Stephen Templin's Blog, page 16
August 20, 2014
August 18, 2014
SEAL Training 19: The Great Race
Wednesday afternoon of Hell Week, we took off on a land race carrying our boats across two miles of beach north of the BUD/S training facility (which meant another two miles return trip). Consistent with my boat crew's land racing, we came in dead last. While my losing boat crew performed all manner of acrobatics for the instructors on the beach, the other boat crews were in the Pacific Ocean paddling south.SEAL Lieutenant Morris' eyes burned into us while we grunted and groaned under the IBS weighing down on our extended arms. "I will be waiting for you at the end of this next race. I will be displeased if this boat crew comes in last. Am I clear?"
"HOOYAH!" we said.
"Do not disappoint me."
My crew hit the water like men possessed. I stretched forward and drove my paddle deep into the ocean then pulled the paddle back as far as I could while keeping it fully submerged. Then I pulled out the oar to repeat the process. I used all of the power in my shoulders. The smaller muscles in my arms and hands operated for balance and support (using them as the main power source would only burn me out). I breathed long, deep breaths through a circle in my mouth that directed the air straight to my lungs. Our paddles pumped in and out of the water with the rhythm of an internal combustion engine.
It wasn't long before we passed the crew of the ensign who I went shopping with before Hell Week. My crew dug deep and long as we passed more boats. I really thought we had stroked all the way to Mexico, but we were still in the U.S.—at the Silver Strand State Park. We had paddled about six miles at non-stop turbo power speed. We closed in on the lead, Ensign Mark, and his boat.
I could see the instructors standing around a portable beach marker on the shore, the mark for our insertion. Ensign Mark's boat neared the location in the water for turning left and paddling to the beach.
Our boat crew leader yelled, "Cut them off! Go for the beach marker now!"
We headed for shore early, at an angle. If the waves had been high, the move would have been unthinkable, but our turbo-paddling kept the small waves from tipping us over sideways.
Ensign Mark's crew paddled crazy fast, like cartoon characters, heading for the shore. They landed just south of the marker, overshooting it. We landed north of it, undershooting. Both of our crews sprinted with our boats to the insertion point, dropped the boats, and scrambled to prepare for inspection as our boat leaders reported to the instructors.
An instructor said, "Smurf Crew, you are the winners! Take a seat!"
We couldn't contain our joy. "HOOYAH!"
The instructor said, "Ensign Mark's boat crew, Up Boat."
Mr. Mark's crew raised their boat to the extended arm carry position.
"The Smurf Crew started in the water last, but they beat you! Why?"
Mr. Mark's crew moaned and groaned under the weight of their boat. "They cheated, instructor," Ensign Mark said. "They cut us off at an angle."
The instructor laughed hard. "Push 'em out."
My crew watched Mr. Mark's crew do overhead pushups with their IBS while we sat in our boat bathing in sunbeams. Being warm and dry tasted like heaven.
Lieutenant Morris arrived and greeted us. "It pays to be a winner, doesn't it, Smurf Crew?"
"HOOYAH!"
We called our location Camp Surf. When the other crews arrived, they worked off their losers' debt. Then our class hobbled around a wide sandy beach looking for firewood. I wandered around in circles with empty hands, like a zombie. Until Senior Chief Rogers injected me with some of his zombie antidote. Even when gathering firewood, it pays to be a winner.
August 14, 2014
PART 1 of 4August 11, 2014
SEAL Training 18: Sandman
We hadn't slept since we woke up Sunday at midnight. Then on about Wednesday morning we were ordered to the barracks to sleep. I crashed on top of my bed with my clothes and boots on. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I skipped the shallow NREM (nonrapid eye movement) of sleep and hit instant REM (rapid eye movement), deep sleep. I've heard that some guys couldn't sleep—I can understand that—one gets so jacked up that it’s almost impossible to shut everything down. I’ve heard that some chose not to sleep—it doesn’t make sense to me—sleep helps a person think straight.
I am told we only slept about 1 1/2 hours, but I felt like I’d slept a lot longer. And I exaggerated that in my mind to make it feel like I’d slept even longer. I really felt like a new man. Battered but new.
August 4, 2014
Trident's First Gleaming
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August 2, 2014
August 1, 2014
July 30, 2014
Friday, Trident's First Gleaming Cover Reveal
Is this BUD/S obstacle the a) Dirty Name, b) Weaver, or c) Bieber?
Friday, be the FIRST to see the cover reveal of Trident's First Gleaming here: Goodreads.
Friday, be the FIRST to see the cover reveal of Trident's First Gleaming here: Goodreads.
