“Burst,
Burst, this is Captain Kidd, radio check, over…” The ship’s radio broke
the early morning silence. At that moment, the intercom blasted, “This
is the Executive Officer speaking. Prepare for heavy weather … I repeat
… prepare for heavy weather!” When the intercom went silent,
I
returned my call to the H.M.C.S Mackenzie. “Captain Kidd, this is
Burst; you are loud and clear, over.” “Roger, Burst, Captain Kidd out,”
came the reply. We were one of three Canadian destroyers preparing to
join a large Commonwealth naval exercise in the South Seas and were
traveling to join the fleet in Sydney, Australia.
The sea became
increasingly rougher as the morning went on. The forecast we received
from the Wellington weather office yesterday as we left harbour had not
been promising, and now the ship’s company was busy preparing for
hurricane force winds.
Later that night, lying asleep, I was
dreaming of my home in northern Canada, when the duty Radar Plotter
shook me awake at midnight. “Greenfield,” he whispered, “you’re on
watch again.” I rolled over and tried to forget where I was, remnants
of sweet dreams still floating through my consciousness. For just a
moment, I lingered back on the old farm, savouring the luscious aroma
of sweet clover as the dream faded into the present. My bunk heaved
hard to port and then a moment of near weightlessness came while the
ship plummeted over a huge wave. I timed my descent from the top bunk
with the heaving of the ship, being careful not to awaken my sleeping
shipmates. The familiar whine of the ship’s main turbines was now
accompanied by a symphony of creaking and moaning
sounds caused by heavy seas.
When
my ship slammed into the trough of yet another monstrous wave, steel
moaned and the ship shuddered under the strain. As we surfaced out of
that wave, I quickly clambered down from my bunk, staggering under the
extra g-forces created by the ship’s now powerful upward thrust. Boot
lockers were banging in and out from under the bunks while clothing
swung restlessly from hooks overhead. Once dressed, I fought my way
down the ladder from my sleeping quarters and headed to the galley,
hoping to find something nourishing to eat before going on watch.
Moments later, I came away with a delectable ketchup sandwich and
headed for the Operations Room.
Stumbling down Burma Road, the
ship’s main passageway, with one foot on the deck and one on the
starboard bulkhead, I realized that we were quartering a very heavy
sea. This was going be a rough watch to stand. The Operations
Officer was on duty when I arrived at my station in the Operations
Room. “How’s your stomach, Greenfield?” he winced through clenched
teeth. “Oh, I’m all right,” I told him, licking the ketchup off my
lips. “I never get seasick.” He peered over the plotting table at me
with a look of envy. “I hope you’re right. You’re going to need it
tonight,” he said as he clung to the overhead wireways for balance. I
then scrambled up the dark passageway to the bridge, noticing that the
lookouts were huddled inside and there were scarce few men in sight.
Fighting to keep my balance, I stood at a forty-five degree angle
holding onto the window ledge and looked out at the dark sea. Through
the blackness, one could just make out the forward three-inch-seventy
gun with its huge barrels turned back toward the bridge and lashed down
to the deck with heavy hurricane straps. - - - - - - - -
Later that shift - - -
“Well, it’ll be dawn soon,” I
told him, “and the cooks will be up. As for now, all you can see
outside is the phosphorescence in the water. Otherwise, it’s totally
black.” Werner tied himself to the radar and I headed for the hatch and
anxiously back to my pillow and my dreams.
Within
minutes, my
deep weariness erased all consciousness of the ship’s movement, as
memories of Canada’s northland once again filled my dreams. Reality
drifted away and I found myself balancing tenaciously on a slippery
log, midstream over the creek. Patches of snow still lingered in the
shade of the trees and large pieces of ice floated by in the swift
water. Halfway across, now, I fought for my balance, affected by the
movement of the stream below. In one moment of terror, my foot slipped
off and dropped me hard on my chest against the log. Flailing wildly, I
was drawn backward into the rush of cold, spring water. Frightened and
freezing, I was being swept away in the black, rushing water of Fox
Creek.
Hazard
or humour, it is all the same in the end
Only
six years old and far from the protective care of my parents, one
learns quickly that the only way to survive is to struggle, fight and
never give up! The wild lands of the great Peace River Country were,
for me, a garden out of which grew knowledge, skill and adventure,
preparing me for the future. From hard work and family fun to wild
encounters with danger, life was never dull. Adventure began the moment
I was old enough to walk and was experienced daily through resident
wildlife, comical neighbours and crazy experiments. Hazard or humour,
it is all the same in the end. Once you are safely home again, the
incident becomes a memory to be shared and the daily experiences of
life are told and retold for others to enjoy.
