The Time Machine–Nothing Prepared Me for the Distortion of Time and Space on a Submarine

[rangerrebew]

The Time Machine–Nothing Prepared Me for the Distortion of Time and Space on a Submarine
DECEMBER 20, 2022| DAVID CHETLAIN
 
I spent 18 months in training before reporting to my first submarine. I learned a lot about damage control, sonar, electronics, and how to distinguish a sperm whale from a humpback whale. But nothing prepared me for the disconnection from Earth that distorted my perception of time while submerged.

I slipped the surly bonds one cold, clear early Sunday morning, disappearing down the missile compartment hatch for my first submarine patrol. “Say goodbye to the sun,” I heard someone say as we silently headed north through the Puget Sound. “You will see it again in 83 days.”
 
I registered the time—eight a.m. Four hours until my first watch. Or so I thought. Beneath the Earth’s surface, we were on Zulu time. It was eight a.m. … now it’s six p.m.? Just like that? Welcome to the Time Machine, young man, where time is just a number in your logbook.

I trudged upstairs to assume my first sonar watch, and by the time I was relieved five and a half hours later, I was starving. I could hardly wait to try the great submarine food I’d heard about. But this was “midrats” where they served leftovers or cold cuts or, in the absence of those, opened a can of ravioli. I choked something down, performed cleanup duties, and looked at the time. Past midnight now. Except my body said it was 2:30 in the afternoon. Now what?

https://thewarhorse.org/military-submarine-a-time-machine-for-new-american-sailor/

[andy58-in-nh]

The Time Machine–Nothing Prepared Me for the Distortion of Time and Space on a Submarine
DECEMBER 20, 2022| DAVID CHETLAIN
 
I spent 18 months in training before reporting to my first submarine. I learned a lot about damage control, sonar, electronics, and how to distinguish a sperm whale from a humpback whale. But nothing prepared me for the disconnection from Earth that distorted my perception of time while submerged.

I slipped the surly bonds one cold, clear early Sunday morning, disappearing down the missile compartment hatch for my first submarine patrol. “Say goodbye to the sun,” I heard someone say as we silently headed north through the Puget Sound. “You will see it again in 83 days.”
 
I registered the time—eight a.m. Four hours until my first watch. Or so I thought. Beneath the Earth’s surface, we were on Zulu time. It was eight a.m. … now it’s six p.m.? Just like that? Welcome to the Time Machine, young man, where time is just a number in your logbook.

I trudged upstairs to assume my first sonar watch, and by the time I was relieved five and a half hours later, I was starving. I could hardly wait to try the great submarine food I’d heard about. But this was “midrats” where they served leftovers or cold cuts or, in the absence of those, opened a can of ravioli. I choked something down, performed cleanup duties, and looked at the time. Past midnight now. Except my body said it was 2:30 in the afternoon. Now what?

https://thewarhorse.org/military-submarine-a-time-machine-for-new-american-sailor/

@rangerrebew

Merry Christmas and thanks for that story. 

Submarine tales always remind me of my acquaintance with Captain Edward Beach, who (quite literally) wrote the book on submarine life.

He was a truly fascinating man who spent years commanding a boat under the waves. And man, could he tell a story.