TRADITIONAL POST - MUSICAL

 6 December 2025: Well, here we are in December already; Christmas looms and it's time for our traditional musical post indicative of the season. We've always enjoyed this happy music, and feedback from our loyal followers suggests many of you do as well. So, without further ado (drum roll, please),here is the U.S. Navy string band's rendition of - well, Jingle Bells (kind of!)

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https://youtu.be/AfQAcu2b-OI?list=RDAfQAcu2b-OI

 

note: due to my tech challenges, please highlight the above link and right click on "open"

 

Enjoy and we'll see you in a couple of weeks for our traditional Christmas post. 

Until then, stay safe!

                                            Fair Winds, 

                                                 Old Salt 

UNUSUAL SUBMARINE STORY

 22 November 2025: 

Late November folks! Thanksgiving (here in the U.S.) looms and Christmas is just over a month away.... Wow! Soon we'll be posting our traditional Christmas and yearend offerings and moving on to 2026! Where has the time gone?!

 Our last posting about the USS Buckley and a submarine drew some favorable comments, so we thought continuing a submarine theme might be of interest. To an old destroyerman, submarines were always the unseen threat, often of the fatal variety. This one, the R-14, was certainly not unseen, but I suspect those who did see her might have quit drinking for a while! 

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The R-boats built by the Fore River Shipbuilding Company, R-1 through R-14, and the Union Iron Works, R-15 through R-20, are sometimes considered a separate class, R-1-class, from those built by the Lake Torpedo Boat Company, R-21 through R-27, R-21-class.^[2] 

 

The submarines had a length of 186 feet 3 inches (56.8 m) overall, a beam of 18 ft (5.5 m), and a mean draft of 15 ft 6 in (4.7 m). They displaced 574 long tons (583 t) on the surface and 685 long tons (696 t) submerged. The R-1-class submarines had a crew of 2 officers and 27 enlisted men. They had a diving depth of 200 ft (61.0 m).^[2][4]

USS R-14 (SS-91), also known as "Submarine No. 91", was an R-1-class coastal and harbor defense submarines of the United States Navy commissioned after the end of World War I.

 R-14, under acting command of Lieutenant Alexander Dean Douglas, ran out of usable fuel due to seawater contamination, and lost radio communications on 10 May 1921, while on a surface search mission for the seagoing tug Conestoga, about 140 nautical miles (259 km; 161 mi) southeast of the island of Hawaii.^[7] Since R-14's electric motors did not have enough battery power to propel her to Hawaii, the ship's officers and chief petty officers came up with a novel solution to the problem.^[8] It was decided they should try to sail the submarine to the port of Hilo, Hawaii. 

 

A foresail was made of eight hammocks hung from a top boom made of pipe bunk frames lashed firmly together, all tied to the vertical kingpost of the torpedo loading crane forward of the submarine's fairwater. Seeing that this gave R-14 a speed of about 1 kn (1.9 km/h; 1.2 mph), as well as rudder control, a mainsail was made of six blankets, hung from the sturdy radio mast (the top sail in the photograph). This added another 0.5 kn (0.9 km/h; 0.6 mph) to the speed. A mizzen was then made of eight blankets hung from another top boom made of bunk frames, all tied to the vertically placed boom of the torpedo loading crane.^[9] This sail added another 0.5 kn. 

 

 

Around 12:30, on 12 May 1921, the crew was able to begin charging the submarine's batteries by dragging the propellers through the water while under sail. The windmill effect of these slowly turning propellers turned the generators providing a small amount of voltage that was directed to the batteries.^[10] The crew worked together to solve their various problems, and the boat sailed slowly for Hilo.^[11] After 64 hours under sail, at slightly varying speeds, R-14 entered Hilo Harbor, under battery propulsion, on the morning of 15 May 1921. Douglas received a letter of commendation for the crew's innovative actions from his submarine division commander, Commander Chester W. Nimitz, USN.^[12]

                                           ^{~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}

That's a creative solution - and one not many would have thought of - to a potentially difficult situation! Bravo zulu to the crew of R-14! 

Until next time, stay safe!

                                Fair Winds, 

                                         Old Salt 

 

HAND TO HAND COMBAT

 10 November 2025: After the last post, we received some comments about the soporific nature of the post, so we thought to bring you something a bit more exciting this week.... as a matter of interest, the ship featured in this post held a special place in our memory, as USS Buckley sailed in the destroyer squadron with which I spent several years, DESRON ONE (San Diego) and I knew her well. Sadly, like so many of her contemporaries, she is gone now, either sunk for target practice or turned into razor blades. But this is an amazing story from Military.com.

                                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 The U.S. Destroyer Crew That Fought a German U-Boat in Hand-to-Hand Combat

In an era of hypersonic missiles, stealth fighters, and nuclear subs, it’s hard to picture sailors going toe-to-toe with the enemy on a ship’s deck. Yet during World War II, the crew of a brand-new destroyer escort, USS Buckley, did just that by slugging it out in hand-to-hand combat with German sailors from U-66 in the middle of the Atlantic.

For centuries, naval battles were fought up close, with boarding parties storming ships and melee weapons deciding victories. By the 20th century, those days were seemingly long gone. But on May 6, 1944, the Buckley’s crew proved that the basics of naval warfare were still useful.

Commissioned in 1943, the USS Buckley was a destroyer escort, smaller than a destroyer, but built to protect Allied convoys from the ever-present menace of German U-boats. Named after Aviation Ordnanceman John D. Buckley who was killed at Pearl Harbor, the ship initially trained other escort crews before joining the Battle of the Atlantic in spring 1944.

That May, Buckley joined Task Group 21.11, built around the escort carrier USS Block Island. Their mission was to protect convoys and hunt U-boats. The work was dangerous, but the escorts had radar, sonar, depth charges, and air cover. It was supposed to be a battle of technology and maneuver, not fists, knives, and coffee mugs.

Just after 3 a.m. on May 6, one of Block Island’s reconnaissance aircraft, piloted by Lt. Jimmie Sellers, spotted U-66, a veteran German submarine commanded by Oberleutnant zur See Gerhard Seehausen. The sub was on its ninth patrol and had been out to sea since January. U-66 was worn down and in desperate need of supplies, so it surfaced to recharge its electric engines and wait for assistance near the Cape Verde Islands.

 

Sellers relayed the U-boat’s position to the nearest American ship, the destroyer escort Buckley. Lt. Cmdr. Brent Abel, her skipper, ordered flank speed ahead to chase down the submarine.

Mistaking the Buckley for a friendly supply ship, Seehausen fired three flares to make his position known in the dark. The U-boat quickly realized its mistake and launched a torpedo at the approaching target. Buckley managed to dodge it, though several sailors noticed it skim alongside their ship. Moments later, the submarine’s machine guns opened fire, which was answered by Buckley’s 3-inch guns and a storm of 20mm and 40mm shells. The initial salvo hammered U-66’s deck and killed several crewmen.

Desperate, the U-boat fired another torpedo which skimmed across Buckley’s bow as the destroyer escort turned hard to the right. The two ships closed to within 20 yards, blasting away at each other in a fight that looked more like an age of sail broadside than modern warfare.

Over the radio, Sellers narrated the engagement as he witnessed it from above, “Buckley has opened fire, sub is returning fire. Boy! I have never before seen such concentration! Buckley is cutting hell out of the conning tower!”

Abel decided to finish the fight the old-fashioned way. He ordered his ship to ram the submarine.

 

The destroyer escort smashed into the U-boat, locking the two vessels together. Chaos unfolded. Some German sailors dove overboard while others manned machine guns and the deck cannon. A handful of desperate submariners grabbed knives, clubs, and wrenches and leapt aboard the Buckley.

 

The Americans were stunned as the order to repel boarders went out. Sailors hurled shell casings, coffee mugs, kitchenware and even a full coffee pot at the enemy. One boatswain’s mate drew his .45 pistol and dropped a German attacker. Others swung fists, axes, and improvised weapons in the dark. One U.S. sailor even broke his hand punching a German in the face, the only American injury of the entire fight.

Within minutes, the boarding party was defeated. The surviving Germans were escorted below deck by a sailor armed only with a hammer.

As Buckley pulled away, U-66, badly damaged but still afloat, circled around and slammed into the escort again, wrecking her propeller shaft. Seehausen tried to get clear, but an American sailor managed to toss a grenade into the exposed conning tower. Fire spread through the submarine, and moments later, U-66 slipped beneath the waves with her commander still aboard.

Buckley rescued 36 Germans, many severely wounded. Despite holes raked across her hull and a crippled propeller, the ship had survived and won one of the most unique naval engagements in history.

                                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~

That had to be one of the most unique engagements of World War II. And probably a bit more exciting than why the island on an aircraft carrier is on the starboard side! 

And as tomorrow is 11 November, the day we celebrate veterans in the United States, it seemed appropriate to offer a post with a naval theme! So happy Veterans Day to all our U.S. readers who served. Thank you!

Until next time, stay safe!

                                        Fair Winds,

                                              Old Salt 

   

AIRCRAFT CARRIERS' ISLANDS

 1 November 2025: OK! Slow down, damn it! The year is rushing by and we are just standing around letting it! [ed: though I am not sure what we might do to slow it down!]. This post is the one we planned on a couple of weeks ago, but which got bumped by the amazing feat of the two young ladies who successfully rowed across the Pacific Ocean. We are still amazed at that endeavor and the courage and determination it took! The following is from Slashgear.com and covers a subject of (probably) limited interest save for a few of us who might have experienced time at sea with or without aircraft carriers.

                                     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even the most landlocked layman knows an aircraft carrier when they see one. Their long, flat flight deck allows them to carry, launch, and land aircraft, and they are immediately recognizable from any other ship in the Navy. What an enthusiast might not realize that an expert probably would, is that the superstructure jutting up from the deck (known as an island on a carrier) contains the command and control functions of the ship, including the bridge, air-traffic control, radar, and communications antenna, and on older models, the funnel (smoke stack).

 

The first aircraft carrier with an island is reported to have been proposed by H.A. Williamson, Flight Officer on the British Royal Navy's seaplane carrier, HMS Ark Royal, in 1915. His idea was initially ignored, and the HMS Argus was built in 1918, sporting a fully flush deck because wind tunnel tests had convincingly shown that including any structure on the deck created incredible turbulence.

 However, after the Argus set sail, pilots began reporting they needed a visual reference — preferably located on the starboard side (the right-hand side of the vessel when facing forward towards the bow) – that would allow them to better judge their height off the deck as they came in for a landing. A flimsy wooden and canvas structure was erected, and the problem was solved. Islands on nearly every aircraft carrier (Japanese World War II-era Hiryu and Akagi unsuccessfully experimented with islands on the port side) have since been situated on the starboard (right) side of carriers, thanks to the simple matter of how propellers spin on airplanes.

The engines on most Western aircraft rotate clockwise (when viewed from the cockpit), and in doing so, create what is known as the "P Factor." This aerodynamic phenomenon (also known as "asymmetric propeller loading") happens because, as the propeller blade moves down, it takes a bigger "bite" of air than when it moves up. This, in turn, causes the plane to yaw and naturally move to the left.

 There are actually four reasons why a plane naturally veers to the left when it takes off. Isaac Newton's third law of motion states that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Torque comes into play because the propeller spinning causes the plane's body to twist to port (left), and the pilot must correct for this natural reaction on takeoffs and landings. A third effect is known as "Gyroscopic Precession," and the physics involved primarily impact planes equipped with tailwheels when the tail lifts off the runway while taking off.

 

The final effect that causes a left-turning tendency is known as "Spiraling Slipstream." This occurs when the propeller is moving fast but the plane is moving slowly, which is precisely the scenario during takeoff. The slipstreamed air created by the propeller wraps itself around the fuselage of the plane in a corkscrew spiraling pattern and eventually hits the left side of the aircraft's tail, making it yaw to the left. Since all of these naturally occurring physical interactions with propeller-driven airplanes made them veer left, it was clear to Williamson and other early carrier designers to place the island on the starboard (right) side, one of many interesting facts you probably didn't know about aircraft carriers.

                                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so now you know yet another useless bit of information about which you had no - none - zero curiosity! But that is the premise of Maritime Maunder - useless bits of maritime lore and history of limited interest. I feel we are living up to our credo!

Oh! and one more bit of info, hot off the press: it has been announced that the United States (namely the New York Yacht Club) will not be participating in the 2027 America's Cup competition. [ed: not surprising considering their miserable showing in the past two!]. That leaves only New Zealand, the current defender of the cup, and Great Britain as the challenger of record. It will be interesting to see how this plays out.

Until next time, stay safe.

                                          Fair Winds,

                                              Old Salt 

 

 

ROWING ACROSS THE PACIFIC OCEAN

18 October 2025: 

Welcome back to Maritime Maunder. We were planning on a different subject for today's post, but a really monumental event occurred just today which we thought was not only timely, but truly amazing; two women just completed rowing from Peru to Cairns Australia. Here are the details from the British Guardian.

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 Six months in a rowboat in the South Pacific Ocean might sound like a nightmare.

 

 

The pair say they are keen for a “long-awaited pizza” when they arrive at Cairns Marlin Marina, which is expected to be any time between noon and 2pm AEST on Saturday. There, they will face the next physical challenge of regaining their “land legs”.

Their final approach to Queensland, Australia is proving as challenging as the crossing. Originally bound for Brisbane, stubborn headwinds forced a course change in August.

They are now navigating a new route, requiring guidance from Cairns fisher Alec Dunn, to weave through islands and the Great Barrier Reef.

 

Buoyed by letters from schoolchildren in their final approach, the duo credit their success to “stubborn determination from start to finish” during their time “spent in the wild in our teeny tiny rowing boat”.

But for British women Jess Rowe, 28, and Miriam Payne, 25, the blisters and salt sores are all just part of the adventure of a lifetime, as they row from South America to Australia in their 9 metre vessel, Velocity.

The aptly named Rowe and Payne are now approaching [ed: they finished this morning in Australia!] the finish line of what has been at times a torturous journey, with the pair expected to arrive in the city of Cairns in tropical far north Queensland at about midday local time on Saturday.

“Mother Nature has been utterly brutal at times but ultimately, she let us pass and we have loved our time living at sea,” Rowe and Payne tell the Guardian.

 

The pair pushed off from Lima, Peru, in May after an initial April attempt was cut short by rudder failure. Since their successful relaunch, they have rowed with calloused hands around the clock, averaging 50 nautical miles daily. By the end of their trip they will have rowed an estimated 8,300 nautical miles (15,300 km) while raising money for the Outward Bound Trust.

Their survival kit includes 400kg of food, 80% of it freeze-dried, “salty” the water desalinator, “dumpy” the loo bucket and, when a critical pipe failed, a pair of cut up underwear for repairs. A supply of leaves and micro greens are also harvested from an onboard growing unit, and occasionally they catch a fish on the line.

From a cramped rowing station (also know as “the office”), they have faced down 30ft waves, navigated shipping lanes and battled storms that silenced their electronics. They have persisted under star-filled skies and had close encounters with sharks, whales, dolphins, turtles, sea lions and birdlife.

The sun is a crucial ally, providing energy via solar panels. A system fault that led to the onboard solar-powered batteries discharging too quickly was a critical challenge. 

Overnight, they switch out every two hours, sleeping in shifts inside their small cabin while the other rows, using lightweight towels for bedding.

Nick Rowe, Jess’s dad, says they have to be extremely cautious with power, especially since the electrical systems run their vital water generator.

For much of the journey, the rowers had to switch off most other electronics due to the battery failure, including the chartplotter – a navigation device – and the beacon that alerts passing ships. This turned their rowboat into a “ghost ship,” adding constant manual navigation and lookout to their already exhausting schedule.

Once settled in Cairns, they want to invite children to visit them in the local marina for tours and hear “tales of the high seas”.

                                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What an amazing accomplishment - though why someone would do that quite escapes me! But they made it this morning, arriving in Cairns in the dark to a richly deserved welcome from thousands of fans. As mentioned in the body of the post, they were raising money for a cause, Outward Bound Trust. Their initial goal was $50,000 but they raised it twice, bringing in, at the end, nearly $100,000! Well done, ladies. You are toughed than most of us!

Until next time, stay safe.

                                                  Fair winds,

                                                             Old Salt