All Hands!
Yesterday we transited the Strait
of Gibraltar eastbound, passing between
the Pillars of Hercules into the Mediterranean Sea.
The Pillars, of course, represent the high peaks of the Spanish coast on the
northern side of the Strait and the amazing, rugged highlands on the Moroccan coast
to the South. Gibraltar itself dominates the
transit, becoming visible as you complete a long turn northeast and head into
the Alboran. Always an impressive sight, looming through the mists and rain
that always seem to be the local weather (at least in my experience).
Geography lesson aside, let me venture a few personal
observations and perhaps pedantic thoughts. To me this waterway has long been
symbolic of my travels and adventures over the past thirty years, and of the
thousands of years of sea-faring history that made Europe
what it is. The Minoans, Phoenicians, Egyptians, Greeks, etc…all made
voyages of trade and exploration on these waters, and empires rose and fell on
the outcomes of the many naval battles that shattered ships and men.
Trafalgar, Cape St. Vincent, the Malta
Convoys, Operation Torch, all echo across time as we cruise into the Strait. I
hear the crash of broadsides, imagine the “feathers” of U-Boat
periscopes in the dark waters of the Approaches, and feel the trepidation and
fear of Columbus’ crews as his small fleet began it’s momentous,
world-altering voyage.
I first made this passage in late 1981 as a fresh Seaman
Apprentice aboard a small, under-armed frigate; I remember standing my station
as lookout and wondering what the big deal was, why this particular piece of
water was any more significant than any other. Over the years and cruises that
followed I became familiar with names like Nelson and Cunningham, places such
as Casablanca and Rota,
and my appreciation for this busy waterway increased. By the time I actually
visited Gibraltar in 1988 (on my fourth deployment) and climbed the famous
Rock, the arrival at the Bay
of Cadiz and the Strait had
become an important personal event. Today I cannot even count the number of
times I’ve transited the safety fairway, east- and westbound, but the
total must be in the hundreds.
So, after a bit of nattering-on, a few hours of
close-quarters sailing amongst the many merchantmen steaming through with us,
and the thrill, once more, of seeing the stark beauty of the peaks of Morocco, the
lofty heights of Fortress Gibraltar, moving from the Atlantic to the
Mediterranean and all the adventures that lie ahead, I close this entry with an
image in my mind of a tremendous fleet of phantom ships, manned by ghostly mariners
from across the millenia. Not a Flying Dutchman, not sailors condemned for
sins real or imagined, but the souls of thousands upon thousands of Sailors whose
joy in the doing, and dreams of the voyage ahead, match mine as we sail
together into the future as kindred spirits of the sea.
Tom Epps
Able Seaman
USNS Arctic
Mediterranean Sea
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