Keeping in contact with the family is difficult at the best of times. Until recently, we had three Mini-M satellite telephones on the ship. The phones are still there, but the nation-wide contract expired at the end of September, and there seems to be nothing currently in sight. As annoying as the phone sometimes was (it’s hard getting used to a 2-second delay from when I speak until my wife or daughter hears me), it was at least a way that I could hear my family’s voices and that they could hear mine. Coordinating times could be a pain (my current time zone is 19 hours ahead), but it was worth the effort to spend my weekly 20 minutes talking back home.

Now that the phone is gone, members of the ship’s company have to look for other methods of reaching home. Our internet connection, slow though it may be for web browsing, is more than sufficient for sending email back home. It doesn’t need a live connection, so timing coordination isn’t as important. I don’t get the joy of hearing my 2-year-old’s reaction to hearing me on the speaker phone (Dad? Dad!! Dad!!), but I’m able to get news from home and send some back. I’m able to talk to my wife and daughter, and I know that my son can hear what I send, even if it’s not spoken in my own voice.

When I’m in foreign port, I find an internet café and log into Skype. I bring my own laptop with me, so I know that I’ll have a working webcam when I get there. I can see and talk with my family. I’ll see my son’s latest temper tantrum turn into a huge smile when he recognizes my face and voice. I get a bit more interactivity than with the other methods; it’s the next-best thing I’ve found to being able to hold my family in my arms. I can at least see them face-to-face. I can talk to my son, and watch him tell me to come home in sign language (my wife translates for me on voice-only calls). Even though it hurts that I can’t come home, I know that he knows and recognizes me, and that he misses me as much as my wife and daughter do.

The old-fashioned mail package is also available, although much more limited. Every few ports, we send and receive mail, which can include letters, gifts, stories, or anything else that will fit in the box (and is allowed by mail rules). It’s much slower than the other methods, but it also includes something that they can hold onto. My local MFRC had a craft session before the last mail call; both of my kids’ artwork came to me in anMFRC package. These are now posted in my office, where I can see them every day.

The internet, of course, has given us more ways to communicate, but they are less than reliable. It can take forever to load Facebook when two hundred sailors are sharing a 512 kbps connection (about 1/20 the speed of a cable modem). Even posting to my blog would be nearly impossible without the aid of Postie, which allows me to post to my blog from my email account.

Any of my readers who spend time with their families apart and use other means of communication with them, feel free to comment. You could help another family stay in touch while separated.

This has now changed. As of today, August 16 2011, we are once again the Royal Canadian Navy. The date was chosen as the 100th anniversary of the original granting of the “royal” designation by King George V, when the newly-formed Canadian Naval Service became the Royal Canadian Navy. This is the name we fought under in both world wars, as well as the Korean war, until the unification of the Canadian Forces in 1968.

Although this is still largely a cosmetic change, this will also have an impact on the outlook of the Navy. Many of our oldest traditions come from the Royal Navy, and were brought unchanged into the Royal Canadian Navy. With the return to our roots, some of these traditions will bring on new meaning, or re-take their old meanings, as we continue to perform our duty for our country and our loved ones at home.

In addition to changing mission focus, we have changed trainee crew. Several people who have finished their training packages, or whose temporary duty has expired, flew home during our port visit to Singapore. To replace them, received a new group of trainees. Some of these have shipboard experience, and are training for new positions within their trades. Some have just returned from shore-based training (yes, it still exists). Some are fresh-faced, eager new Ordinary Seamen, stepping on ship for the first time.

My department has a large selection of the last group. We have five new trainees who will be the pilot group for our new training system. The Weapons Engineering Technicians (W Eng Tech) have started with a basic classroom introduction to systems. Now, they get to solidify that classroom training with real-world experience on live equipment. The difference between the old system and the new is that they have no specialty at this point. They will get a basic introduction to each of the five combat systems technical sections (Communications, Sonar, Radar, Armament, and Fire Control), followed by more in-depth training in each of the sections. Only after that has been completed will they make their specialty selections.

Another change to the training is the inclusion of boards in the training process. Sitting a board used to be done at the senior levels only. Now, each apprentice will sit a board to determine their progression to journeyman. The old classroom setting is gone at this level – now, the trainee will learn on live kit in the field¹ and will have to convince the CSE chief, the CSE officer, and the senior tech that they are capable of handling the systems that will be entrusted to them. This will be a challenge, as the student will be given limited time to answer verbal questions. This will eliminate the possibility to return to a question after reviewing the other parts of the exam. It will also challenge those who may not be comfortable with the idea of public speaking, which is unfortunate as many good techs are uncomfortable with being in front of an audience; especially when said audience knows the subject better than they do themselves.

As with all new systems, this training system will have its own set of growing pains. Hopefully these will be worked out fairly quickly, but in the meantime it will give everyone involved, from trainee to trainer, a challenge.

One of these initiatives is called “Books from Afar”. Basically, the sailor (in this case, me) is recorded while reading a children’s book.  This recording is then sent to our base’s Military Family Resource Centre, where my kids will be recorded as they watch my video.  Additionally, they will have a copy of the book, so they can read along with me.  Books on the “official list” have copies on the ship as well as at the MFRC.

I, however, decided to play by slightly different rules.  Instead of using the ship-provided books, which are the same ones everyone else gets to read, I bought two books while I was in Australia.  Neither of these books is on the ship’s list, because both of them are local Australian books.  For my son, I got Little Devils, a book about two Tasmanain devil twins who may be crazy but they save the day.  For my daughter, The Tale of Kaz Kangaroo, a story from the kangaroo’s point of view when the European settlers first came to Australia.

This isn’t the same as being in the same room as my kids, being able to hold them and talk to them directly.  It’s not even the same as talking on the webcam, where we can interact even if in a limited format.  But it is something that the military has done, within the limitations of the service and the situations that we are in, to allow at least some degree of contact between deployed members and our families at home.

D’you hear there, combat officer speaking.  Unknown aircraft have been detected approaching the task group.  Intelligence indicates indicates that enemy forces are operating in the area.  Therefore, assume air threat status yellow.  Weapons stand-to.  On warbags.

 Offices throughout the ship empty as everyone rushes to get their warbags (containing fire-resistant hood and gloves, bandages, and lifejacket), and to prepare weapon systems.  The weapons themselves have already been loaded at the begining of Exercise Talisman Sabre, but the operators enjoying a spare hour on their watch are dumping coffee in the sink as they head to their stations.

I just head to the communications control room, where my jacket and warbags are always waiting for me.  I pick them up, then head back to my office, hearing the normal chatter that comes before a known drill.  “I give it 10 minutes.”  “No, they like the top and bottom of the hour, I’ll say 15.”  “45.”  “30.”

I look at my watch, put my wager on 15.  My apprentice has chosen 25 minutes, my boss 45.  We all know that we’re going to be “attacked”, but the timeline is anyone’s guess.  No matter how long it takes, there’s still time for paperwork.  Right?

Bong bong, bong bong

Maybe not.

Action stations, action stations.  Hostile aircraft incoming

Well, we all knew it was coming.

I log off my workstation, put on my anti-flash hood and gloves, then leave my office, still zipping up my jacket, to join the organized confusion of people rushing to their stations.  A few traffic jams as people take their turns going through doors or line up at the top or bottom of a ladder, but I’m at my station and punching into the ERT network as I hear the “one minute” pipe.  Good timing then; we have six minutes to close up from an unwarned state, but we’ve already been warned so the timings should be tighter, and they are.

Aircraft approaching our unit.  Indication of missile separation.  Incoming missiles – Ship’s company brace for shock.

I turn to hold the handles on one of the radios.  A minute passes, then the boom of a training explosive detonating in the water.

Impact on the starboard quarter.  Ship’s company unbrace.  Rapid survey out.

The survey goes out, and finds a very unlikely combination of damage.  Somehow, all of our weapons were damaged and knocked out – but nothing else was hit.  I still haven’t figured out how one missle took out our foreward and after weapons, but didn’t touch anything at all in the middle.  Magic missile I guess.

However the simulated damage occured, we dealt with it.  Of course, none of it was quick, but it was fairly simple.  In the end, we got the training in (for both the foreward and after damage control teams), and secured the exercise within the hour. 

At least one hour per day, I’m required to sit at a phone waiting for a “help desk” phone call that rarely comes, while everyone around me is getting on with their jobs.  That gives me one hour a day to sit at a desk with a pencil and a clipboard full of looseleaf.

I’ve decided to revisit my failed NaNoWriMo ’10 project.  I have a fair idea of where I fell off the rails (which, unfortunately is near the beginning…), but I found what I can salvage, and was able to face my blank sheets of paper with an idea of where I want to go with them.  This is a much better start than I originally had, so hopefully my results will be equally better.

I’m not, however, as brave as some writers.  One of my fellow sailors (although currently posted to a different unit) is also into writing.  He doesn’t NaNo, but he _does_ post his work.  I know he was looking for constructive criticism on at least one project, but be at least somewhat nice – as grumpy as he tries to portray himself, he’s a good guy.

Maybe one day I’ll have something that I feel is ready for the light of day, but my work is currently growing like a mushroom – in the dark, and pretty much full of shit.

“.50 cal to ready! Flare to the stern standby. Gunners fire on target in range. Eyes! Eyes! Eyes! Ears! Ears! Ears! Flare out!”

A hissing sound and a trail of smoke leads up into the night sky. A few seconds, then the flare ignites and the machine guns open up. Tracer rounds split the darkness as they shoot.

This is Canada Day on a warship in the middle of the South Pacific. Our families back home are attending BBQs and fireworks. For us, there is no BBQ picnic. Alcohol is limited to two beer per man, and only if you’re off watch. Fireworks? We make our own. Paraflares and .50-calibre machine gun tracer rounds. Not as pretty as the fireworks back home, but it’s what we have available. And it is truly a unique way of celebrating the holiday.

To all Mariners, Matelots, Sailors and Sea Dogs, Greetings: Whereas upon the 18th day of June, 2011 the good ship HMCS Ottawa did venture within our Royal Domain, crossing the equator at 165 23.8W Longitide; and that among the company was one Master Seaman Lacqui who, being in every way unclean, foul, loathsome and unfit to voyage upon Our Seas, did undergo diverse trials and tribulations and was duly initiatied into the solemn rites of the Ancient Order of the Deeps. Proclaim it through all the waters that having endured these tests and being found worthy, We, Neptunus Rex, by ancient power and right Master of the Oceans, Lord of the Seven Seas and Ruler of the Raging Main, do now admit them to Our Court and number them among Our Trusty Shellbacks from this date forward unto the ending of the world. Therefore do We command all Mermaids, Eels, Nereids, Tritons, Dolphins, Skates, Rays, Sharks, Lobsters, Crabs and all other subjects of Our Watery Realm to give them all honour and respect or suffer Our Royal Wrath. Done by Our Hand and Great Seal at Our Court in the Equatorial Latitudes.

(Signed) Davey Jones, His Majesty’s Scribe (Signed) Neptunus Rex Oceanis

This was the wording on the certificate I received today. It means that I am officially a shellback, a sailor who has crossed the equator while aboard a ship. It also means that I am now in the southern hemisphere, on my way to Australia

The new place is great.  The bedrooms are each a bit smaller to make up for the fourth room, but the overall floor area is bigger.  This means that we have a much larger kitchen and living room.  Storage is also not an issue here, with two fairly large storage rooms and a crawl space (as opposed to the single, small room and crawl space previous).  One of the storage rooms is currently full of boxes (I never realized how many books I own!!!), and many of the less-used toys are still boxed up (toy room exists – toy storage not so much), but for the most part, we are moved in and ready to carry on with living here.

The posting process is going a bit more slowly.  Since the ship is getting ready to sail, we have a leave period.  I reported to ship right in the middle, so many of the people I needed to see for my in routine were not available.  That’s not too bad, however, since I will have a captive audience in another week’s time.

Unfortunately, one of the people who was not available was the security officer.  Without that signature on my network application, I am currently without work email or internet.  More unfortunately, I am duty today, so I will be onboard today without internet access (which sucks), on a ship that I’ve spent a grand total of five hours onboard.  Although I know the general duties of a watchkeeper, I don’t know this ship’s quirks.  Hopefully there’s nothing too major.

The dryer just beeped, which means my uniform (unboxed yesterday) is now ready for me to put on.  Heading out the door very soon.