Port Angeles, WA, August 1966

It was late in the day, and tomorrow we'd be on our way back to another work week in Seattle. We'd fished all over the Juan de Fuca Strait, and caught nothing but sunburn. Several hundred yards off Port Angeles, with the Olympic Mountains catching a full dose of the setting sun's rays, I decided I might as well throw a line over and see what I might catch by trolling. What the hell, we might as well let the crabs on the bottom have what's left of our bait, I thought.

When the fish hit, it's a wonder I didn't lose all my tackle overboard, so great was the surprise. It took a good hard 45 minutes, and a lot of help from my shipmates to land the thing, but it was a 40-pound King salmon, and the perfect end to what I had almost dismissed as a day so uneventful as to be downright boring.

I didn't get back up into the San Juan Islands again that summer, but my Seattle relatives had a pretty good portion of the fish frozen and shipped to me back East, where it made a number of unforgettable meals.

Things like this are what make a life a LIFE. I don't think I'll lie on my deathbed wishing I'd billed more hours at the office.

Chesapeake City, Maryland

Under the powerful influence of spring fever, Eve and I drove through the sunshine down the Eastern Shore of Maryland to Chesapeake City. There we sat on the porch of the Bayard House restaurant and watched a parade of yachts making their way against the tide on the Cheapeake & Delaware Canal westward to the Bay. We realized it had been something like six years since we'd visited that charming, historic town, and we resolved that (at least as long as gas prices remain within the realm of reason), to make that and many other excursions in the warm months to come. Getting out of town is good for the soul. Thought for the day, from a sign hanging behind the Hole in the Wall Bar at the Bayard House: "We acknowledge the evils of alcohol, and here highly resolve to get rid of the wine cellar, one glass at a time." Amen.

At Sea, 1968 (II)

Here are a few more shots from the 1968 deployment of USS Suffolk County. From the top, meet Ensign Willie Maljan, Yeoman Second Class John DeRosa, and Seaman James Cosby.

BRAVO ZULU, NAVY SEALs!!

I must have known something dramatic of a naval description was about to happen when I posted yesterday's blurb here. When I was on active duty, I got friendly with a number of Navy SEAL team members and Underwater Demolition Team frogpersons. Truly awesome physical specimens, every one, they could party all night and then in the morning run eight miles up the beach and eight miles back, then eat a four-egg omelet and down a quart of milk. Yesterday's feat of derring-do by a team of SEALs in taking on and whacking those pathetic Somali "pirates" made me proud to think I once wore a Naval uniform -- even if I was just a ship driver.

At Sea, 1968

Several months ago, I was rummaging through a box of old photos from my active Navy days, and I found some shots I took during a fleet gunnery exercise off the Atlantic seaboard, of which the above are a sampling. The ship was USS Suffolk County (LST-1173). I was a lieutenant (jg) serving as main propulsion assistant. The year was 1968, Exercise "Exotic Dancer." The chaps in the pictures are (from the top): Sanders, Gunner's Mate First Class; Cantu, Seaman, and Bullock, Seaman. I wonder where these guys are now.

Dereliction of Blog Duty

A couple of folks -- loyal readers of this blog, it seems -- have chided me gently about the infrequency of my postings of late. I plead guilty to the charge. In this season between winter and spring, my life just seems rather devoid of things to write about. I seem to be awash in the warm quotidian bath of which I spoke back on New Year's Day. Thanks for your loyalty, friends. Things are bound to change. They always do.