In the Soup

USS TWEEDY (DE 532), a Group II Destroyer Escort, found herself commissioned and stationed in Norfolk in early 1962, in response to the Berlin Crisis. The author, then a young LT(jg), was Communications Officer.

We returned from sea on a foggy April Friday in 1962, arriving off Cape Henry light about noon. The fog was heavy, particularly near land, and visibility varied from a few hundred yards to a hundred feet (the distance from bridge to jack staff). Common sense dictated that we anchor just inside Cape Henry, in Lynnhaven Anchorage. But common sense took a back seat to more pressing issues -- wives, girlfriends, and happy hour at the Club. So in we went.

The trip from Cape Henry to the Des-Sub Piers, at NOB, is 21 nautical miles, most of it in restricted waters. From Cape Henry you proceed WNW up Chesapeake Bay for about a mile, then enter Thimble Shoal Channel, a buoyed channel that leads north, ending at Thimble Shoal Light. It was here that the Battleship MISSOURI went aground in 1950, a visible and prolonged embarrassment to the Navy. At Thimble Shoal Light you turn left and enter Hampton Roads, passing between Willoughby Spit and Old Point Comfort. Another several miles and a gradual left turn brings you to NOB, abeam the carrier piers. Then it's a straight shot south to the Des-Sub Piers, located just north of Middle Ground.

So that's the route, and here's how we did it. Navy ships practice at low visibility navigation, with human eyes being replaced by radar and ears. Hearing is critical, because ships, whether anchored or underway, sound fog signals to announce their presence.

The risks of steaming in fog are twofold. First, the safe navigation of the ship (don't get lost or run aground). Second, avoiding collisions with other ships, anchored or groping along like you. Combat Information Center (CIC) handled the shipping picture and did it well, while the Navigator, Bill Pennewill, and I focused on the navigation on the bridge.

Collision avoidance requires a fog lookout, posted low in the bow or "the eyes" of the ship. Unencumbered by headphones, he listens for fog signals from other ships. A vessel underway sounds one long blast of its whistle every minute, while a ship at anchor gives a rapid ringing of its bell. Ships in fog are generally heard before being seen. And we heard more bells and whistles than we saw ships.

Our biggest collision danger came from large ships that might have given up, stopped, and anchored. If a small ship like TWEEDY had decided to anchor she would have pulled out of the channel, having enough water there for her draft. But a deep-draft ship, an oiler or cruiser, could not risk going aground and would drop anchor in the channel, partially blocking it. We passed many anchored, regular-Navy ships that were either less skillful or less foolhardy than TWEEDY.

I manned the SPA-4 radar repeater on the starboard side of the bridge. From the radar scope I identified landmarks and buoys, passing their ranges and bearings to QM1 Morgan, who recorded them in the Quartermaster's Notebook. Then Pennewill, working at the chart table, plotted the ship's position every one minute, giving course and speed recommendations to the Officer of the Deck. We were pretty good at this and kept our positions accurate even when making ten knots.

The Inland Rules of the Road required that a ship in fog go at a speed that would permit her to stop within half the distance of visibility. I recall we made the 21 miles in about three hours, so we averaged about 7 knots. Maneuvering bells ("999") were rung up on the lee helm, so we had only three speeds available: 10 kts, 5 kts, or all stop. Part of the trip obviously was at ten, a truly dangerous speed in fog. But we were young, full of ourselves, and lucky.

Our Commodore, CAPT Lathrop, COMCORTRON 4, was embarked, and he wisely decided to make himself scarce. Had we grounded or collided, the JAGMAN investigator would have asked him why, being on the bridge, he had not ordered the captain to slow down. So, lacking the will to overrule the skipper, he left the bridge for the forecastle, where, in his own words, "I helped look for the pier".

The unsung hero of this trip (besides Pennewill and me, of course) was our wonderful skipper, CDR Bill Moore, who quietly monitored our work from his chair on the bridge. He could have anchored, but he knew that we could and would pull it off. We'd have sooner cut off our right arms than let down this man. We returned his trust with ironclad loyalty and the finest performance we could muster.

CAPT Ned Mayo, USN (Ret)

9 January 2010