He Who Hesitates...

Lucy and I share a love of thrift-shopping.  Rather then browsing at the mall we are likely to be making the "rounds" of the dozen or so charity-run shops within a half-hours' drive of our home searching racks of discarded clothing and shelves of books, CDs and DVDs for "something good".  We don't (usually) spend a great deal of money on these expeditions; the thrill, it seems, is in the hunt rather then the kill...

I think everyone, has had the experience of finding something for sale, deciding against buying it, and then having second thoughts the next day.  Sometimes the item is still on the shelves when one returns to the shop, often it has been sold in the intervening days.  When this happens--a hesitation followed by disappointment when the item in question is gone--the departed "great deal" assumes far higher value in ones' mind than might be considered reasonable.  Or rational.

I've been victim to this psychological escalation more than a few times over the years; that volume or gee-gaw seems much more important because I hesitated and decided not to buy it, then changed my mind only to find it no longer available upon a second visit.  It happens, and in most cases ends with my shrugging off the incident, casting a few desultory hexes at the lucky soul who has made off with MY "item", and resolving not to make the same mistake in future (knowing full-well that I will).

This week, however, the circumstances were a little different, and to me worthy of note.

As a way of escaping the insanity of the pre-Christmas chaos Lucy and I decided to hit the shops a few days back.  We weren't alone; many thrift-shopppers were abroad that afternoon, but we enjoyed visiting a few of our favorite haunts: the Goodwill, Disabled American Veterans (DAV), and even the CHKD provided inexpensive shopping experiences as we browsed the day away.

It was in the Denbigh DAV that I ran across that proverbial "item".  It was a coffee table, only a foot tall and three feet square, thick and sturdy.  I immediately homed in on it as a candidate for a support for one of my telescopes, a job I had attempted to fill previously with very limited success.

The table was worn but rock-solid; I tested this by performing a few push-ups on it, which for some reason attracted curious stares from other shoppers.   It seemed perfect for my purposes, and its worn state would make no difference.  A done deal, right?

Then...hesitation.  Doubt.  Second-guessing.  I began to think of the un-finished projects cluttering my den and the dis-organised mess of the observatory.  I thought about money; should I spend dosh on this battered piece of furniture after my rather profligate expenditures of recent months.  Standing over the table I indulged in a moment of soul-searching.

I turned away.

Oh, foolish mortal!

Of course I began to question my decision that very evening.  Observing the moon from the backyard on that very evening I began to consider the utility of that table; by placing my Dobsonian-mounted 10-inch reflector on it I would raise the telescope by a foot, making its use easier by placing the eyepiece and finder-scope at a level where I wouldn't have to perform the limbo to aim and use the big 'scope.  Why, the table's introduction would make my "Dob" much more usable!

I resolved to re-visit the Denbigh DAV at the first opportunity.  Which, of course, would be the 26th of December.  Boxing Day.

Early on the 26th I headed toward Denbigh, my plan being to arrive at the doors of the thrift store at the very moment of their opening for business.  By this time the "item" in question--a beat-up, twenty year old coffee table, had assumed nearly cosmic importance for me.  I had to try again,to correct my error of two days before, seize that battered piece of furniture if it was still available, and make it part of my observatory equipment.

I drove westward on Route 60, and turned into the DAV's parking lot.  Soon I would know if the "item" was still in stock.  Soon, if I were lucky, I would be heading home with it.  Soon.

The table wasn't there.

Or rather, it was in the DAV store.

It was the store itself that was gone.

The familiar building was blackened, windows shattered, the doors gaping wounds in the smoke-smudged facade.  I braked to a halt short of the yellow tape enclosing the perimeter of the structure and choked on the thick miasma of smoky air surrounding the structure.  Gone the bustle of bargain-hunting customers, gone the helpful and friendly faces behind the counters, gone the cloying holiday music.  Through gaping doors I could just make out piles of fire- and water-damaged merchandise, now only debris to be cleaned away.

The building had burned in the early hours of Christmas Day, only hours after my resolution to return in search of the sturdy table.  The investigation was on-going, but there was already talk of arson. Now that table was burnt and broken inside the scorched building, placing into new and stark perspective my own, small obsessions and desires.

I paused to talk to a few employees of the store, there to help with clean-up.  In their faces I saw sadness and anger, confusion and rage against what could only be an unexpected, even monstrous event on what was meant to be a happy day of celebration.

How had this happened, and what lay ahead for these people who had relied upon this store for their livelihood?  What would the charity organization that employed them in order to do good for others be able to do for them now?

I had driven out to Denbigh with only personal, petty concerns of my own.  Making my way home in the afternoon I found myself caught up in the pain of a holiday season gone terribly wrong for good folks with far more important worries than I.  A lesson in proportion, yes, but a terribly expensive one for far too many people.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe...

Lucy and I went to the Mariners Museum (Newport News) to see their exhibit titled "Savage Ancient Seas: Dinosaurs of the Deep", and were duly impressed by the collection of fossil castings and displays relating the story of Marine Reptiles during the Triassic, Jurassic and Cretaceous eras and how they dominated the seas even as their land-dwelling relatives ruled the land-masses.  Very cool exhibit and worth visiting in the time remaining before it closes (4 Jan 2015--so hurry!).

I've been visiting the Mariners Museum ( http://www.marinersmuseum.org/ )since I was a young boy, and today Lucy and I live just a mile or so from the huge ship's propeller that marks its entrance.  At one time I served as a docent there, and the famous golden Eagle (the figurehead of frigate USS Lancaster, c. 1858) that dominates the foyer has been a familiar sight during my many, many visits over the years.

The Museum is also home to the Monitor Center, where work to conserve relics from USS Monitor (which sank off the North Carolina coast during the Civil War) is ongoing, plus several permanent and changing galleries.  If I sound like a spokesman for the place there may be a reason;
museums like this one are an endangered species in this age of the Internet and instant information, and I'm quite happy to support this institution in a small way by spreading the word.  After all the information (and inspiration) I have gleaned through a lifetime of wandering through its halls, this is the least I can do.

Back to those sea-faring "dinosaurs"...

A 54-foot-long Tylosaur of the Cretaceous Era

The title of the exhibit is actually a misnomer; those relatives of Tyrannosaurus, Diplodicus and Brachiosaurus who dwelt in the deep oceans, shallow seas and coastal waters during the Age of the Dinosaurs are known to Paleontologists as Marine Reptiles rather than Dinosaurs.  The curators can be forgiven, I think, as I doubt many people would be drawn to visit without the D-word in the exhibit title.  Fascinating stuff, whatever you call it--

Lucy seems to have attracted un-wanted attention...

If you happen to visit this area, or are fortunate enough to live nearby, I strongly urge you to add the Mariners Museum to your itinerary.  Even if the Marine Reptile exhibit has already closed I think you'll find plenty here to fascinate and inform.

This concludes the Infomercial segment of our programming...we now return you to the Cenozoic Era, already in progress.

The Stars Fall on Virginia

I'm happy to report that the Geminid meteor shower, as seen last night from Newport News's Virginia Living Museum, was a terrific success.  The weather cooperated splendidly, and four members of the Virginia Peninsula Astronomy Stargazers (https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/vpas/info) joined Museum staff and volunteers plus several dozen "members of the public" for an evening of stargazing thru both the Museums' 16-inch reflector and our own, personal telescopes.

After Friday night was clouded-out (although I could see a few, brighter stars thru the milky mess of the sky, I gave up after a few hours and caught up on some sleep instead) I must admit to having doubts about Saturday night's prospects.  All day the sun was playing tag with ominous banks of stratus cloud and thru the gaps in that cover one could see thick cirrus high above.  I even went so far as to downgrade my planned equipage for the evening; instead of one of the larger (and heavier) telescopes in my "observatory" I instead broke-out my little "go-scope", a Celestron 80mm short-tube refractor on a table-top EQ-1 mounting, and loaded it into the passenger seat of my Hyundai for the
short trip to the dome.

As I arrived at the VLM a half-hour prior to sunset there seemed little sign of improvement, and even for the first hour or so on the observatory deck the view wasn't promising.  At about 1830, however, the temperature dropped abruptly to near-freezing and the cloud cover seemed to evaporate, leaving crisp, steady air and sharp, pinpoint star images thru the eyepiece.

My choice of the 80mm refractor proved fortuitous; with four 'scopes on deck (in addition to the 16-inch SCT) we had a nice mix with an 8-inch SCT, a 4.4-inch Newtonian, and two refractors, one a 120mm and the other my smaller model.  In fact, the 80mm was the smallest telescope there; its small size combined with its low and accessible height usually make it the telescope that kids gather around.  I had a great time showing-off the Pleiades, double star Albireo and the Double Cluster in Perseus to all comers--and "pushing" the stars & joy of amateur astronomy!

All the time as the evening wore on, we kept a weather eye out for "shooting stars", both Geminids (identifiable by their apparent origin in Gemini, which at the time lay low in the eastern sky) and 'sporadics', those random, non-shower-related streaks of light to be seen on any night of the year. What began as the occasional  bright, slow moving meteor soon after sunset developed into clusters of two or more, following the same track as they "burned" across the sky, until by 2200 they could be seen whenever one looked up for more than a minute.

At about 2230 the party broke up, with the other VPAS members heading for the club's usual observing location to continue the meteor watch while I loaded up the buggy and drove the three miles back to our little white house near the park.  But my night wasn't over.

While water boiled I set out my equipment to air before stowage, and then I carried a large mug of mint tea (quietly so as not to disturb either sleeping wife or snoring bulldog) out to the backyard.  There, with the sounds of a city at night muted by distance and the trees that surround our little property, I leaned back on the porch swing to watch the barrage continue silently far overhead as the breeze tumbled dry leaves across the lawn.

All in all, a very good night.  Sharing the skies with friends old and new, spreading the "gospel" of astronomy to children with stars shining in their eyes, and watching cometary debris silently flaring in the upper atmosphere with a cup of hot tea at hand and a warm bed awaiting.

It just doesn't get much better than that.

ASTRO ALERT! This Weekend's Meteors

I'd like to invite everyone to join me this weekend for an impressive fireworks show.  No, I don't want all of you to travel to Virginia on short notice and gather in my backyard; however you are all invited to join me (metaphorically) for the annual "Geminid" meteor shower, which is widely regarded (in my circle of friends, anyway) as the years' finest display of 'shooting stars'. 

The shower is already underway, but the peak of meteor activity is expected on the evenings of the 12th and 13th, with the best show anticipated on Saturday night from approximately 10 PM to 2 AM Sunday morning.  After the peak nights, meteor activity will fall off sharply, but on either of those evenings you can expect a pretty impressive view from a dark location.  With Moonrise occurring near or after midnight we should be able to view peak shower activity without the Moon's glare to interfere, washing-out the dimmer meteors.  The timing of this shower--on a weekend with little Lunar interference in the peak hours--makes this an excellent opportunity!

Obviously, those in rural areas will see many more meteors then urban observers; city mice can expect 10-20 bright meteors per hour while country dwellers will view many more, perhaps 30-40 per hour during the peak period.  In any case, no equipment is required beyond warm clothes and a reclining chair (I usually lie in my sleeping bag on an insulating pad).  From personal experience I can recommend a thermos of your favorite warm beverage, few companions to enjoy the show with, and some appropriate music.  (I usually play Smetana or Copland--with Holst and Tchaikovsky at climactic moments!)

Try to find a location with a good view of the entire sky and few streetlights or other man-made illuminations to interfere.  An excellent idea is to check the websites of local amateur astronomy organizations; search "astronomy (city name)" to find area astronomy clubs, observatories and planetaria that might be hosting "open to the public" observing sessions to view the meteor shower.

Because the Geminid shower's meteors will appear to be moving from the direction of the constellation Gemini (hence the name), you can expect to see meteors radiating from the northeast early in the evening; as Gemini rises higher in the sky toward midnight the "radiant" will be much higher--just to the northeast of the zenith.  If you stay out past midnight you'll notice that Gemini (and the radiant) have moved to the northwest.

Wherever you are, I hope you all find yourselves this weekend under a clear night sky, bundled-up against the cold, hot mugs in your gloved hands, enjoying this celestial fireworks show with friends and loved ones. If you've observed meteor showers before, feel free to go all "scientific" and keep a record of how many you see; if this is your first such event then just sit back and enjoy the show--and feel free to write me with your experiences and impressions!

Tom Epps
Chief Astronomer
USNS Big Horn

Sharing the Holidays with a Few Friends

USNS John Lenthall (at right) and Customers (US Navy Photo)

 

Pierside again, and apparently we’ll be in-port until after Thanksgiving.  This is a very nice treat, as Lucy and I have had far too few opportunities to celebrate that day together; usually we are a few thousands of miles apart!  But this HAS been an unusual year; a new phase of my seagoing career, new ships, and new opportunities both at sea and ashore.

 

I’m enjoying my new duties immensely, being the fella behind the curtain making UNREPS and other "ops" happen.  It certainly beats handling lines and cleaning heads!  Just a few days ago we were involved in an ASW exercise off JAX and I got the opportunity to “run” the formation’s zig-zag plan, directing High-Value Units (HVUs) and escorts in the complicated maneuvers that (hopefully) would complicate a sub’s fire-control solution. 

 

Not only was this exercise extremely challenging, it also had me pondering my distant predecessors who had conducted such maneuvers in earnest.  While we bucketed around, making near-continuous speed and course alterations, I couldn’t help but think of the convoys and “runners” of WWI and WWII, zigging and zagging their ways across the Altantic Ocean with U-Boats and commerce raiders a constant threat.  What was to me an enjoyable and engaging day’s “practice” was to them the slim hope of avoiding the torpedo, of dodging the raider.

 

Back home, we are moored only a few yards from another, more recent bit of history; each day as I walk to and from parking-lot to my ship I stroll past the sharp profile of USS Cole (DDG-67).  I admire her lines, the obvious pride of a crew in their ship in gleaming brightwork and fresh paint, and think about a day, not so many years ago, when this lovely vessel was maimed and blackened by an awful act of terror.  Some Sailors died, others were injured, but they rallied, they fought back, and they brought their ship home with honor to be restored to the Fleet. 

 

USS Cole DDG-67 (US Navy Photo)

 

Only a few yards away, just across the pier lies another ship, the cruiser Normandy. 
CG-60 also invokes a sense of history; this time personal.  Normandy, you see, was one of "my" ships; I served aboard her in both 2nd and 6th Fleet AORs from 1994 to 1996.  My time in her was cut short by events, but Normandy will always sail in my memory as the most capable, powerful command of my Navy career.

 

USS Normandy CG-60 (Tom Epps Photo)

Walking past Cole and Normandy, seeing the fine, proud men and women working and standing watch on their decks, has been something of a daily affirmation to me.  I know it won’t last long—one ship or the other will eventually set sail or shift berths—but while it does I take advantage of this daily reminder of the values and fortitude of the young Americans who defend us every day.

 

Thomas L. Epps

Operations Chief

USNS John Lenthall

Shadows at Dawn

Hello Everyone,

Just a quick note here to invite all hands on the U.S. East Coast (or close to it) to enjoy Sunday's (3 Nov) solar eclipse.  This will be a "hybrid" eclipse--for those of us fortunate enough to be able to see the event this means that only a portion of the sun's disk will be obscured by the moon's rounded bulk--and will be visible only at sunrise and for most of an hour afterward.  Still, it's pretty impressive stuff, and well worth the effort of rising early on a day off!

 

One caveat: when you gaze at this event you are literally staring at the SUN, the radiant energy of which can quickly cause permanent damage to unprotected eyes.  So be sure to protect 'em--if you don't have a properly-filtered telescope or binoculars drop by your local hardware or welding-supply store and pick up a couple of #14 welding lenses.  These will protect your eyes and allow a great view of our eclipsed star. 

 

Enjoy!

 

Tom Epps



A Christmas Story (Retro 2007)

What follows is an "All @ Sea" email that I sent out to friends and family on 23 Dec 2007, just a day after the ship I was working, USNS Arctic, was involved in a Search-And-Rescue {SAR} in the Persian Gulf.  This happened long before I thought of starting this Blog, and I was pretty happy to find an intact copy of the text recently.  So come with me now, back to a cold Winter's day in 2007...


December 23, 2007
Well, here we are, nearly two months into our deployment, and now Arctic is working in very familiar waters indeed: the Persian Gulf! Officially, according to the US Govt., it's known as the "Arabian Gulf", but this appears to be a political issue as acknowledgement of the "Persian" name implies Persian (ie; Iranian) influence over the region. Most of us go by the name that this body of water has had for four hundred years-it's worked so far!

We came south thru the Suez Canal and Red Sea early in December and relieved our sister ship, Supply, a few weeks ago, and now we are acting as "one stop shopping" headquarters for the 5th Fleet and Allied units operating in these waters. We rendezvous with a destroyer, cruiser, or carrier, they come alongside, and we transfer fuel, refrigerated stores, ammo, and-of vital importance-mail via "highlines" stretched between the hulls as we cruise along. For a frigate or destroyer, the process of refueling can usually takes an hour or two, but with a nuclear carrier and her very thirsty aircraft it can take a sizeable chunk out of one's day.

But that's how we make the money out here, supplying "bullets, beans, and not-so-black oil" to the fleet. As I've mentioned in previous missives, it's hard work, long hours, and I enjoy the process thoroughly! Especially when the unexpected happens...

Yesterday morning we were transferring fuel and supplies to our local "nuke" carrier, Harry S Truman-a weekly event, when our lookouts noted a ship dead ahead which showed no inclination to get out of the way (per the international Rules of the Road). I was on the bridge, preparing to take the helm, when we made radio contact with this apparent miscreant, a supertanker named British Courage, and discovered that the tanker was maintaining position in order to provide a lee (a calm area caused by the ship's hull and superstructure blocking the wind) for a life-raft that they had discovered drifting across the sea-lane. Suddenly the day got a bit more interesting-as we came within visual range someone in the raft raised an arm and began waving for help!

Tanker British Courage and one of our Knighthawk Helos

British Courage was doing all she could to provide a lee, but she wasn't able to close in on the raft safely due to the high winds and seas. That's where Arctic comes in! We executed an Emergency Breakaway, freeing Truman from our tender embrace, and immediately launched our two helicopters, "Villain" 01 and 02. As we closed on the rescue scene (I still had the wheel and so heard most of this from the lookouts and the Captain) our helos went into hover over the raft and quickly determined that it held eight survivors of a sunken ship-and that they'd been adrift for well over a day! In a raft of that size they must have been very uncomfortable in terms of space and the action of the seas (from our 60,000 ton hull it's easy to see even high seas as minor...), and they seemed pretty happy to have suddenly garnered all of this attention.

Our Helos commence rescue operations

Our rescue swimmers (brave guys who actually jump into nasty seas ON PURPOSE) went into the water and started hoisting the survivors up into the helos, while we continued to maneuver to maintain a lee-British Courage, relieved that a far more maneuverable ship had taken over, had moved off to continue her journey-and Truman stood by with her superior medical facilities to receive the survivors. It was all over in an hour, and our two helicopters headed for the carrier with their human cargo. We proceeded to sink the raft with machine gun fire, and then made our way back to Truman to continue the day's work of transferring supplies and jet fuel.

Castaways safely aboard USS Harry S Truman

I still don't know what ship the eight castaways abandoned, and I may never know; given how fast things move out here our little rescue operation is already "old news"; but I can't help thinking of them, huddled in a tiny raft after the trauma of seeing their ship-their home-lost, waiting in the cold and noise of the 50-knot winds for rescue that doesn't seem to ever come. How long until one begins to lose hope, when a day has passed since the sinking? They must've seen a hundred ships on the horizon (the Gulf is a busy place) but with no way to signal, and little chance of being seen, those distant hulls must've seemed more a cruel taunt than potential salvation. What was it like, I wonder.

And what was it like, well into the second day of their exile, to see the enormous bulk of British Courage moving in to shield them from wind and wave; to see men on deck searching for a way to reach them. And then the roar of rotors and jet engines, rising over the sound of the zephyr, and the sight of our two helos, gray, stumpy and ugly, moving across the water towards them. And the coming down of two professional rescuers, in black neoprene, leaping from the hovering machines, and then seeing their shipmates, one by one lifted from the grip of the cold, cruel sea, and carried aloft. Carried to a huge, gray ship and warm beds, and medical help? Saved at last.

How did it feel? Well, I've never experienced anything remotely as terrifying as what they went thru, but if I should hazard a guess, I would say it probably felt like a miracle to those eight men; it probably felt like Christmas.

Merry Christmas, everyone, and Happy New Year.

Tom Epps,
USNS Arctic
Persian Gulf