Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Polytx/UFO
It was 1961. We were homeward bound, "steamboating," the nautical term for 'cool.' Our ancient '41 liberty, SS DOROTHY BOYLAN, was half out of water, her free American grain cargo discharged atKandla, India. The sound of her screw beat through the porthole, a steady whump, whump, whump, the Boylan's pulse, visualizing sheets of water flying from the screw. It had been a long trip.
On deck was an awesomely gorgeous moon reminding us of wives and other lovers. There was no wind. We were steaming though a silent sea of magic beauty carpeted with bright stars and awesome looms of faint light denoting thousand of other galaxies.
Stopped at Ceuta, Spanish Morocco across from Gib for bunker C fuel oil, the crew renewed its appetite for Mateus, Benedictine, Fockink Gin, and other esoteric elixirs. Forty miles ahead lay the famous nautical 'hole in the wall,' through a coral bed along New Providence channel,Bahamas.
On the bridge above the radio deck, Captain Dregeboe (Dragon's mouth in Norwegian) perennially irritated, wiped spittle from his lips. "Da Mate," Pettigrove, from Machias was checking course and speed. Outside on the starboard wing an AB and his relief chatted quietly keeping a sharp eye out for inimical traffic.
Rapid steps running down the ladderway next to the radioroom. "Spah-ks!" shouted Pettigrove through the porthole. "Come to the bridge. Something re-mahhk-able!"
Hurrying aloft, I found the bridge deck animated. Everyone seemed to be in charge of at least one pair of Bausch and Lombs, as hands denied, clutched to borrow, reminding me of someone's comic two-liner: "What's the fastest game in the world? When it falls out."
High above, and moving eastward 180 degrees from standard was an immense bright light. It appeared to be inside earth's tropospherical envelope of gases. Seemingly coming from near Cape Kennedy (Canavera), could it be a light for night fighting in South Vietnam that had taken on a new tone as President Kennedy force-fed new troops into Saigon, to aid the 2500 military advisors emplaced by Ike?
From the bridge and decks we all observed this awesome transplendency of light for 45 minutes as it transited silently, inexorably eastward, its sheen overcoming the brightness of the moon's path. Captain Dragon built a message for me dedicated to the U.S. Hydrographic Office. I felt it should be addressed to U.S. Coast Guard and Naval Intelligence, but with held my superior advice for fear it might set the master off on a temper-tantrum, and I become violated by flying spittle.
Back in the radioroom a Norwegian was calling WOE, Lake Worth radio near Palm Beach, FL. As he was having no luck raising that station, I butted in.
"Do you see what we are seeing?"
"Yes," everyone aboard is observing this phenomenon." He gave me their position. Pettigrove plotted. They were exactly sixty nautical miles south of us.
The Hydrographic Office never commented on our adventure. Astrophysics? God? We were all innately aware we had observed something spectacular and unique, a once in a lifetime phenomenon for young men from the farms and cities of depression America.
On deck was an awesomely gorgeous moon reminding us of wives and other lovers. There was no wind. We were steaming though a silent sea of magic beauty carpeted with bright stars and awesome looms of faint light denoting thousand of other galaxies.
Stopped at Ceuta, Spanish Morocco across from Gib for bunker C fuel oil, the crew renewed its appetite for Mateus, Benedictine, Fockink Gin, and other esoteric elixirs. Forty miles ahead lay the famous nautical 'hole in the wall,' through a coral bed along New Providence channel,Bahamas.
On the bridge above the radio deck, Captain Dregeboe (Dragon's mouth in Norwegian) perennially irritated, wiped spittle from his lips. "Da Mate," Pettigrove, from Machias was checking course and speed. Outside on the starboard wing an AB and his relief chatted quietly keeping a sharp eye out for inimical traffic.
Rapid steps running down the ladderway next to the radioroom. "Spah-ks!" shouted Pettigrove through the porthole. "Come to the bridge. Something re-mahhk-able!"
Hurrying aloft, I found the bridge deck animated. Everyone seemed to be in charge of at least one pair of Bausch and Lombs, as hands denied, clutched to borrow, reminding me of someone's comic two-liner: "What's the fastest game in the world? When it falls out."
High above, and moving eastward 180 degrees from standard was an immense bright light. It appeared to be inside earth's tropospherical envelope of gases. Seemingly coming from near Cape Kennedy (Canavera), could it be a light for night fighting in South Vietnam that had taken on a new tone as President Kennedy force-fed new troops into Saigon, to aid the 2500 military advisors emplaced by Ike?
From the bridge and decks we all observed this awesome transplendency of light for 45 minutes as it transited silently, inexorably eastward, its sheen overcoming the brightness of the moon's path. Captain Dragon built a message for me dedicated to the U.S. Hydrographic Office. I felt it should be addressed to U.S. Coast Guard and Naval Intelligence, but with held my superior advice for fear it might set the master off on a temper-tantrum, and I become violated by flying spittle.
Back in the radioroom a Norwegian was calling WOE, Lake Worth radio near Palm Beach, FL. As he was having no luck raising that station, I butted in.
"Do you see what we are seeing?"
"Yes," everyone aboard is observing this phenomenon." He gave me their position. Pettigrove plotted. They were exactly sixty nautical miles south of us.
The Hydrographic Office never commented on our adventure. Astrophysics? God? We were all innately aware we had observed something spectacular and unique, a once in a lifetime phenomenon for young men from the farms and cities of depression America.
