I will never forget the first time I ever got seasick. It was one of the worst experiences of my life and was so bad, my fears about the meaning of the second statement rapidly threatened to end what few remaining minutes I was sure I had to live. It was November, 1973. Straight out of the Coast Guard boot camp I was assigned to one of the best duty stations then available in the Old Guard, The Umpqua River Lifeboat Station at Winchester Bay, Oregon. I was pretty green and inexperienced but filled with enthusiasm about the prospects of being a member of one of the elite units in the U.S. Coast Guard. So, when the opportunity came for me to make my first ride on one of the fabulous 44 foot motor lifeboats, the legendary CG44303, I jumped at the opportunity.
The Umpqua River Bar is considered one of the most treacherous crossings on the west coast. At it's worse, there could be multiple layers of 25 to 30 foot breakers booming across that narrow stretch of opening between the south and north jetties. When it was like that, nothing came in or went out. Our 44's were the only vessel capable of navigating through surf conditions like that, and we would only do so in an emergency. Luckily, for us on that day, the conditions were not so dramatic, but they were developing into a potential nasty situation with 10 to 12 foot breakers randomly breaking across the bar like rows of soldiers marching in rhythm to a musical beat. Several trawlers were wanting to come across before the bar closed up and were jumpy about coming across without a 44 on station.
Myron Dale our first class bos'nmate waved at me to come over.
"You ready for your first bar patrol?"
"You bet I am...let's do it", I said rather naively.
"Okay, then it could get nasty out there", he said warning me about what we might run into, " We could be out there for a while."
"I'm ready."
On our way out to ready the CG44303, because we would be on station through lunch, our cook made us some baloney sandwiches and handed us a thermos of coffee. Within a few minutes we had the 303 fired up and idled out of the boathouse.
Myron lifted the radio microphone and contacted the station, "Station Umpqua River...CG44303 underway." Red Oneil was our engineer on this run and his fire engine red hair poofed out from under his hat in a rather non-regulation manner. "Hey Sport...first time out huh." He said with his characteristic sandy-faced grin
"Yeah I guess so."
"Should be a piece of cake...we do this all the time. If anything happens, I'll tell you what to do...don't worry about anything."
I nodded again with my naive confidence.
The powerful twin Cummins diesels vibrated below deck and filled the air with their deep report even at idle speed. As we turned into the main channel, Myron shoved the throttles full forward and those engines roared like two lions after a kill. You could feel the power they possessed as they shoved the hull through the water. It was thrilling to say the least. I am finally here, I thought, actually getting involved in the action.
It took a few minutes to reach the bar area where we stopped just inside where the main channel crossed through. About five trawlers were lined up outside the bar waiting for it to lay down enough for them to come across. Breakers on the bar always occur in a series which varies somewhat, four or five, maybe as many as six or seven breakers before it will lay down just long enough to allow a boat to come through, then it starts all over again.
One by one they started coming across, The Midnight Sun, The Harmony....It took several minutes between each pass and slowly they crossed over without incident. Where we were sitting was pretty rough as we caught all the residual swells and chop coming off the bar and as well designed as those 44's were, they rode like an old bathtub rolling and rocking and kicking up and down, back and forth. Before long I began to feel the effects of all that random movement. My head started spinning, I burped several times and passed a few other assorted gasses, downwind. My insides started to feel woozy in ways I have never felt before. I moved around hoping by standing in another spot might alleviate the symptoms. It didn't work. The fumes from the diesel engines wafted like toxic, poisonous gases all around us exacerbating my situation. Red took notice of my situation.
"You're look'n a might peeked there Sport, a bit green around the gills. You gonna make it?"
"I ain't feeling so well..." I replied in a rather weak and pathetic voice.
"Well, Sport, what you need is to eat something...here, try one of these baloney and mayonnaise sandwiches. That'l fix ya right up."
Of course I naively took his advise and I never got past the first chew of the first bite. Over the side I leaned and the entire contents of my insides spilled like some vile poison onto the surface of the foam covered waters. Within seconds the seagulls swarmed all over that mess and fought over the larger chunks and my insides continued to empty themselves. Over and over, the retching continued unabated for several minutes to the point the only thing coming out was a thin line of yellow slime. My gut ached like nothing I have ever experienced. I literally thought I was dying.
All the while this was happening Red and Myron were laughing out loud at my plight. Not sure which made me madder, the seagulls or them laughing...I think it was the seagulls. After a few minutes I finally settled down and started to feel better. Red stopped his laughing long enough to comment on my situation. "See, told ya that would fix you up...got all that stuff out of ya and you feel better now don't ya."
I had to admit he was right, but good gosh all mighty that was the worst sick I've ever endured and I continued to retch a few more times until we headed in. Red gave me some advise afterwards. "Next time have ole cooky give you a bag of plain peanuts still in the hull and eat them while you are out there. Gives you something to do and keeps your mind off what's going on."
You know he was right and even though I still suffered from time to time with being seasick, I never again suffered quite as bad as that first time. By the time I finished my tour at the Umpqua River Station a few years later, I was a full fledged salty dog able to withstand even the nastiest of conditions...well...most of the time that is, as long as I had my bag of peanuts...:)
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