Guest Blogger #10
I guess, in an average week, I read 9-10 newspaper columnists, and they cover a wide spectrum of styles and politics. Some are bone fide liberals, some true-blue conservatives, some in the middle, and some hard to place. Sometimes I'll just skim if I'm not interested in the topic, or if I've heard it before (and trust me, this is an occupational hazard for column writers; do it long enough and you’re going to repeat yourself). But I never miss Larry.
Larry Simoneaux and I are neighbors of a sort; I imagine I could drive to his house in five minutes or so. But we also shared proximity to each other in the pages of the Mukilteo Beacon for three years (me on page three, Larry on page five in the Opinion section, since sometimes I don't offer opinions and Larry damn near always does).
We also run into each other occasionally in the local grocery store, where we share a favorite checker (Gayle). And a couple of years ago he was gracious enough to take me and my son fishing at a top-secret lake accessible only to Navy vets, a place north of here where apparently they talk to subs in the Pacific (I'd give you more information but then I’d have to kill you).
Larry currently writes a weekly column (Tuesdays) for the Everett Herald. You can read his latest column here. And on Tuesdays you can go to the Herald opinion section, scroll down to the bottom of the page, and usually find him there (they don't make it real easy). And if you want more (and I expect you will), you can go here and read some archived columns from his Beacon days (some of the links are buggy but you'll get a nice sampling; Clarence, don't read "Last Ride").
Having read him faithfully for years, I can put together a reasonable bio for you without even asking him. He was born around 1948. He hails from New Orleans. He attended the U.S. Naval Academy and served Uncle Sam during the Vietnam war. He once thought seriously about becoming a Roman Catholic priest until the opposite sex persuaded him to find a different calling. He's a NRA member and a gun safety instructor (and if you want his gun, he'd better be pretty dead and you'll probably need a crow bar). He likes to say, politically speaking, that he's a little right of Atilla the Hun, but he's always struck me as a pretty independent thinker, if a little excitable about Hillary. He's a new grandpa and the father of three, and the husband of one and one only.
But mostly, when I think about Lar, I think about the sea. After his Navy days, he spent years on research vessels (yeah, I don't know whether they're boats or ships so I'm not going to say), and some of my favorite writing of his has to do with his days on the water. I keep telling him there's a book there, but you can judge for yourself. I've got three of Larry's best sea stories on tap, and I'll probably use all three in the coming weeks. But this is my favorite.
Down to the sea in ships
by Larry Simoneaux
In the Naval Academy chapel, you’ll find - near the bottom of one of the stained glass windows - an excerpt from Psalm 107.
Every Sunday for four years, I saw that window and read those words. Later in life, I came to understand their meaning.
Once, they were once brought home to me while we were operating in the Pacific Ocean - well south of the equator.
All morning we’d noticed that the swell height had been diminishing and the wind waves were disappearing. Because of this, the ship was barely pitching or rolling. Then, shortly after noon, the wind dropped out completely. Zero knots. Not the slightest breeze.
About an hour later, we experienced something I’ve only seen one other time in all the years I was at sea. The Pacific Ocean - in our location - went completely calm. There wasn’t the slightest ripple nor were there any waves or swells. The ocean was as flat as a sheet of glass. The only disturbance was our wake - so I stopped the ship.
Imagine all of the millions of square miles of ocean. Imagine the winds, storms and gales that occur on the surface of that ocean. All of these cause disturbances that are transmitted for thousands of miles in every direction. Yet, for as far as we could see, the ocean was nothing more than a smooth, blue sheet of water. With the ship stopped, it became even more impressive because there was absolutely no motion at all.
For the thirty minutes that it lasted, we were alone in a motionless environment and were - as best described by a verse from literature - “like a painted ship on a painted ocean.”
It was, in the truest sense of the word, remarkable.
In another place, at another time, we were sailing south of the Antarctic Circle to allow our scientific party to perform ocean chemistry experiments. In that area of the ocean, icebergs are both numerous and very large. Some can be miles across. That night, we’d settled down on station and were maneuvering just enough to maintain our position.
I’d come onto the bridge well after dark to see how things were going and had settled into my chair. Outside, the wind was holding at about 20 - 25 knots and there was a large swell running. Talk had subsided and there was no radio traffic, so the noise level on the bridge was very low. Soon, though, we all became aware of an eerie sound. Off in the distance, we kept hearing a muffled “boom.” It sounded as if the biggest bass drum in the world was being struck at intervals of about thirty seconds.
It was hard to see anything in the dark, but - from radar - we knew there were several large bergs nearby. None were drifting in our direction. For the entire night, though, that noise resonated across the water.
As dawn broke, we could finally see the iceberg nearest us - over two miles away. It was about a mile long by a half-mile wide and extended at least 100 feet above the water. While we were watching, a huge swell crashed into the leading edge of the berg and spray literally exploded over its top. Shortly thereafter, the “boom” reached us.
We realized that - all night - we’d been hearing those swells crash into the berg. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and gave you an appreciation of the raw power of the sea you were intruding upon.
On still another cruise, we had scientists aboard to identify, observe, and count whales and dolphins in various areas of the South Pacific.
There were good and bad days. Some days the whales and dolphins showed up. Some days they didn’t. On one particular day, however, I was called to the bridge to see something few get to see. For a short period of time, for as far as you could see, the ocean was teeming with dolphins that were leaping and diving all around us. Think numbers in the thousands and you’d be close.
It was as if our ship was the only show around and everyone with flippers had come to see the big white boat in the middle of the ocean. “Spectacular” is the word that comes, most readily, to mind.
Three events. Each took me back to the words on a stained glass window.
So, if you ever get to Annapolis, take the time to visit the Naval Academy chapel.
Look for that stained glass window.
I think it’s to the left of the altar.
The words are but an excerpt. The verse, in its entirety, is as follows: “They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters; These see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.”
Believe those words.
They were inspired.
7:09:45 AM 
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