Astonishingly, I'm still speaking. In this morning’s adventure I participated in one of many wonders of the internet, an attraction entitled, as I recall, “40 abandoned military installations that will leave you speechless.” Not that I counted, but clicking next next next next next … I got fairly well downstream before the spinning beachball jammed the tour. Maybe one had to go all the way to the end to be left speechless, IDK, but I’m still speaking.
But it was interesting, fun, even tremendous or, to use the most advanced intellectual expression of he who must not be named, literary master of ascending order, excellent, very, very tremendous, great, very, very fantastic, good. I mean, why should DPRK have the only paranoid, narcissistic Dear Leader with glorious haircut. Great. Very, very wonderful. Good. But enough: a little sarcasm could get me rounded up and disappeared. That would be horrible, very, very terrible, bad.
Apologies for disappearing disgustedly into the briar patch, Brer Fox, I actually was going somewhere. During my adventure, I came across what may be my last ship, USS TRIPOLI (LPH-10), in a cluster of warships destined either for scrap or to become a snapper reef.
Were she to be towed round from SFran through the Panama Canal, up, and sunk offshore Panama City, I’d have to take up scuba diving and visit. See if I left anything behind in my old stateroom. Spear a snapper for supper.
Certain of zilch, I’m pretty sure that’s her. After commissioned service, used variously, towed to sea and used as a weapons test launching platform. Humility of the war hero. In the top pic, that may even be what's left of the huge 10 forward on the flight deck.
Did I enjoy that tour of sea duty? Hell no, having loved destroyer duty a decade earlier, I thought it was going to be great, very, very fantastic, good, but it was gardenia alphabet misery. Would I go back? Sure, knowing what lay ahead.