I was watching Carrier last night and remembering back to August 2001: The Nimitz was the first ship my son, Petty Officer Second Class Frank Arndt, was assigned to. At that time, the Nimitz was in the Newport News shipyard going through her midlife overhaul.

Father and son on Friends and Family Day aboard the USS Nimitz.

By 2001, the Nimitz had been doing sea trials, and on August 11 she hosted a Friends and Family Day, which is when the sailors can invite a few people to come aboard the ship. Less than a week after we were on the Nimitz, my husband had an accident that put him in the hospital for five months, and within a year he was dead — so that day has special meaning for us. It was the last time the three of us really did something together.

We had to be at the dock so early in the morning it was still dark, and I remember standing there in awe at the size of this ship. There were thousands of family members filling the hanger deck. We went about 30 miles out into the Atlantic, and in the afternoon a couple of planes came out and did a little air show for us.

Those of us who wanted to see the planes went up to the flight deck and lined up along one side by the bridge while the planes landed and took off from the other side. Even with the little yellow ear plugs they gave us the noise was still unbelievable. To show us what would happen if the hook on the back of the plane didn’t catch the cable, one of the jets came in, just skimmed the deck then took back off again. It was one of the most awesome experiences of my life. My son took us on a tour of the ship. Many of the places I saw on the show last night looked familiar. My son tells me he’s going to buy the “Carrier” DVD set.

Petty Officer Frank Arndt is sworn in at Bethesda Naval Hospital, Md., for his third tour.

My son is now one of the crew of the USS George H.W. Bush (CVN 77), the last of the Nimitz class carriers being built. I’m now making plans to be one of his guests at the commissioning ceremony next January when the Newport News shipbuilders officially turn the ‘Bush’ over to the Navy. I can’t wait!

Florence Arndt
CSC Financial Analyst
Shaker Heights, Ohio

The trip home continues. The “Land down under,” the “Land of Oz” with all its intrigue and attraction sinks away behind us.

Our first stop was Perth / Fremantle. I treated myself to three days at a beach resort in Scarborough just outside Perth. White sandy beaches and beautiful water. It was 70-80 degrees and windy most of the time. Great sailing weather. Everybody was wearing t-shirts and shorts while all of us off the ship were wearing sweatshirts and sweaters and still freezing. I guess coming from 120 degree weather to this, we’re not quite climatized yet. It’s still not quite summer here either. It’s still early spring. So here I am in a huge king size bed all to myself, and in the morning the bed’s still perfectly made with the exception of a two-foot by seven-foot rectangle where I was sleeping, the exact size of my rack on the ship. The bathroom alone was worth the $100 a night. Just to be able to enjoy a CLEAN shower or better yet a tub, with continuous, steady temperature water and not have to wear flip-flops in that shower was worth every penny.

Fremantle has always held a special place in my heart. It’s a beautiful, small maritime town at the mouth of the Swan River that leads into Perth but has yet to be spoiled by the city. Home of the ’87 America’s Cup races, Fremantle is based around numerous marinas with fishing boats and sailboats. A town hall with a steeple clock, lots of street musicians and a huge city park. Rottenest Island lies just off the coast for the quick uninhibited “Holiday,” and it’s all accented with Victorian architecture and a very active pub scene. Which, by the way, yields some of the worlds best local beer. There were a few nights I tried to drink all of it. Not Fosters though. “We don’t drink Fosters here mate. That’s xxxx beer we send to you yanks.” Arguing with the locals about which is better, cricket or baseball, later intellectually maturing into which one is tougher, Aussie rules or gridiron, all the while trying to out sing the guy in the corner playing the acoustic guitar and plugging away at all the songs everybody knows by heart. Learned some really cool Aussie folk songs this way, although “American Pie” still gets me every time. Now I know I’m on my way home.

I got a chance to stop by and reacquaint myself with an old friend — the sailing ship “Leeuwin II.” Early one morning when I was here last, I had the incredible opportunity to go aboard. I was invited aboard by the only other person up and around that time of the morning, the Captain, and over a cup of coffee, in the silence of the morning we sat and talked about sailing, places we’d been and the performance goods and others of sailing a 180-foot square-rigged schooner against an 82,000 ton, 8 boiler, 4 screwed warship. We both agreed that the Leeuwin was far more maneuverable therefore a better choice and hands down much more fun. This trip I had to admire her from afar. She was underway for a few days and seeing her off the coast, she looked quite majestic out on the water. On the last day, there she was, parked right behind us just like last time. I walked over and though my skipper buddy wasn’t there, the deck was full of people getting ready to set sail again. I wasn’t able to go aboard this time, but the contact and being able to admire this beautiful ship if even for a few minutes was like a breath of fresh air. Just to back up and passively enjoy the fine lines of an old classic getting underway under the power of the wind.

The trip south around the Australian bight and the Bass Straits was relaxing. We’re only 450 traps away from our cruise goal of 10,000, so the flight ops were few and far between, which allowed a more than usual amount of time off and time to enjoy the outside for a while. There was not a cloud in the sky and little wind for most of the trip. At night, Orion was low to the North, Polaris almost undistinguishable so the Southern Cross showed us the way. So many different constellations down here. It just makes me realize that even on the clearest of nights, you can only see half of what’s out there. The seas between the two continents were deep blue, smooth as glass but still had a roll to em that came at our starboard side from Antarctica. With our 30-knot transit and cooler weather, the ship rode the swells slowly from side to side making for great sleeping weather and a more than chipper attitude throughout the crew. We’re on our way home.

Sydney is a big city with a charm all it’s own. It’s very clean, cultured and civilized with museums, parks and gardens. The hundreds of fountains alone found in these gardens each are a work of art in their own right. Not to mention the famous opera house. A lot of construction as she gets ready for the 2000 Summer Olympics. Sydney is the city, the arts, the people, the clubs, a hilly coastline and very green with trees and vegetation. Fremantle is small-town, pubs, aborigines, didgiridoos on every corner and small town folk more in touch with the “less tame” western side of Australia.

While in “Oz,” as the locals call it, I got a chance to fulfill a fantasy. Just about every night for the past five and a half months, after all the jets shut down and the maintenance guys take over, I’ll go to the band room, strap on my bass and sing with the band I’ve managed to get together for the cruise. We played for the ship’s Steel Beach picnic a few months back, got a name for ourselves, kept practicing and eventually got picked up as the official ship’s band, “Inertia.” A few days out from Perth, I wrote to the Navy liaison on shore to see if they could set us up a place to play. A few days later, we were booked at “the number one musical venue in Fremantle.” We played Mojo’s Bar and “the world famous Bourbon and Beefsteak Bar” in Sydney. Ya know it’s something to play in front of the same people every night, even a few thousand at the picnic that day. But to have the culmination of everything we’d worked and practiced for come together in a place off the ship, outside the Navy, if only for a little while — people come in off the street listen to and looking in there faces seeing that they’re enjoying our music — I don’t have the words. It was probably the best two nights of this entire cruise. What can I say, I’m a ham. I love it.

Our days are numbered as we head east, back to familiar lands and people. “The Land Down Under” though once again, captures my heart.

Brooks Davis
CSC Systems Engineer/Analyst
Space and Naval Warfare Systems Center
San Diego, Calif.

I’ll never forget my first day on the carrier USS Enterprise. Two weeks after I was married, I was on a marathon flight from Norfolk, Virginia to the tiny island of Diego Garcia in the middle of the Indian Ocean to join my first ship, the Enterprise. Upon arrival in Diego Garcia, we were put on the supply ship Niagara Falls which was en route to replenish the Enterprise battle group in the North Arabian Sea. A day later, I was put on a CH-46 helicopter and transported to the Enterprise and my first view of the ship was as we passed over her bow right before landing.

That’s when the real fun began. A carrier is literally a floating city and it can take you weeks to get oriented to your surroundings. I did not have that luxury.  Instead, after finally finding the Reactor Training Office and being introduced to the Reactor Training Assistant who was in charge of my initial training onboard, I was handed a summons to appear before the Royal High Court of the Raging Main. In other words, the Enterprise was going to cross the equator the next day and I, being a slimy pollywog, was about to be initiated as a shellback.

The next morning, we assembled on the messdecks on our hands and knees to enjoy our breakfast of green eggs and ham. We then proceeded through a gauntlet of shellbacks through the hangar bay. Far be it from me to reveal the secrets of this initiation lest I incur the wrath of Davey Jones, but lets just say that by the time I reached the other side of the hangar bay, I was literally a wet and slimy wog. We then proceeded to crawl on an aircraft elevator which took us to the flight deck to meet King Neptune and his court. Our present condition not worthy of his majesty, we were sprayed down with firehoses as we proceeded upward.  Once on the flight deck, we continued through the initiation and were paraded in front of King Neptune and his court. At the end of this initiation, I literally threw my uniform over the fantail since it was beyond being in any serviceable condition.

I spent two tours on carriers, finally leaving active duty in 2000 after serving as the Reactor Training Assistant on the USS Nimitz during her refueling overhaul in Newport News Shipyard. From there I joined the Navy Reserve and am now about to retire as a Commander after a wonderful 20 year career.  The photo is of a much younger Ensign Carlisle, on liberty call in Rio de Janeiro from the Enterprise as she made her way from the North Arabian Sea to Norfolk VA. This photo was taken in February 1990, just a few months before Saddam Hussein would invade Kuwait. And the rest, they say, is history…

Best regards,

Rob Carlisle

With the Straits of Hormuz behind us and the “Land Down Under” off our bow and over the horizon, the memories of yet another Arabian Gulf tour are committed to memory through stories and rolls of film. As we high-five the USS John F. Kennedy (CV-67) on their way in, our “watch,” “time on the box,” “turn in the hotseat,” or “trick at the helm” has come to a close. Has it been three months already? The Indian Ocean welcomes us with deep, dark clear blue water and blue hazeless skies. The sun shines on us with less vengeance and the air is cool and clean.

In August we arrived in relentless 140 degree heat and a windless, becalmed sea, HOT hazy days and nights with no relief in sight and no light at the end of the tunnel. As 18 to 20-hour work days in a world where weekends don’t exist progressed, we coped by not thinking about “getting there” or counting days. Rather, just like the commercial say’s, we “just do it.” I think it’s called “survival.” There were times that if it wasn’t for my $20 Timex, I’d have no idea what day it was. Or what time of day it was for that matter. Out here, we’re on the clock and accountable 24 hours a day. However, three months and two thousand incident free combat sorties later, we did well. Whenever we were tasked, we delivered, certainly something to be proud of on a 38-year-old ship.

Just like with anything else though, there are good days and there are bad. Good days are measured by “mail calls,” water not quitting on you while you’re soaped up in the shower, a few minutes to read a book with nobody yelling profanities across the room, nobody yelling profanities at you, being able to sleep more than 4 hours, timing a walk to a meal just right to watch a sunset or a sunrise through an open hangar door and being able to enjoy that sunset. Getting to see the stars or a full moon at night, coming back to find that blessed little heap of clean laundry on your rack, and all of it is actually clean. Bad days are measured by how many times I’ve had to find somewhere to sit by myself for a moment and take a deep breath to gather my savior-faire just wishing everybody “away.” Or “walk it off” trembling with a rage so intense I can’t even talk, literally seeing red, head feeling like it’s going to explode and trying to make up my mind to either cry or put my fist through the nearest wall. They don’t come often, but they do come. And it’s usually over something pretty insignificant. Sometimes it just gets to a point where you take and take and take, let it roll off your back to where you just can’t take anymore. I don’t like those days.

And of course there were the port calls, Jebel Ali and Bahrain. Each one with its own personality and each one bringing me closer to a culture and people I would have never been exposed to otherwise. For that I am a different person and am forever grateful. One of my fondest memories will always be the night in the Emirates miles out in the Arabian Desert next to a mosque under a canopy of stars lying on my back in the warm sand feeling a warm breeze across my face and through my hair, familiarizing myself with the local night sky and introducing myself to the local constellations. The sounds from local musicians fill the air, I relax with a stomach full of hot tea and local cuisine and at that moment, for those few minutes, everything was OK. A word of advice though: When it comes to “local” cuisine, remember, sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Alas, we’re on our way home, opening another chapter to the cruise. Now, our biggest adversaries are the countries of Boredom and Complacency. Enter the never-ending training cycle. “What do we have to do to get ready for the NEXT cruise?” Such is “Sea Duty,” I guess.  Dreams of Perth, Sidney, Hawaii and eventually getting home to San Dog to re-take my place as a human and a productive member of society effectively take the edge off. It’s funny, but as it’s happening, I think to myself, “Will this ever end? There is no God …” But now that it’s over, “That wasn’t so bad …”

Brooks Davis
CSC Systems Engineer/Analyst
Space and Naval Warfare Systems Center
San Diego, Calif. 

The bouncy 45-minute liberty boat ride back to anchorage allows us an up-close and personal view of the “supertanker.” On the way to Manama pier in Bahrain, we pass several of these too big to be true, inanimate city blocks of steel lined up in dry-dock in various states of repair and maintenance. These 250,000-deadweight-ton behemoths that transport the world’s oil out of here somehow make the sentinel aircraft carrier lying at anchorage on the hazy horizon seem almost insignificant. But they are why were here in the first place.

Bahrain is nothing more than a big sandbar off the Saudi Arabian coast. It doesn’t boast the majestic deserts or mountains of the mainland. It’s very expensive ($1 U.S. = 3 Durham). Quite the contrast to the Asian ports we hit on the way over. Can you say 28 Philippine pesos to the dollar? WHOOHOO!!! And restrictive, just the security measures alone are enough to take the fun out of anything. Hidden cameras, armed guards, metal detectors and random strip searches are the norm getting on and off the base to go anywhere.

Not too many places to go out in town. I’m not discounting it; it’s a very beautiful and busy city, just not a whole lot of “tourist” attractions. The “Tree of life” is here. A tree many scholars say dates back to the probable Garden of Eden. At one time this was a very lush and almost tropical area. All this oil had to come from somewhere right? Again, I reflect back on the historical promise of this whole region. In the states, if something dates back a few hundred years, it’s usually a pretty big deal. Here, things date back to the bible and beyond. Interesting, but outside of shopping for gold or perfume and eating local, we decided the base was the best bet for the few days we’re here.

Enjoying the evening with 3,000 of my closest friends, a reggae band plays the outdoor bar in the “cooling” fall nights — it’s going all the way down to the high 80’s at night now. The date palms sway to the warm Gulf breeze, ice-cold beer and rum flow like water. It’s been a long, hot cruise and we’ve all worked hard. We’ve passed the halfway point but we’ve still got a lot of time left “on-station.” Kind of in the “doldrums” I guess you’d say. Feels like we’re almost there, yet we’re not going anywhere.

Two a.m. brings us back to the 45-minute bouncy liberty boat ride back home to “Mom.” Fortunately, those rides never really bothered me that much. It just takes a while for my head to wind down while I’m lying in my rack feeling the room spin. But put these junior guys off the farms of the Midwest out there, get them as drunk as you can, feed’em as much pizza as they can eat, then put them on a pitch black dark, middle-of-the-night liberty boat ride? It’s like a cruel joke, one that usually involves a swab and a hose.

For now it’s back to the grind. I can’t begin to tell you how good it felt to sleep in for the first time in two months. It’s the little things I miss …

Brooks Davis
CSC Systems Engineer/Analyst
Space and Naval Warfare Systems Center
San Diego, Calif.