I saw God at 1000 feet.

Our month in Guam complete, we headed north to exchange the warm waters of the tropics for the icy waters of a Soviet harbor.

Two days out of Guam, we had fallen right back into our at sea shipboard routine with a mechanical ease.  Though not yet having left the tropical waters behind, I would soon find out that even in the tropics, the water is cold at 1000 feet.

One is never more aware of being surrounded by water than while standing watch in engine room lower level.  It’s the first watch qualified by the newest men aboard, because the awareness it creates certainly helps drive home the importance of being sure of your actions.

Whether standing watch in a t-shirt and dungarees or huddled against a main sea water pump, running in super slow, wearing a foul weather jacket and gloves, the watch stander in engine room lower level was the first to know of changing sea water conditions.

Hot water leak off to the bilge, from the Condensate Pump packing glands, of a submarine surrounded by the frigid waters of a Soviet harbor would fill the space with an eerie, knee high fog.  A fog so dense at times, it was difficult to see ones shoes.

 

While the heat of the Indian Ocean usually made it difficult to peel off a sweat soaked t-shirt at the end of a six-hour watch.

Returning forward, from a walk aft to check shaft lube oil temperatures, to see the sound powered phone white call light flash, I am told to start up the evaporator.

An important part of standing watch in engine room lower level, the evaporator makes fresh water from seawater.  Fresh water for steam plant make up, reactor plant make up, cooking, drinking and most importantly showers!!! 

Running the evaporator is vital to the success of the mission and to the comfort of the crew.  Though it can be a noisemaker and secured for long stretches to avoid giving away our position, any opportunity to keep our tanks filled needed to be taken advantage of.

Receiving the order to start it up I set about lining up seawater and steam.  A vacuum is drawn upon the shell of the machine and as the incoming seawater is heated to boiling, seawater flowing through a condenser cools that steam and turns it to fresh water, where it is sampled and then sent to the various tanks needing to be filled.

The brine left behind by the boiling off seawater is then pumped back overboard using a high-pressure brine pump.  A pump designed to discharge at whatever pressure is necessary, depending upon the depth of the submarine.

A fairly efficient process, which when running at maximum capacity, could produce up to 8000 gallons of fresh water per day.

Seawater and steam lined up, I open the overboard discharge valve of the high-pressure brine pump and step around the corner to the evaporator control panel.  The evaporator was now between the brine pump and me.

Checking seawater pressure and starting the pump, its familiar chugging sound is followed by a BANG!!! Though scary enough on it’s own, the BANG is followed by a LOUD HISSING SOUND!!!

Still around the corner from the source, the hissing sound tells me all I need to know. WATER IS GETTING INTO THE PEOPLE TANK!!! WE’VE GOT FLOODING!!!

Stopping the pump and stepping around the corner, I’m met with a face high blast of incoming seawater.  Yes, it’s salty and even in the tropics, its cold at 1000 feet!!!  My mind racing I as I reach through the spray for the overboard discharge valve, I’m reminded of the gallows humor used to ward off the fear of just such an event. 

Don’t worry about the flooding the fire will put it out!!!

Adrenaline pumping and keenly, yet almost eerily, aware of everything happening around me, I realize that attempting to start the drain pump, our most important piece of de-watering equipment, will probably give me just that, A FIRE!!!

Seawater had sprayed directly into the controller and windings of the drain pump and salt water does not react kindly with energized electrical equipment.  It was now imperative to stop the leak ASAP!!! I have no way of getting the water out!!!

Blindly reaching into the overhead to grab the hand wheel of the overboard discharge valve, while continuing to be showered with incoming seawater, the struggle now was to shut it against sea pressure wanting to force it in the opposite direction.

A combination of adrenaline, youth and maybe some help from the St Elmo meddle around my neck, the valve was closed as the chief reached the bottom of the ladder.  Though happening in what seemed like a slow motion movie sequence, the whole event occurred in less time than it took me to write this account or for you to read it. 

Assessing the damage, a flexible coupling in the pipe between the high-pressure brine pump and the overboard discharge valve had come apart. 

Adrenaline subsiding, the drain pump controller dried out and the seawater pumped out, our attention now turned to how we could make the evaporator work, without the brine pump.  A little good old American ingenuity, a couple of fire hoses and a few hours later the evaporator was running again, quieter than ever and much simpler to use. 

Makes one wonder why it wasn’t designed like that in the first place.  An ominous start to a dangerous mission, it would be more than 45 days or more before we could drink away its stress.

Thirty-six years later, its memory is still fres