ScottishTankerHooligans

Been a spell...

Currently typing away from a location where sheets are considered formal dress.  Nuff said.  There's beer anyway.  The new job off and running.  Spent the last 2 months bouncing back and forth between TX, MS and GA for various training commitments and now it's time to go back to earning an honest living.   Whilest I been goofing off, this video went cuckoo and it's too good to leave alone.  It's available via the I-toons and all proceeds go to a good cause so go get your own copy and scare some hippies.

"Come to the nightmare

Come to me..."  I think that's my favorite line.

  The new airplane is a hoot.  Easy to fly and more that enough power to shit an engine at max gross and keep going without undue drama.  Pro-line 21 avionics pretty much rock.  Almost makes me resent the stone age way the Marine Corps made us fly around with steam gages and slide rules.

    Thanks to all for the well wishes, Veteran's day and Happy Birthday to the Corps.

    Tomorrow it's off to parts further east.  Glad I packed well.  Avg temp for the next 18 hours is about 3C with alternating rain and snow.  As I have said before, we really need to pick a better class of people to go to war with.  These shitty neighborhoods are getting old.

  I'll post at work allows.  Keep working and voting my friends, millions on welfare are depending on you. 

Meaningful work?

Sporstfans, the glorious day of employment has arriven.  Am currently located in the beautiful semi-metropolis of Greenville TX enjoying the hospitality and harassment package of my new employer.  The Audie Murphy Museum is a mile down the road.  I do not think I can regard my life as fulfilled without a visit.  The nearest Bass Pro shop has the entire street named after itself.  I may need to investigate the Rapala situation.  The pond is full at home and nothing is hitting on the surface.  It's dismaying.  Though the turtle purge continues. 

More later,
Smokin

BTW I've found someone who thinks I need my own flag.    I'm cool with it.

More remen... reme...eh..

...more looking back.

This is the view from our house (bunker) on Camp Foster Okinawa.  It is the summer of  '96 I think,  the eye of Typhoon Kirk is directly over the island.  The residents have endured twelve hours of hurricane 4 level winds and rain, and for a brief half hour, this is the scene.
Hell no I wasn't there, are you kidding?   Risk the well being of several 40 year old tanker aircraft?  I was with a stalwart section of 2 venerable KC-130's and crew safely ensconced on Wake Island.  That is a different adventure, but the Mrs has the T-shirt from this one, and I get a black eye each year on it's anniversary. It goes something like this:

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.

    Me: OhHH (yawn) what a beautiful day honey, look at the rays of sunshine coming through the ..shit,... it's July 28th again isn't it.

    Mrs:  POW!! "THAT'S RIGHT STUPID!! WE WANT SAUSAGE AND PANCAKES!! AND DON'T MAKE US WAIT LIKE YOU DID LAST YEAR!!  You better put something on that.  Happy Typhoon Kirk day asshole."

More 152 stuff

One of the rare and coveted trips to Iwo Jima.  The small size of the place gives one chills as you think of how many Marines died there.  Suribachi was still active and if you flew the VOR approach, you passed right over the venting volcano and it would rock the aircraft.   The black sand beaches have been sun-bleached over the years and are now more of a medium brown.  It's largely overgrown and the caves and crawl spaces are difficult to find.  Since the vocano is still sort of active, all the caves feel like saunas inside.  The JSDF who caretake the place use a few of them as steam rooms.  Though they largley keep to narrow paths and seldom stray far from the air station without good reason.  The Japanese regard the entire Island as burial ground, not to be defiled by random wandering.   

The picture angle is misleading because the picture taking dude wanted to make sure he got the Iwo Control Tower in the scene, which was the point of the whole thing.  We are not 11 feet tall despite what capabilities the Taliban ascribe to US Marines.  The Prop diameter of the Herc is 12' 10".  A normal sized dude with arms outstretched might reach the bottom of the refueling pod behind us.  No matter how badly an engineer might misfuel a herc, it would never lean that far over to one side.   
  Dude number one was with me as far back as 1992 in the RAG at Cherry Point.  We went to 152 on Okinawa near the same time for our first fleet tour.  He left Oki before me to go to Milton Fla for an Instructor tour.  I showed up a year later.  Good times.  We Hurrivac'ed the whole wing to Memphis that year ('98?) and spent four days in Memphis with 128 IP's who we dared to keep up with us.  The FBI denies a report was kept as the Mississippi was well above flood stage that year.  I left in 2000 and Jimmy went on to do some reserve duty and other jobs here and there concurent with his AA gig.  He came back on active duty sometime in 04 or 05 and was diagnosed with ALS.  Lou Gerhig's Disease.  It was ugly and Jimmy passed away in 2006, leaving two daughters.      
  Dude #2 rode along with the same crowd during the same time frame.  If anyone in the Marine Corps could be described as a free spirit, none could be more so than this dude.  If there is a modern day hand off to the legacy of  Hunter Thompson this guy is it.  I'll wait for him to volunteer any details.  Particularly about that weekend in Waikiki, If He can be found.  I last saw him in the Officer's club at Marine Corps Air Station Mirimar in 1999.  He was riding a BMW motorcycle on a cross country trip. 
  Dude 3.  Rockin the Bolle Blacksnake sungalsses.
  Dude #4.  Mumbles was an import from that west coast squadron that shall not be named or talked about here at STH.  Haven't seen him since.
#5 One of my IP's.  Tony did me the honor of taking me to WTI as his augment in 1996 to the Marine Aviation Weapons and Tactics Instructor Course (his personal choice of co-pilot/assistant). 
#5 and I came back to Okinawa victorious and went on to secure my track to upgrade as a KC-130 Transport Aircraft Commander.  I am happy to have had that opportunity as I got the chance to fly again with one of the greatest pilots to ever strap on a KC-130 Hercules, Maj John Brow.   Maj John "Boot" Brow perished in the MV-22 mishap in Marana, Arizona in Apr 2000, during OT of the MV-22 Osprey.  Jimmy and I flew a section of T-34's up from Whiting to attend the funeral at Arlington.  
  #5 is I think a Captain with Continental Airlines.  If you get on a CA Flight and someone in a Captain's uniform tells you to "sit down or I'll kick your face off"   It's probably him and you probably better sit the fuck down.

Last Flight

So it comes for all of us. 

Not the greatest shot as I'll explain a little later, but it is me at the sticks of the mighty UC-12B Huron on short final to runway 23/05 at New River.  This was my last day to pilot a military aircraft, July 28 2009. 

Here's the ever necessary last flight wet-down.

  The fire trucks line up on each side of the throat area of mat-1 and provide a nice water arch for you, if you have not been too instrumental in any recent legal or disciplinary efforts. 

August 31 of this year was my last day in the Marine Corps.   All the ceremonies and speeches are done but I'd still like to use this space and time to look back a little and share with you some of the things we've seen and experienced over the years.  The job efforts appear to have paid off and I have been provisionally hired by a contractor recently.  There is still paperwork to be signed and so forth so I am not high-fiving myself in the forehead yet but the final table-slap should be soon.  Then I'll have a short notice before it's time to travel again for more training, a new aircraft and a new mission.  But until then, it's time for Smokin to dig up some old pics and share where we've been.  I hope you enjoy them.

July 28 2009.  The maintenance guys and TA line crew are only too happy to hit me with the ice water.  SSGt Hawkins laughs the loudest.  He's still down about 30 bones to me at Texas Holdem.

First beer after a year in Iraq.  Mar 2006.

Anyone who's had a ride on the freedom bird will recognize this bar.  It's in the terminal in Shannon International in Ireland.  A glass of Harp never tasted so good. 

Lest you think it's been one 20 year long bar crawl.  Here's Camp X-Ray Afghanistan in late 2001.

I think this was the most dangerous place Marine Corps Herc crews have flown into since Khe Shan.  Not because of enemy fire, but the pure challenge of the place.  A hard-pan runway in the desert, 4000' elevation, knee deep dust like baby powder, chem lights for the runway, no go-around capability.  I'm open to debate, if you've found a tougher spot, pipe up. Oh yeah, we did this without night vision goggles.
It was a very tough environment for Helo's too.
This was a Huey.  Luckily the crew walked away. 

More shenanigans.  A totally illegal motorcycle adventure in, of all places, Thailand.
Summer of 1994.  The cousins would approve.  The act, not the machine.
Ha Ha Ha mom!! It's me on a motorcycle!!!  And I rode it fast enough to give you a heart attack in a country with no ambulances, hospitals or helmets!  Smoking a grit and not giving a shit for parking regs either.  I think the bar was playing a Frankie Goes to Hollywood tune at the time.  It was an Aussie ex-pat hangout that had cold VB at the bar.  Where else would Herc pilot's hang out?  The Black and White Bar down the street would not rise to fame for 3 more years.

I hope to dig up some more of these gems soon because I like telling the story as much as anything else.  The big boys say you should post something everyday even if you just fart on the screen and I'm feeling it. 
Like Bagheera said to Baloo in The Jungle Book;
    Baggy:  Shh this will take brains, not brawn.
    Baloo:   Yeah baby, and I'm loaded with both!!

Something

to laugh about

on my birthday.

From Billy Beck.  Writing about the Iranian Airliner that augered in with 166 or so on board.

Let me only point out that if Iran weren't a culture of goddamned dirt-scratching savages, they might have raised the intellect necessary to building, operating, and maintaining modern technology on their own.

My advice: they should live down to their level, and drive donkey-carts from Tehran to Armenia. Stay away from things they don't understand.

Heh, heh.  He's right.  Where's your muslim scientific contribution now?

Mrs Smokin and the kids are up.  I'm going to have a beer and go to the beach. 

'Cause Murph "hates this crap"...

He gets to read more tales of wildlife adventure.   I ran into Murph on the ramp at Andrews.  He was flying his ginormous penis envy machine (C-9) whilst I, humble servant of the masses, was pushing my environmentally conscious green mini-commuter of the people(C-12).  Prop dudes get no respect at Andrews, I can tell you that for sure.  Just try to get a fuel truck with a three star screaming at you about being late and watch what happens when an empty Air Force lear jet taxi's out ahead of you in line.  Was great to run into Murph, He's a bro from way back.  Although I have legitimate claim to raising him from a pup on Okinawa, ultimately, being a FOM (Friend of Murph) has been worth much much more over the years. I hope you're not still mad about that one time at band camp when we filled your van with shredded paper. Thanks Murph, the rest of this post is for you.

  On to wildlife stories.  The pond has occupied some space recently.  Things have taken a turn for the worse for denizens of the pond.  Some assbag decided this pond (read: MY EFFING POND) was the proper receptacle for a few unwanted snapping turtles.  So, as is their wont, ninny liberal leaf eaters, unwilling INCAPABLE of responding appropriately to the presence of unwanted predators, have left the problem for me to deal with.   What's the problem with a few turtles you ask? Well, I'll oblige, snapping turtles are fish killers that WILL RUIN A FISH POND.  They will move in and kill everything they can get a jaw around.  I was displeased.  So, what do you think is going to happen? You're damn right, soup is going to happen.
Here is the smaller of the two offending Chelydra serpentina. 
  Trying to act all badass and Gamera-like.

He looks bigger in the pic than he really is.  But that gulf club sized head with jaws to match is not an exaggeration.  He is a mean little prick to be sure.  Some say turtles cannot jump, this is technically correct, however this PREHISTORIC F%*K LUNGED UP OUT OF THE DAMN COOLER!!11!.  Lunge, jump, whatever.  He's going to be soup, or some type of Emeril Lagasse dish, spicy, garlicy, and washed down with many a cold one.  He currently resides in the cooler of woe, next to the tackle box of woe.  A "day in the box" has served to take most of the starch out of his bad attitude.  A number 10 stainless steel hook in your gullet probably does not incite revolutionary ideas either.  His older brother yet awaits, eying us evily, obviously intent on some sort of turtley vengence.  And he's a BIG SOB.  At least twice as big.  I've missed him once already with the usual rigs.  Inspired by Capt Quint, I'm gigging up special for him tonight.


Aye Mr. Cooper, city hands...

Various chicken parts have gone untouched.  This bastard of the deep insists on fresh victims. 

A night naval battle looms me hearties.

Semper Fidelis.

Should I not return, tell my Wife I love her, and the TV remote is by the shitter.

 

Stupid bluegill spilled my beer....NOW WITH RAD BLOGGY UPDATE 111

...yeah, a dumb fish wiggled on the line and smacked over my can of the cool, sweet, nectar.  The little shit.  He couldn't even get the whole lure into his cake-hole.  Complaints from a retired guy falling on deaf ears, I know, but the little shits should have some respect for a 3 war vet.  A little background...the cuz and I, recently reunited family-wise, who share a fondness of fast machines, who's Harley Pic I can't find at the moment would agree.  I should have picked the hook and threw this little shit onto the pavement.

  All I have to say is... Eagle Claw results brother.  Bass flow to the patient however...

Yeah baby... how about another...
Yeah, that's another one...want some more?...
Just so's you're sure that I'm a professional...
Yeah, I know a few things about a few things.  Fishing is one of them.   

update 1!!11

Fishing report today - brisk.  Two largemouths and a bluegill in about fifteen minutes.  I barley had time to swill down a couple of ice-cold stupids, the action was that fast paced.  Though, no further catches of Walter (pictured above, an inside baseball reference to On Golden Pond, remarkable only for the fishing scenes, Henry's dry humor and the last time Jane Fonda was worth looking at in anything other than a gas chamber).  I've caught him twice now and I think he's in the deep hole at the west end of the pond re-evaluating his menu choices.  It's for sure his Bassy lips need a rest.  The younger bass continue to hit the Rapalas like Bikers at a highschool cheerleader meet.  The tadpoles that have hatched three weeks ago have apparently grown froggy-legs and are venturing out to deeper water only to meet an evolutionary pre-ordained end.  No less than two spots at any time on the surface of a 1/4 acre pond were in a continuous roil of tad-frog ending turbulence.  It's a slaughter out there my friends.

Now comes the time wherein I help you, dear reader.  Pictured below is the original floating Rapala lure, in standard gold.  Ladies who have men in their lives who fish, take note.  These simple lures are unchanged over many years because they work.  The original floating Rapala  will catch more fish than everything else combined in any given tackle-box.  They catch fish when nothing else will.  The only better bait is live bait.  If you need an inexpensive gift idea here it is:

   A must have in every fresh water tackle box.  In silver and gold.  Don't get silly in the store and drawn off by fancy colors and other shiney shit, like deep divers, or that stupid jointed crap.  These are all you gals need to know, in this 2in. size and the next one up at about three inches long. You'll be an instant hit for less than 10 bucks.  And, google up the Rapala knot and show your dimwit how to tie the thing on right without having to use a swivel clip, which turns big bass off almost immediately in clear water.  If he waves you off with the gaff that "I knows how to tie a lure, woman", you can say: "Any knot that grips the eyelet will make it swim sideways, stupid. The company website says so".  A light slap on the back of the head for emphasis works well here.  Then wear some daisey-duke shorts while you're fishing.  You will be a hero, trust me.  There, I've struck my blow for freedom today.

 In related news, I have recently placed an 8 dollar Rapala, of other design, firmly twelve feet up and three feet out over the water in a tree limb next to the pond.  First responder measures were taken, to no avail. Sometime this weekend, a song will sound, and that song will be the song of the 1978 14 inch bar SKIL chainsaw, or the 1973 Husquavarna, whichever I can get to run first, and that song will be loud and brief me hardees, and accompanied by acrid blue smoke.  And Giai will weep, that bitch.  Then the number 4 Rapala sinker, in original gold, will re-take it's rightfull place in slot number four, second shelf, in the tacklebox of woe.

In other news, my rear end is making noise.  It's not the noise that may or may not result in a blue to orange colored flame.  I think this is why:

  Don't tell me about sawdust.  I know about the damn sawdust already.  Noise going away does not equal problem solved.  This SOB needs to live until I get hired by some entity willing to pay me a sick amount of coin to fly rubber dog-shit into Bagdad.  And no crap about 52 miles an hour either, this was in a parking lot.  A nursing home parking lot. 

Retirement complete.

OK sportsfans, the deed is done.  20 years of active duty.  I've struck my blow for freedom and apple pie and now it's time to earn my keep.  Before we get to that, a few pics of the events if you will.

This is the last squad of the flag ceremony.  Every rank form PFC to the last rank you held is represented and passes an American flag up the ranks.  Then it is passed to you.  Whoever drops one is fed to killer whales.  That would be funny if you didn't know that we actually open a vein and throw the sunovabitch in.
 
Stars and Stripes..I gotz dem..

Then I pontificate...a little...you know, the usual drill
, who is jacked up, who needs to un-ass themselves...

I apparently have a list..on paper.

Then fun begins...
rest assured, many beverages disappeared.

Anyway, good enough for now.
More later.

Wow, Nov 10.

That was my last post.  Crap, I should go back to blogsnot. 'Cept I hated it. Anyway, I been busy lately on this stuff;

OK, apparently, typepad does not support ADOBE, so no thousand hour patch for you people.  I'll figure out a way to post it eventually.

Here's what the mugs look like;

 

LDM on the handle stands for League of Disgruntled Majors. And yeah, the mugs are black for a reason. This is in the O'Club at MCAS New River.  It's one of the few traditional Officer's Clubs left in any service you can find.  Hell, we still have a dice table.  It gets used too. 

Job search continues.

Keep your powder dry.

Smokin

Happy 233rd

Happy Birthday Marines!

As is the custom, from the 13th Commandant:

On November 1st. 1921, John A. Lejeune, 13th Commandant of the Marine Corps, directed that a reminder of the Corps be published by every command, to all Marines throughout the globe, on the Birthday of the Corps. Since the day, Marines have continued to distinguish themselves on many battlefields and foreign shores, in war and peace. On this Birthday of the Corps, therefore, in compliance with the will of the 13th Commandant, Article 38 United States Marine Corps Manual, Edition of 1921, is published as follows

"On November 10, 1775, a Corps of Marines was created by a resolution of the Continental Congress. Since that date many thousands of men have borne that name Marine. In memory of them it is fitting that we who are Marines should commemorate the Birthday of our Corps by calling to mind the glories of its long and illustrious history. The record of our Corps is one which bear comparison with that of the most famous military organizations in the world's history. During 90 of the 146 years of its existence the Marine Corps has been in action against the Nation's foes. From the Battle of Trenton to the Argonne, Marines have won foremost honors in war and in the long era of tranquility at home generation after generation of Marines have grown gray in war in both hemispheres, and in every corner of the seven seas so that our country and its citizens might enjoy peace and security. In every battle and skirmish since the Birth of the Corps, Marines have acquitted themselves with the greatest distinction, winning new honors on each occasion until the term "Marine" has come to signify all that is highest in military efficiency and soldierly virtue. This high name of distinction and soldierly repute we who are Marines today have received from those who preceded us in the Corps. With it we also received from them the eternal spirit which has animated our Corps from generation and has long been the distinguishing mark of Marines in every age. So long as that spirit continues to flourish Marines will be found equal to every emergency in the future as they have been in the past, and the me of our nation will regard us as worthy successors to the long line of illustrious men who have served as "Soldiers of the Sea" since the founding of the Corps."

Nowhere near done yet, see some of the newly minted badasses here.

Semper Fidelis

Smokin