In 1964, and on my first boat, Harder, we went to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba (GITMO), where we ran daily ops (operations).  The base there was surrounded by a barbed wire fence, and outside of that, the ground was heavily mined.  A visit to Havana was simply out of the question, I guess.  So we made do.  We tied up to the ordinance pier.  On the opposite side of the pier was a flat barge.  It was  fixed up with a canvas cover and a wetbar.

    When we'd come back from an op in the evening, we'd be greeted by blasts from a klaxon located at the base club.  Our little flat barge was THE place for everyone to descend upon when we got back, and everyone on the base would keep an ear cocked for the greeting AH OOGA!  resounding everywhere.  Some memories about that are rather hazy.  It was a great place to dive off of and go swimming.  For a short while.  I almost jumped on top of a barracuda, and that afternoon, the word came down about no swimming at all due to the barracuda, shark, sea urchins, and manta rays (I almost landed on one of those as well).  So there was only one thing left to do...sit around and sip our .. uh...cokes... yeah, that's it... cokes.. :-)

    So the timing was right, and I scampered up the brow.  As I was catching heavies (hee veez) and pulling up and securing lines, I happened to glance up.  Some local Jamaican dockworkers finally showed up to lend a hand.  They were being directed by a very lovely and curvaceous lady in a BIKINI of all things!

    Now, we had been out to sea and away from civilization for a very long time.  Sooo...naturally, I flashed my "heart melting smile number 14", and recieved nothing but a cold shoulder and a turn of the back for my efforts.  Oh well...I shrugged my shoulders, shut my big mouth (for once) and continued making fast the mooring lines.  It was a good thing too.  As it turned out, the lady was the wife of the local representative of Reynolds Aluminum.  It was her husband's pier that we were using.

    The red powdery bauxite, used as the basis of aluminum, managed to wipe out three of my sets of whites.  This was also the very same place that Sean Connery and company filmed the movie Dr. No, and it served as 007's antangonist's "island".  We were there when the Jamaican Playboy Club was still under construction.  Some of us hitched a ride with a local, driving on the left (which drove us nuts, of course), to the Jaimaca Hilton.  Neat place - has a room where the entire ceiling is inverted straw hats.   They also serve up a very tall multicolored libation of local rums.  Tastes like soda pop.  Three in a row has one sinking to one's kneecaps when originally intending to stroll away.  Good place for libs.  Especially if you're not all that bright about drinks that taste like soda pop.
 

    Anyway, back at GITMO again.  Daily ops.  Girl Scout Troop.  I was a Lookout.  That means that you are also a Stern Planes Man, Bow Planes Man, and Helm.  Standard fare - four for the price of one.  Five, if you want to count Gopher and coffee runner.

    In today's Nuclear Navy, a normal evolution such as diving is meticulously carried out step by step by step.  It's a rather slow and very deliberate operation.  By the time that the Bridge OOD (Officer Of The Deck) shouts "Last man down - hatch secured!", the lookouts are already strapped into cushioned seats before the dive panel.  That, and the control panels that the Chief Of The Watch operates from look very much like the inside of a space ship.  The Fairwater Planes, Stern Planes, and the Helm could be switch-selected to be operated by either man, or split up between the two of them.   In the days of a Diesel Electric, it was quite a different matter.  You could be a swash buckler if you wanted to.  We were a bunch of real characters in those days, and nobody thought any the lesser of it.

    So where's the fancy cushioned seats that the planesmen strap themselves into in case of "Angles & Dangles"?  That's what we call the radical movements and angles of inclination/declination like nose up, nose down, sharp banks, etc.   What's not shown here, are the two bicycle seats welded to pipes.  These were inserted into holes in the decking by the Lookouts as they were making the transition to Planesmen.  They were also HARD bicycle seats.  No fancy seatbelts there.  You'd brace your feet against pipes, and on occation, the Chief Of The Watch or anyone nearby would reach over and brace you against sliding right off of your station.  The cooks always looked forward to angles & dangles as a special delight.

    Although not the super-planned diving evolution of today's nukes, it did take awhile to get a fleet boat down.  An OOD could clear the bridge, hit the klaxon (Ah OOGAH  Ah OOGAH) - I use that alot 'cause I miss it.  The nukes just have a very lame electronic signal.  Not the same. Ever again.  Sometimes, the OOD would hold back on ordering "Lookouts Below!", and we'd hang watching the vents release vaporous air from the Main Ballast Tanks until the decks were awash before we all fell down the ladders.

    No self-respecting Lookout would go down the ladder to the Conning Tower rung by rung.  Never happen.  You'd hook your feet around the outer handrails, guide with your hands, and drop like a shot into the Conning Tower, swivel, and drop down the same way into Control.  Fast.  This was how it was done back in the days of real submarines...

    So here we were, on the surface, just at the Dive Point away from GITMO.  Both of us Lookouts looked like pirates with rags tied around our foreheads because of the heat.  We decided to put on a real show for the Girl Scouts crowded into the Control Room below.  The klaxon sounds, we're ordered below.   Dropping like shots, snarling and pushing aside any and all in our way as we snatched up our bicycle seats, and tested the planes hydraulically.  Safety was flooded.  Negative was flooded, then blown to the mark.  The noise was deafening of course,  and here we were jacking up the intensity like Killers Of The Deep.  We'd both shout out our progress with testing the planes and the various other things that we had to check out like we were under attack and our facial expressions were deadly serious.  The Girl Scouts were scared to death,  as it turned out.  Yep.  We got ourselves chewed out real good for that (CO had a very limited sense of humor when it came to Public Relations).  I think that I might have pulled S-House Mouse for that one...