television (Lucy and I don't even own one) and usually get my news online.  No, it isn't any kind of religious issue; I simply abhor the endless commercials and infantile chatter which is part of practically every "news" program.

As soon as I logged-in, I was stunned by the news from Russia; whilst I'd slept a large meteor had entered the atmosphere over the Urals, passing high above the city of Chelyabinsk as a brilliant fireball, or "Bolide".  The shock wave of it's passage had shattered windows and some structures in the city and outskirts, and roughly a thousand people of "Tankograd" (a nickname bestowed upon Chelyabinsk during the 'Great Patriotic War" because of the enormous number of tanks and other armored vehicles produced by the city for the war against Hitler's invading armies) were injured, mostly by broken glass as unprecedented "sonic boom" rocked the city.

A twenty-foot diameter "crater" in a frozen lake near Chelyabinsk

The bolide itself dis-integrated  high above the mountains, crushed into small fragments by the very mass of high-altitude air the rocky mass compressed ahead of it--a fate most meteors suffer as they plow into Earth's atmosphere at more than thirty thousand miles per hour.  The back-pressure of the air being compressed at last exceeds the tensile strength of the mass itself and it violently "explodes" as it's enormous kinetic energy is translated to heat and concussion.  This is why most scientist expect that no large fragments of the asteroidal body will be recovered.

Watch for Falling Rocks
When I returned to Supply I actually spent some time watching TV--partly to keep abreast of updates from Russia, and partly because another asteroid was in the news, a football-field-sized rock that in mid-afternoon passed Earth only 17,000 miles above Earth's surface.  Were the Russian bolide and "2012 ad14" related in some way, perhaps part of some kind of "asteroid shower"?  No, it seems not;  the bodies were traveling along very different orbital paths around the Sun, and their arrival in our planetary neighborhood on the same day seems to be just an astronomical co-incidence.  Pardon the pun.

 A nice comparison diagram

As I followed the coverage of the Chelyabinsk story I found myself experiencing some profoundly mixed emotions.  Concern for the injured, of course, and relief that there appear to have been no deaths resulting either directly or indirectly from the event.  Sympathy for the people of the city, confronted by a phenomenon outside their experience, who feared for themselves and loved one, and for those who honestly thought that the "end" had come.  And of course fascination with the enormous number of usable video and audio recordings that will provide scientists with vital data on the behavior of large meteors.  But there is also another reaction...

Asteroid Envy
Yes, following the reportage and commentary on Friday and since I have been found myself overwhelmed at times by the "green-eyed monster" known as jealousy.  I feel like a little boy whose friends all got bicycles while he got a sweater, simply because I couldn't be there to see such a magnificent sight as the people of a faraway Russian city were treated to!

Understand now, I have seen (conservative estimate here) tens of thousands of meteors over the past forty years of stargazing.  Most were your garden-variety "shooting star" appearing to streak across a few degrees of sky and then vanish, some thousands were seen while watching meteor "showers", a hundred or so chanced to cross the field of telescope or binocular, and only a few dozens can actually be called bolides, bright fireballs that crossed the sky leaving fading trails behind and faint afterimages in my eyes.

At every opportunity, whether on land or at sea, I have kept my eyes on the sky, seeking always that random flash of light that signals the breakup of a fragment of asteroid or comet in the upper atmosphere, the addition of an infinitesimal bit of mass to Earth.  I have watched, and seen wonders in the display of nature's fireworks, but I've never observed, and know well how unlikely it is that I ever will, anything approaching the "100-Year" fireball that the good people of Chelyabinsk saw last week!

Eyes on the Sky
But I'll keep looking.  As statistically unlikely as it may be, I'll continue be out there on every clear night, waiting and watching for that flash of light that rivals the sun and drowns the full moon with it's radiance, for that trail of fire across the sky, for the  hypersonic "boom" that heralds the arrival of a mass of asteroidal rock, a fragment of cometary nucleus.  Oh yes, I'll keep looking.

And I'll make you a solemn promise now.  If it happens that I miss my "100-Year" fireball, whether I happen to be inside the house having dinner with Lucy or within the "skin" of whatever ship I am sailing at the time; if my watch schedule has me sleeping when that visitor from space arrives.  Whatever the reason why I miss my bolide, whatever the excuse, I can promise you that it won't be that I was watching TV at the time!

A Telescope Tale

A Telescope Tale

From my astronomical journals...

 

12 June 1986

Flagstaff, Arizona

Weather:            clr/cm, Temp 48f, Bar 1019, Hum 35%

Instrument(s):    60mm Bushnell Refractor on Equatorial Mounting
Narrative:         Mars and Jupiter observed with 60mm Refractor/no times noted.

MARS: Approx. on meridian.  20mm eyepiece (no filter) visible disk, but no detail due to glare.

12.5mm (filter) Definite detail-polar cap & dark greenish area. 12.5mm (w/out filter) Detail visible, but partially obscured by glare. 4mm: Hard to focus, but nice view of polar cap.
*******************************************
JUPITER: High in SE. 20mm: Three satellites visible--glare obscured planet. 12.5mm: (filter) surface detail visible--3 band. 4mm: four major cloud bands visible--no red spot.
*******************************************

The telescope I was using on that cool June evening in Flagstaff (a Bushnell "Banner Astro 400" and the subject of this post) was actually the second refractor I have owned in the course of my forty-year-long love affair with the night sky; the first was a similar but lower quality 'scope that my mother purchased for me at Christmas of '72.  I recall her concern that I would outgrow the hobby, losing interest in the stars, and the inexpensive Sears telescope she had selected for me would end up gathering dust in the attic.  

Of course, this didn't happen.

After six years of usage in the yard of our home in Mandeville, Louisiana, and at numerous observing sessions of the Ponchartrain Astronomy Society of New Orleans, the little Sears telescope was on the verge of falling apart; my enthusiasm for the hobby (and a little youthful impatience) had worn out the mounting and tripod, and my incomplete knowledge of the 'scopes' proper care had done some minor damage to the tube and optics.

In the summer of 1978, gathering my savings and collecting the monies earned by working the summer before on my uncle Sterlings' fishing boat (I'm pretty certain that he over-paid me), I went shopping for a more capable instrument.   (Looking back I find it interesting that I wasn't thinking of an "upgrade" so much as a replacement for my first 'scope; by this I mean that I seem not to have been infected at that time by that dreaded-but-oh-so-pleasant disease of the amateur astronomer, "aperture fever", which draws the observer to seek larger and larger telescopes and mountings until they strain both lower back and bank balance!)

 

A Touch of Glass

The telescope I settled on was the Bushnell refractor mentioned previously, no larger or even more powerful than my old Sears 'scope, but with a substantially heftier and more capable mounting and tripod and much better optics.  This last point was brought home to me on the first night "out" with my new instrument--lunar craters and maria were much better-resolved, and giant planet Jupiter revealed for the first time not only his four bright moons but the thin parallel lines of cloud bands girdling his equator!

From the moment of "first light"--that initial glimpse of the Cosmos through a new telescope--I was in love.  And, like any young couple in love, we went nearly everywhere together!  From observing planets in my backyard in Mandeville to splitting double stars in the Florida Everglades, spotting my first asteroid (4 Vesta) under Flagstaff's clear skies and watching a lunar eclipse in the heavens above Newport News once I'd joined the Navy...the Bushnell 'scope vastly expanded my astronomical horizons over the next eight years.  My experiences using this telescope under skies across the country over nearly a decade certainly helped shape my perspectives as an amateur astronomer, and I think they also made me a much better observer, more appreciative of every opportunity to get out there under the stars.

All Good Things...

Every love story, it seems, must have a tragic moment; a tearful goodbye or revelation upon which the tale turns.  In the case of myself and the Astro 400, this came in the Autumn of 1986; after a brief separation from the Navy I was about to embark on my second enlistment. The petty officer who deserves credit for making this happen was one Gary S., then serving at the Navy recruiting office in Flagstaff.  A fine Shipmate and good friend, he made the process of returning to uniformed service easy and even enjoyable, not only signing me up but putting me to work talking to potential new recruits about the benefits and downsides of naval service.

When the time to ship-out came, I asked Gary to look after my telescope while I got back into the Navy groove.  He agreed, and I packed-up and left the telescope with him when I departed for San Diego in the first week of September.  And that was the last time I saw the Astro 400...

A few months later, with my career re-booted (and, incidentally, recently engaged to the lovely Lucy Prochazka of Ardmore, Pennsylvania--but that is another post!) assigned to a ship sailing out of Virginia, I wrote to my mother and had her contact Gary to coordinate the shipping of my goods from Flagstaff to Newport News, where Lucy and I were busy building our lives together.  

At this point something went wrong; when my boxed belongings arrived via Greyhound there was no telescope.  When contacted, my mother told me that all the boxes had shipped.  I'm not certain why I didn't try calling the recruiting offices then--I think that perhaps I had already given up on the idea of ever seeing my refractor again--but in the build-up to our wedding and the separation of our first shipboard deployment as husband and wife I think it finally slipped my mind altogether.

The years flew by...

 

The Ghost of Solstices Past

Only a month or so ago I was surprised to receive an email from Gary.  He had run across All @ Sea! and recognized my style in the posts he read--it seems that I write in much the same fashion as I speak--and so made contact with a "are you the same person who..." email.  I was of course amazed to hear from him after a quarter-century--and further thrilled to learn that he still had in his possession my old 60mm telescope, and was prepared to ship it immediately!

Consider for a moment my old friends' dedication; I left my instrument with him for what I expected to be (at most) a few months, and he took excellent care of it for over twenty-six years!  I am reminded of the stories you hear about letters delivered decades after being mailed and beloved pets finding their ways home across hundreds of miles of wilderness.  

To say that I am grateful is a major understatement.

I came home on a weekend's liberty a few days after Christmas, excited to be back from the Persian Gulf and Arabian Sea and looking forward to three days in the company of my wonderful wife Lucy and our small but energetic menagerie of an English Bulldog and two cats.  But I will confess here that another reunion filled me with almost as much anticipation as the long-awaited return to the bosom of my family, for waiting in the wings was a familiarly-sized box, recently arrived from Oregon.  

In my own defense I will state here that I did not leave Lucy in the lurch upon arrival; I managed to resist until after her welcoming embrace and our exchange of holiday gifts the draw of that well-wrapped parcel!  When the time came I was very pleased by what I found; the Bushnell 'scope had weathered well the decades of storage as Gary moved from place to place, shifting it from storage unit to garage to yet another unit.

My fingers moved by instinct, it seemed, the long years of separation forgotten as I assembled my old observing companion.  In a few minutes my old refractor stood before me in the living room, needing only a good cleaning and some lubrication of the mounting and focuser before it would be able to return to full duty.  A trial run outside was impossible due the overcast night, but I'm willing to wait a few more weeks for that second "First Light".

The Once and Future 'Optik Tube'

Now that the Banner 400 is restored to me, what will I do with it?  As capable as it is, it now stands as the smallest member of my observing collection--the 120mm APO refractor I use these days is double the Bushnell 'scopes' aperture and five times its weight, and my 8-inch reflector telescope also dwarfs it in size and light-gathering power.  In other words, the tiny refractor that aided me in my entry into observing is seriously out-classed.

However, for its type and size it continues to be useful.  I suspect that I'll fix the '400' up and perform a few modifications (the finder scope especially needs an upgrade), keeping it handy for those evenings when I feel like a quick look at the moon or a few double stars, and for when newcomers to astronomy join me at the altar of the stars; the telescope that got me started may yet inspire others to turn their eyes toward the heavens, and that strikes me as a perfect way for this particular telescope tale to continue.

The story goes on.

 

The photos in this post were all taken of the Bushnell Banner 400

on the morning of 29 December 2012.