Of YAGs, Orcas and submarines

Apparently, the organisation for the boats has changed, and we'll be assigned to one vessel for the entire two-week trip. The problem is, there are 60 or so of us, spread out over 3 YAGs (Yard Auxiliary General, the ancient wooden-hulled unarmed mine warfare/training vessels) and 2 Orcas (the newest class of training vessels, which have just started being active for training purposes; their bridge is modeled after the frigates'). While the Orcas are state-of-the-art, the YAGs are starting to go, and are having more and more problems. They're leaky, the black water treatment plant usually “burps” and just generally sucks, and generally they're almost-WW2-era ships, with all that comes with old junk.

It struck me as funny, though, because I was reflecting on that while watching Das Boot, especially during the scene where the Captain reflects that life is good: they have a comfy, well-aired boat, free home cooking, attractive wood panelling, etc. What's funny is that, the YAGs being so tiny and having so many people onboard, the wardroom probably feels as cramped as that of a u-boat.

It got me thinking: I'd really prefer to get on the Orcas because, let's face it, I like comfort. But at the same time, the instructors on the Orcas tend to be more anal about things. On the YAGs, “you get to have more fun,” or so we're told. Also, the Orcas can't dock everywhere; they have to just anchor off the harbour in some places, which means that while the YAG crews will be off in various towns getting wasted, the Orca crews will be standing anchor watches and getting rocked to sleep.

What really has me thinking is that if I'm going to apply for subschool as soon as I make Lieutenant (that's the soonest you can apply; at that point you choose your D-level qual and subs is one of them) I might as well trythe cramped, uncomfortable quarters. Oh, and the whole not-having-a-cellphone-or-email-access, too. We'll be allowed to bring cellphones and the like onboard, but on subs, that's a no-no. Well, it's not so much that you can't, just that it's useless. Cellphones tend not to work too well in the middle of the ocean, under 100 feet of water. And the various comms systems are not exactly broadbend: you get hockey and football scores, a little bit of news, and... yeah, that's about it. No e-mails, no calls, nothing. At least the subs now have big-screen TVs in the wardroom and the various messes, and I think you can bring a laptop onboard, so you can have some entertainment. Of course, those TVs only show whatever the crew brought on DVD or VHS, but still, you can probably go through a short assignment without having to watch the same movie twice.

Anyway, no matter what class I get to go on, I'll make the most of it. If I get the Orcas, then, great! I'll get better accomodations, more modern equipment, navigation equipment that ressembles that of frigates, and generally a better (technologically) vessel. If I get the YAGs, well, I get to sail on a piece of history and pull into every harbour, and I get to have more fun. And they'll probably pack less of us on YAGs, as they're smaller and the Orcas are just plain made to carry more trainees.

Here's to sea phase!

Playing with fire, Part Deux

Well, I intended to write this yesterday, but I was simply too exhausted to write anything coherent and somewhat (maybe) interesting, so it had to wait until I had gotten a whole lot of sleep.

So, we went through live-fire... fire stuff, yesterday. It was fairly straightforward: we got dressed in "standby" mode, which means we wore the bunker gear (the fireman outfit) and had the chemox apparatus strapped on, with the mask around our neck and our helmet in our hands.

For those who don't know, Navy firefighters (at least in Canada) look like this: (sorry for the crappy picture, I don't have the pictures some people took during fire phase...)



(For those keeping track, this picture was taken on the Fredericton, back in September.)

The big black thing on the chest is the chemox apparatus.

The problem with chemox is that, while being a fully closed system that is very effective, it is also incredibly fragile and prone to malfunctions--caused by human error. The lungs are extremely easy to collapse, and it is nearly impossible to restart the unit without breaking the seal.

So, the day began with some horizontal attacks on small fires. An horizontal attack means you're moving across a deck and opening doors, while carrying the 1 1/2 inch firehose, and fighting the fire. For our training, we had to cross two doors to get to the fire. The first was "cold," which means it is relatively safe, and the next one was "hot," which means there is potentially a fire right behind it, and it's the dangerous part of fighting fires. Anyway, in my case, I ran into a bit of a problem: for some reason, we had too much hose (we had brought too much in the room) and when I turned to attack the fire properly (by placing my body perpendicular to it and spraying back and forth) I collapsed a lung. I got backup somewhat quickly, but finding yourself breathing vacuum tends to make time seem incredibly slow in passing.

In the afternoon, we had to go down a hatch and attack a fire in the engine room. The engine room, as I had been told, was a raging inferno. Basically, it is a rather large room with walkways all around it, and fire pretty much all over, except immediately below the ladder. So, we went down and I started getting out of breath, because of the exertion and the limited amount of air you have in the chemox lungs. I got the hose back from the backup (procedure point.. the nozzleman is the last person to go down) and we started moving across the room to fight the fire. It was hot and looked pretty much like hell. It's pitch-black except for the fires raging all over, and you basically can't see anything except those fires. Anyway, as we turned again, I must have brushed up too close to the railing, and again (you guessed it) collapsed a lung. It wasn't so bad when the exit was just a few meters away and on the same deck, but this time, I was across a firey room, down a ladder, and a few meters from the "safe" zone.

I had to get backup--in itself not too time-consuming--then walk over to the ladder, climb, call for backup, and stumble over to where it was safe, all without breathing. While it doesn't seem to be too long, it turns into an eternity when you were out of breath before you even stopped breathing, and then you have to carry yourself and your equipment up a deck and across all that space.

I wanted to go back, I really did, but I was in no condition to do that. Between the lack of oxygen, the dehydration (despite my best efforts and my drinking of all the water I could get my hands on, I still sweat faster than I could drink) and the exhaustion, I was in no condition to do that. I almost had to go anyway, but one of the actual firemen talked with the chief instructor and I got to go away. In a way it pisses me off because I really wanted to do it, if only to prove to myself I'm not a complete dweeb who's unable to do anything, and also because as scared as I was going down that hatch into the raging inferno, I knew I could go through with it.

Anyway, I liked it, even though it was kind of freaky to lose my air in the middle of a fire and all that. I liked the flood training better, though.

With my luck this week, tomorrow's trip to the gas hut will end up with my gas mask malfunctionning and me getting a great big breath of CS gas. Yippee!