“I thought the fog was bad in Frisco,” Chip muttered as he tried to negotiate the unfamiliar roads.”
“Welcome
to Puget Sound,” Lee answered philosophically.
“Be glad that we actually got to land in Seattle. Even with all the modern equipment they’ve
been known to cancel flights because of inclement weather conditions.”
“Eesh,”
Chip grumbled, and continued his slow journey.
The
pair was headed to the Whidbey Island Naval Air Station for meetings. It was unusual for submarine forces to have
anything to do with Navy pilots but Admiral Nelson had been invited to attend
these joint meetings, which also included officers from Naval Base Kitsap, in
Bremerton, WA as well as Submarine Forces Pacific to discuss ways to further
lines of communication between the various divisions of the US Navy,
specifically on the west coast. Nelson
hadn’t specified why WINAS had been chosen for the meetings. He’d just, at the last minute, been forced by
a growing cold complicated by laryngitis to cancel his participation, and had
sent Lee and Chip instead. Chip had
grumbled several times already that Nelson had seemed to be feeling and
sounding just fine the previous day when he’d chewed out NIMR’s head
groundskeeper for the delays in getting several areas of new lawn planted after
a storm had ravaged the coast the previous week. Lee had merely chuckled, reminded Chip that
Nolan had quite easily held his ground with the Admiral, defending his position
that the areas needed to be properly prepared, then allowed to rest a few days
for the ground to settle before they were actually reseeded, and that the
resulting argument had probably been responsible for Nelson suddenly sounding
like Kermit the Frog. Chip had finally
brightened when Lee reminded him that, from the list Nelson had given them of
delegates to the meetings, there were half a dozen women, and with any luck the
blond could find a few ways to enjoy the several evenings they’d be here.
The
fog hadn’t been too bad in Seattle. It
had worsened gradually as they’d taken I-5 north to Mukilteo to catch the ferry
for the short ride to Whidbey Island.
But once on the long slender island and starting their forty or so mile
drive to WINAS the fog thickened drastically.
Traffic was light but Chip was still stressed from dealing with the fog
on the unfamiliar highway, and as they hit the town of Coupeville Lee suggested
that they take a break and grab some food.
Swinging into the first restaurant they saw, they both heaved a sigh of
relief and requested coffee – and lots of it.
The waitress grinned broadly and left the pot.
“Not
from around here,” an older man sitting in the booth to Chip’s back said
quietly with assurance.
Lee
grinned as Chip turned to see who dared interrupt his attempt to drain his
first mugful in one long draw. “No,
sir,” Lee answered.
“Don’t
be ‘siring’ me, Commander,” the old man scolded, obviously having taken note of
both Chip and Lee’s collar insignias. “I
be a retired Senior Chief Petty Officer only.”
Chip
finally grinned, waiting to see how Lee handled the reprimand. Lee tended to ‘sir’ pretty much any man older
than himself that he didn’t know. He
wasn’t disappointed. “Anybody who’s put
up with officers as long as you obviously did deserves my respect.”
The
old man looked at Lee carefully for a few seconds, but finally grinned. “Abel McAleer,” he said easily.
Lee
nodded. “Lee Crane,” he answered. “Chip Morton,” he indicated the blond. “Reservists now, with the Nelson Institute of
Marine Research in Santa Barbara, California.”
He sighed. “We get our share of
fog, but…” He sighed again.
McAleer
chuckled. “This ain’t nothing,” he
started, and then turned thoughtful.
“Nelson…” he paused. “That crazy
submarine?” he asked.
Lee
grinned. “CO,” he pointed to himself,
“and XO,” he indicated Chip. “Headed up
to the Air Station for some meetings.”
He glanced out the window.
“Needed a break.”
McAleer
chuckled again. “Don’t fight much fog underwater,” he teased.
“You’d
be surprised,” Chip muttered, turning in the seat to put his back against the
wall, where he could then see both Lee and the old man.
Lee
chuckled as McAleer stared at Chip.
“With all your modern equipment,” McAleer didn’t sneer but there was a
bit of it nonetheless in his voice, “you got no worries.”
“Were
you a submariner?” Lee asked.
“No,
sir,” McAleer growled. “Not getting me
in a tin can.” He snorted. “Destroyers, mostly. Once I retired I worked for the Washington
State Ferry Service.” He waved a hand
outside. “This ain’t nothing,” he
repeated.
Lee
nodded. “I did several training sessions
at Bremerton. Heard stories.” He smiled.
“I especially liked to hear the ones about how the early ferry captains
navigated without all of today’s instrumentation.”
McAleer
returned the nod. “You apprenticed until
you could practically go from one point to the next in your sleep – doing it
all from memory.”
Chip
frowned. He wasn’t like Lee in wanting
to know all the history – he liked his computers far too much. “But in the fog…” he let his question hang.
“Then
you went by sound,” McAleer told him.
“They used to put echoboards on some rocks and points of land. You got so you knew how the horn echoed back
all along your route, and used that.”
Chip
shook his head. “No, thank you,” he said
to no one in particular.
“Course,”
McAleer continued, “you had to watch out for cows.”
That
sat Chip up straight, “Excuse me?”
McAleer
chuckled. But he didn’t continue as
Lee’s expression went thoughtful.
“Wait. There was…something…” He looked at McAleer.
The
old man didn’t immediately answer.
Instead, he looked over to the waitress.
“Allie, you still got that clipping around?”
The
waitress nodded; the restaurant wasn’t busy.
She headed into the back and came out with a sheet of paper that she
laid on Lee and Chip’s table. There was
a picture of an old-style ferry – the name wasn’t visible but it was identified
as being on the Bremerton/Seattle run and was taken, not on a foggy day, but a
day when the water was very rough and choppy from heavy storm activity.
“You
read the song lyrics below the picture,” McAleer told both men. “That be a true story.”
Come
all you Northwest Sailors, who cruise on Puget Sound,
And
listen to my story, for well it will astound;
‘Tis
of a ferry captain, who ventured forth one day,
And
of the fate befell him, as he sailed on the bay.
The
ferry left Seattle, ‘twas on a foggy day,
The
captain had no worries, for well he knew the way;
He
headed ‘cross the water, where finny things abound,
And set his course for Bremerton, across famed Puget
Sound.
He
left Seattle harbor and passed Duwamish Head,
Passed
Alki on the port side, and westerly did head,
And
now was open water across New Orchard point,
Through
fog as thick as chowder the ferry boat did point.
Now
all good skippers have a trick, who sail these waters ‘round,
And
when the fog is thickest, ‘tis then they steer by sound;
Full
several times a minute, their whistle loud they blow,
And
by the echo bouncing, when land is close they know.
The
ferry neared Rich Passage, a place of rocks and shoals,
And
narrow as an hourglass, as past Point White she goes;
The
captain slowed the ferry, and not to run aground,
He
blew upon his whistle, and listened for the sound.
Now,
a farmer on Point Grover, across the neck from White,
Had
tied his cow that foggy morn, upon lush grass to bite;
So
several times a minute, the ferry’s whistle blew,
And
as the captain listened, the echo came back “Moo!”
The
captain turned the vessel, still steering by the sound,
And
guided by that silly cow, the ferry ran aground;
So
all you Northwest sailors, give listen to me now,
And
when you cruise on Puget Sound, don’t navigate by cow!
“You
have got to be kidding,” Chip snorted derogatively once he’d finished
reading.
“No,
sir,” McAleer assured him. “My momma’s
uncle was a mate aboard on that very same trip.” He grinned.
“Wasn’t funny back then.” He
shrugged. “Causes many a chuckle this
day and age, though,” he admitted.
Chip
looked at Lee, ready to share a laugh with his friend at the total absurdity of
the old man’s story. But Lee was
nodding, and Chip kept quiet. He wasn’t
sure if Lee actually believed the song lyrics, or was just honoring the older
man by pretending to believe. Either
way, Chip decided that he’d better shut up.
Suddenly
Lee’s face started to morph into an absolutely wicked grin. He tapped the paper. “Any chance,” he asked the waitress, “that I
could have a copy of this?”
She
grinned. “Of course. Got a copy machine in the office,” and she
picked it up and once more headed toward the back of the restaurant.
“What
are you plotting?” Chip demanded. Out of
the corner of his eye he caught a frown form on the old man’s face – probably
because a Lieutenant Commander was giving an order to a full Commander. He wasn’t about to go into the dynamics of
his and Lee’s years of friendship – he was far more concerned about what Lee
planned to do with the paper. With Lee’s
warped sense of humor there was no telling.
Lee
put a totally innocent expression on his face as he picked up his coffee
mug. “Nothing specific,” he
answered. “I’d just like to have it.”
“Help,”
Chip muttered not quite under his breath.
He wasn’t buying the explanation for an instant. Lee was up to something, and it boded no good
for whoever happened to be his chosen target.
But it only took him a couple of seconds before he, also, started to
grin, and sent Lee a quick nod. This
could get interesting!