We left Hong Kong on the morning of 4 November 1969. For someone with a hangover — me — rough seas added to feelings of misery.
In my journal, I said, “Roughest weather so far. 30°+ rolls.” Lunch provided an interesting experience for me.
“I was sitting at the starboard end of the table,” I reported in my journal. The main table in the wardroom ran athwartship — port and starboard — with a single seat at each end. The menu was hot dogs and beans, with condiments, water, coffee, and bug juice, and the table was fully laden. Suddenly, the ship went into a trough. It rolled to starboard, rolling at what was later calculated to be 35-37°.
“All the stuff on the table came flying toward me,” according to my journal, “and, as I tried to stop it, I had to let go of the table. Well, a few milliseconds later, I was on my back, still in my chair, scrunched up against the adjacent table, amid a pile of plates and dogs and beans. Much laughter.”
While I did not note it in my journal, I still remember, in my mind’s eye, falling backward and, as I did, seeing, in that slow motion kind of way, a coffee cup and saucer going by my head.
In one respect, I had the last laugh. I left to clean up and spent the afternoon in my rack.