Haze Gray...

I'm in the middle of an email conversation with an aquaintance of mine who happens to be preparing for induction into the Navy by way of the reserves, and will be attending Officer Candidate School someplace in Florida in the near future. I offered him my congratulations and approval of his slelection of service, along with a little humerous jab at the nature of his service and the expectation of salutes from me. Apparently, he comes from a long line of Navy men, and is making an honest decision about his duty.

My friend's news jarred loose a few memories that have been rolling around in my head for quite some time. I think of my sailing days often, and most of those thoughts are very vivid and I am fond of most of my experiences. The memories that stick the hardest are generally those of being asea on the Central and South Pacific Oceans, and on the Indian Ocean. Every once in a while, the salt will seep back into my brain and set in motion the vision of countless sunsets...watching the western horizon's twilight will start to fade and darken, giving way to moonless nights and stars...billions and billions of stars, so near you swear you could reach out and grab one and so deep you could drown in them. This effect is only intensified by the reflection of the heavens on the water that is around you...stretching out to what seems to be forever.

The horizon at sea level extends from where you stand to roughly (give or take)thirteen miles to the horizon line. Asea, if the winds and sea are calm, the only disturbance is the wake left by the screws stringing out like a foamy tail from the stern of the ship. At night, the churning of the ship's screws stir up billions of tiny bioluminescent creatures which illuminate the path of your ship with a faint greenish glow. Every now and again, the screws will churn up a colony of larger creatures under the water, which will basically explode in bursts of light. When the sun sets and it gets dark, particularly when there's no moon around, it's extremely difficult to tell where the horizon ends and the night sky takes over. You're completely engulfed in a canopy of...stars, looking at and seeing constellations that are completely foreign to you, and you're seeing them for the first time.

To be out there in the most ideal of conditions is one of the most awesome sights anyone anywhere can hope to experience. There truly is nothing like it in the world, and from a general populace standpoint so few have ever experienced it. For centuries, sailors have been looking up at those same stars and thinking that exact same thought. To be fifteen hundred miles off the southern tip of India and Sri Lanka smack in the middle of the Indian Ocean looking out at a canopy of celestial brilliance still takes my breath away.

I used to take all of this in on nights when we weren't doing some sort of major flight operation and the ship was for the most part...dark. I'd take a night walk up to the flight deck with a pair of headphones and my CD player and an apple I'd snuck off the mess decks and have a sit out on the point of the ship between the catapults. Pink Floyd's Meddle would keep me company as I sat and marvelled at the overwhelming vastness that stretched out in front of me. I've heard from other friends who were sailors in the past (mostly post vietnam duty overseas) who would listen to this same album on similar evenings.

Try as I might, it would be impossible to condense five years' worth of these experiences into one short story. I was aboard ship for a total of 5 years. In that time, I probably spent about 4 of those underway and someplace else. In all, I made three cruises overseas. Each cruise lasted roughtly six months. In one cruise, one hundred eighty sunsets, one hundred eighty dawns, six new moons, six full moons on three different bodies of water...summer and winter, spring and fall...on a seemingly endless journey West, or East...