Writing Time

I need to start these posts earlier in the day. If I wait to start them after Evening Reports, I don't have a lot of energy left to write them, they end up short and about whatever random topic I think I can squeeze a few sentences out of. I know what my goal is -- one post per day. If I start them earlier in the day, maybe I'll get better quality writing out of them.

I have time throughout the day; before the workday starts, a few minutes around lunch, and then between dinner and the OPS brief.

And if any of you readers have ideas for topics -- questions about being underway, something you've pondered on mission accomplishment, thoughts on leadership, whatever! -- send 'em my way. It's like trying to make dinner; more than half the battle is figuring out what to cook.

Warning: Whining Post

I have a toothache tonight. The whole lower left side of my face is throbbing like someone bashed it with a brick. I can't touch the skin because it hurts. Tylenol didn't help and ice didn't help. 

It's making me grouchy and lethargic. I need to get through Evening Reports, publish the POD, and then will likely shut my door and be pathetically hermit-like for the rest of the night. I don't want to inflict myself on anyone when I'm like this. 

Toothaches aren't normal for me. They just started happening within the last six months. I don't deal with the pain very well. Thankfully it usually fades within a few hours, so by tomorrow morning, I should be in better shape. I'm looking forward to that.

It's Funny

It's funny what you get used to underway. Like not being able to walk in a straight line down a passageway. Calling it a passageway instead of a hall. Bouncing gently off the bulkheads as the ship rolls in the swells. Knocking on every QAWTD (quick acting watertight door) before you open it. Calling out "female on deck" every time I want to go up to do laundry. Holding on with a death grip to the handrails when walking up or down a ladder. Calling it a ladder instead of stairs. The incessant hum of ventilation that fills the air. Having black out curtains that get put up right at sunset, whether I'm in my room or not. Seeing a sign on posted on the messdeck that says "We're out of white napkins. Sorry for the inconvenience." Having absolutely no control over internet connectivity. Turning sideways in the passageway so two people can pass in different directions. Not having any teaspoons, but having the table set with soup spoons every lunch and dinner. Wearing my sweatshirt for most of the day when I'm at my desk because the a/c unit is right behind me and blows right down my neck. Most times, I wear the hood up even when it's 95 degrees outside (it's so nice to have a/c that kicks ass down here!). Feeling guilty for skipping steps on the ladder (it's a major safety violation during our training cycle). The smell of flash gear that's been worn about half a dozen times and put away slightly damp from sweat each time. Folding someone else's laundry because I need the dryer and their stuff is done but they haven't come to retrieve it yet. Finding a fork in my pants pocket that I forgot I put there when I was in the chow line for breakfast. Water that comes out of the cold tap at 90 degrees because that's its temp in the storage tank. The harsh glare of blue lights after coming off the bridge from a night watch with no moon. Working out on the flight deck with the wind off the bow blowing stack gas (engine exhaust) all around. That glorious feeling at 1600 of putting on deck shoes after having worn safety-toed boots all day. The starboard landfill. Ducking underneath the small boats to get back to the fantail. The gymnastics required to make a round of all of the spaces onboard. The sign-up sheets that sprout on the messdeck juice, water and milk machines for various morale events. The comments on said sign-up sheets. How my glasses fog up Every.Single.Time. I leave my stateroom. That endless blue or grey or silver or slate expanse of water that surrounds us that is bigger than any thought or ideal.

Batteries Released!

We planned to do a gunshoot earlier in the week, but got side tracked with getting somewhere. We finally got back around to it today. 12 people shot the .50 cals, and five people shot the 25 mm gun.

Our target was a pumpkin. No, really, a pumpkin -- or at least a big orange foam mooring ball that we got from a buoy grave yard in Little Creek before I got to the ship that SN RM painted a great pumpkin face on just before Halloween last year. We suspended it from the single point davit when we moored on 30 Oct and left it up for the trick-or-treaters.

The pumpkin is a great target -- bright orange is highly visible from quite a ways away. It's big enough, and it's damn near indestructible -- though it is starting to show some wear from the chunks that have been shot out of it, and the side-swipes that have left foam tatters springing out randomly.

Gunshoots are pretty awesome, usually. Though I do have some sea stories of gun shoots that were less than enjoyable. On my first 110 patrol boat, we went way offshore to do a shoot; on the way back in, our air conditioners and our sewage system both broke down. Eeew.

For the GUNEX (gunnery exercise) today, we shot the .50 cals at the same time we shot the 25 mm. The reverberations shook everything! The concussive force was something to be reckoned with, and I was very happy to have my full ear muffs for hearing protection. I've tried using just foamies before, and always had to cover my ears with my hands.

Our Weapons Officer (WEPS), ENS JW, did a great job as the Weapons Control Officer (WCO), directing each mount individually. The Officer of the Deck, BMC RV, handled all the other stuff going on about the ship during the shoot. And 1LT, ENS JB, first conned the ship around the target, then coached other/newer Conning Officers, and then took over for WEPS as WCO while WEPS took his turn on the trigger of the .50 cal.

Shooting 12 gunners through the .50 cals didn't take as long as you might think. We finished up in about 90 minutes. The guys kept things moving along on the mounts, switching out as gunners, loaders and phone talkers.

And at the end, SK2 KH, SN AT and SN NE did the *entire* bridge team a massive favor by washing, drying and folding the sweaty, nasty, fuggy flash gear.

GTMO

We spent a few days in GTMO recently. For the uninitiated, we moored at Naval Station Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, lovingly shortened to GTMO, pronounced "git-mo," colloquially used as "It don't GTMO betta than this."

I have heard about GTMO my whole career, but visited for the first time last year about this time. Lots and lots and lots of Coast Guard ships have gone there, and will likely to continue to go there. It's convenient in the Caribbean, it has great logistical support, it's safe, it's cheap, it's American, phone cards home are cheap. And it gets a little boring after about the fifth time you've been there. 

A couple rules about GTMO I've picked up over the course of a few port calls there:
-- Don't mess with the iguanas. They're endangered and the Base personnel have the authority to mess with *you* if you mess with the iguanas. They're awesome creatures, though. I've seen ten cars stack up in each direction of traffic as a five-foot iguana takes his sweet time to cross the road. And they're fast! And they like Doritos.
-- Banana rats are not named after what they eat; they're named after the shape of their poop. They're largish rodents, about the size of a small possum, that have buck teeth, are nocturnal, and damn smelly. They travel in packs. I've ridden my bike through wooded areas that are skunky with their musky smell. There may have been a few treks out late at night to find banana rats in their natural habitat just so say we've seen some.
-- It is so freaking *HOT* in GTMO. I've never seen it rain there, though anvil clouds will billow up in the sky almost to the moon. You sweat just walking outside. They have these beautiful football, soccer, baseball, volleyball fields and courts that are completely deserted during the day, but come completely alive at night once the temperature drops below 95 degrees. Seriously, I was out and about one morning at 10 am, and the temperature on the "Welcome to NAVSTA GTMO" sign said 97 degrees.
-- Do not expect creative food. They have a handful of restaurants including McDonalds, Taco Bell, A&W, Pizza Hut, O'Kelley's - an "Irish" pub, The Jerk Shack - a Caribbean food place, and maybe a few others. But they all serve food straight off the supply barge. It's nice to be able to chose what to eat, sure, but it's lots of choices of not great food.
-- Don't take pictures where they tell you not to take pictures. 'Nuff said.

There are a few things I enjoy about GTMO:
-- The exchange and commissary are pretty robust. They have a good (not great) selection of what you might need to survive another 30 days on patrol. Surprisingly, their beer selection is satisfactory for my beer snob tastes...or at least good enough to find a cold sixer to share on the beach with some shipmates.
-- The beaches are accommodable. They're not particularly picturesque, but they have nice amenities, like lots of picnic tables under shade, volleyball courts, lounging chairs, clean water, blue skies, interesting rocks and coral bits, sea breezes and at least porta potties. Just watch out for the ankle breakers (aka shifty rocks and coral) on the way to and from taking a dip in the water.
-- Unlike foreign port calls, we don't have a buddy system when we go there. I can ride off on my bicycle by myself and enjoy some time away from folks on the ship -- who I like very well, but just need a little separation from every now and again.
-- The gym is great! Open 24 hours a day during the week, it's a/c'd and I've never had to wait for equipment. Not that I use a lot of equipment at the gym -- mostly just the treadmill, but it's there if I ever want it.

Delightfully, the wi-fi has improved significantly since the first time I visited. They upgraded recently, or so I've heard, and there's definitely a difference. Makes it much easier to check email and get some personal business done in the few days we're there. 

I went paintballing there once. I forgot to wear long pants and tore the crap out of my legs on the pebbly ground. Still had fun. Except when SN VD took me out with a head shot -- thank goodness for the helmets.

GTMO's not the best place for a port call, and it's certainly not the worst. And I'm sure, over the course of the next 10 months or so, we'll git mo' GTMO.

LCDR Charlotte Mundy
Executive Officer
USCGC DILIGENCE (WMEC 616)
**UNDERWAY**

Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda...Didn't

I coulda written a post the CO and I talked about this morning at breakfast, about all the noise around the ship. And how Coast Guard ships all seem to smell the same. Maybe I'll get to that one soon.

I shoulda written a post that is insightful, entertaining and thought provoking, but some days I'm just not that smart or good.

I woulda written a post about GTMO port calls, but I should have started that about six hours ago. I'll get to that one soon too.

I didn't write any of those posts. Instead, I drafted an email about some lingering FY15 purchase requests. I finished, printed and signed the POD for tomorrow. I entered discrepancy correction action plans into HSWL's (Health, Safety, Work Life) database for our sanitation certificate so we can enter foreign ports. I helped our Command Chief figure out how to format changes to our COM (Cutter Organization Manual) Section for Enlisted Evaluations, specifically mid-period counseling procedures. I gossiped with fellow XOs via email. I read the CO's night orders. And that was all in the last 90 minutes.

Days are never the same.

A Little Help From My Friends

We've been having internet issues this patrol. We have internet connectivity, but sometimes it's just too slow to run some of the administrative applications that we use to get non-operational stuff done.

I will refrain in this post from going off on a tangential soap box about the blessings and curses of having underway connectivity in the first place. I'll instead direct readers to the article "The U.S. Navy's Leading Edge," by LT Kermit E Jones, in the September 2012 issue of US Naval Institute's Proceedings. Interesting discussion points abound.

Nope, today's post is all about making things work when things don't work. We're getting close to end of fiscal year closeout. It's a pretty internet heavy time for us -- all our purchases are tracked by an online program, and we have to use this program to submit, approve and reconcile all purchases. Having a slow internet connection has made that nearly impossible for us.

I was nearing despair when I got an email today that ratcheted up the pressure. We did our best to mitigate against this very situation including emphasizing spend down during our last inport, keeping close track of the status of purchases, and developing a plan in advance to spend any contingency money we kept in reserve that we didn't end up needing for contingencies. But, despite our best efforts, we missed some deadlines because of internet connectivity issues, and while no one was going to die from the consequences, it definitely put the ship at a disadvantage.

I got my ducks in a row, and communicated clearly to the holder of our purse strings what our issues were and the bare minimum of what I thought I needed to finish out the fiscal year. I sent the email and followed up with a phone call. It was that important.

While I was fighting with the Iridium phone, I got an email response back that said, no worries, let us know what you need. Which was great. But what was greater was the phone conversation. LT AP said she understood the issues and would help us anyway she could, including going into our accounts in the finance program from shore to get our purchases moved along. I didn't even know this was possible! She also emphasized why our spenddown was so important, painting the bigger picture for me in crystal clear detail. She made my problem relevant and then helped me solve it.

So, thank you, LT AP and assistant staff, for understanding the challenges of being underway and doing everything you can to help us work through some frustrating circumstances beyond our immediate control. You have given me hope that we can get through close-out without tearing all our hair out, and also put the support back into support function!

Sometimes you get what you ask for; sometimes you get what you need.