The Integrity

      Right around the time the sea urchin business really started to take off,  
 I get a phone call from Glen Huebner.  I worked for Glen on the Double Eagle (now the Trilogy) and he was  a very motivated and gifted, diver, skipper and whatever else he decided he wanted to do.  Glen had partnered up with 3 other very successful, leading, high liners, and purchased a 45 ft landing craft.  Thats right the kind they ran up on the beach at Normandy.  The plan was to use the Integrity as a pick-up boat for the small fleet that Glen and his partners Joe Burke, Quiten Quider and Mike Lucas owned or controlled. Glen needed me to take helm watches for the voyage up to northern California.
      He went on to say this would be ideal for Shelter Cove, as getting a truck up there was a daunting task, putting it mildly. They converted the Integrity while they all had new boats on order as well.  That left little time for the partnership to focus there attention on the Integrity, and guess who was the latest candidate to make that operation happen?  They did not come right out and say that, but it became evident, even if by default I had a big landing craft on my hands. At first we made a few trips, out to the Channel Islands to kind of break her in, because everything was brand new, almost antiseptic. The engine room was impressive two shoulder high diesel motors and a huge generator.  I was familiar with the twin screw handling, as the 41 ft Coast Guard rescue boats were twin screw as well, and I operated them while stationed there.  Basically Glen had said on the phone that they were "killing it" out at the Farallon Islands, outside San Francisco, and that I should go with the Integrity so I could take advantage of the Bonanza, once I arrived.  Which was his way of getting me to crew the Integrity, up to Bodega Bay for free.

      So off we went,  The skipper was the electrician who was hired to rewire the Integrity.  He was a sailboat owner, and he had some knowledge of Navigation, but he knew absolutely nothing about the urchin business, or power boats and many other things I discovered later on. He came with his deck hand. He did not seem like a bad person, he just carried out the "skippers" instructions and did not say a whole lot.
     The Integrity was made out of steel, with a square bow and flat bottom with no keel. Part of the plan was to have the capability to run the Integrity loaded with sea urchins on the beach, and then use the crane on the Integrity to off load to a 4 wheel drive truck, since off loading facilities were far and few between in that neck of the woods.  Came to find out later that the Skipper thought it would be fun to test the Integrity's, landing capabilities.  I guess it did not dawn on him that to do that, it should not be on the concrete that boat ramps are made out of, but it did not and that is exactly what he did, with disastrous results, as one could imagine. I also speculate that he was too embarrassed to admit and report his mistake, as the bilge pumps were keeping up with the seawater that was leaking thru the cracked seams that were caused by his folly. These facts were slowly, one by one revealed to me, as I was getting the shit beat out of me, by the crashing and rolling of the Integrity as we approached Pt Conception.  That flat bottom and square bow, heading into the prevailing winds was murder.. That was my initiation, as I took my first wheel watch.  If that was not miserable enough, the sound was thunderous, as the Integrity crashed over those waves.  No insulation allow
ed for the Integrity's hull to act as a drum, with me the BB  inside it.
      If I had been any more miserable before that experience, I could not remember, but I was soon to find out that our little break from the torture, as we motored into Half Moon Bay, would not be long enough for me to recover.  I woke to the sound of the "Skipper" and his helper off loading their gear.  They were jumping ship, because they were not getting paid, they said.  I think all the red flags were in place, and I was stuck anyway, with a sinking Landing craft in an unfamiliar harbor.  After the skipper bailed I went down to the engine room to familiarize myself with the systems, so I could have a fighting chance if something else happen.  I got on the phone and was able to speak to Joe Burke, one of the owners I never met.  He instructed me that it would be necessarily for me to gear up and inspect underneath of the hull, and report on the seriousness of the damage.  I thought about it, and I replied I would do it for $500. When he refused, I hit the docks, searching for an urchin boat, that could use a diver as Half Moon bay, was only 22 miles from the Farallons and the chosen harbor for a significant fleet of urchin boats, in the midst of a feeding frenzy.  I approached the Homeboy, which I was familiar with from Santa Barbara.  The owner Tyrone, the only African American diver I knew, was very congenial and maybe he would put me on.  I found Glen Brisadene who reported he had recently purchased the Homeboy from Tyrone, and that he had  arrived and was waiting for his regular diver to show up.  I told him my story, and I can tell you that he and several other divers were not happy to see that big old landing craft showing up and being responsible for cleaning the sea urchins out of the spots they had there eyes on. At least that was their-- fear. Glen went on to say I could make a trip, while he was awaiting his divers arrival.
      Next morning we were underway, and when I jumped in I can tell you that the Farallons were like another planet compared to the Channel Islands and the urchins were everywhere. The long waist to shoulder high reefs were ideal for knocking the urchins off and straight into the net bag. I had to learn to sneak up on those urchins, because they would clamp down like an Abalone if they sensed a swell or a northern California rookie diver. We had a good day and headed in.  As we entered the harbor at Half Moon Bay The Integrity was missing from her mooring.  "Oh no" I thought I forgot to flip the switch on the bilge pump and the Integrity was on the bottom with Davy Jones locker.
    I was relieved to discover that the Integrity was still intact, but I was mortified to find out that Joe Burke had driven down  and boarded the Integrity and was currently underway for Bodega Bay! This presented a problem for me, since I was staying on the boat and all my other personal property was on the boat, except for my dive gear and the clothes on my back.  No wheels no money and stranded!
      I frantically paced and swore up and down the harbor parking lot. Pre- cell phone era prompted attempted collect calls from one of those foul weather shelters, we used to call phone booths.  More pacing and swearing, then miraculously, a powerful looking short gentleman approached  took pity on me and inquired why I was so distressed.  I relayed the tale to him and by the look of that shit eaten grin that arrived and remained thru most of my story, I think he enjoyed the story so much he volunteered to drive me and my dive gear up to Bodega Bay, as it was basically on his way anyway.  I don't really think it was, but don't look a gift horse in the mouth right?  He turned out to be former logger who now was a sea urchin diver, as the logging industry was in decline.  So was the fishing industry, for that matter, except for the sea urchin fishery, since for one reason these northern California waters had never been fished for urchins.  He was very nice and I was extremely grateful.  The Integrity was not hard to find in Bodega Bay, it was tied to Lucas Wharf where many boats of the fleet would unload their catch, and the high end steak and seafood restaurant located within a short walk, was a nice touch.  I boarded the boat, thanked my ride and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
      The next morning I was sitting up in the pilot house when 3 faces I did not recognize were giving me a curious look, when one of them said "are you Mike Thomas?"  I answered that I was, when the one who I now know was Joe, wanted an explanation of why I refused to inspect the bottom of the Integrity, after all I was staying on the boat and it would seem reasonable to him that I should want to know the status of the vessel I was attached to. By the tone of his voice, there also was an implication that I was obligated to perform the duty as the boat was in danger of sinking'  Trying as hard as I could not to show how indignant I felt, I explained that, the only reason I was staying on the boat, is because Glen needed another body to take a helm watch, for the long voyage, and it did not hurt that once I arrived I would be an asset as an experienced diver, that had proven his value as he worked for Glen a number of years.  I did not actually say that last part, but I could tell how the conversation went between the owners as the decision to transport the Integrity north by sea was made.  Glen must have made me sound even better than I really was to convince his partners, I was worthy.  I went on to add that I was not getting paid to deliver a boat, and that the Captain and first mate jumped ship, supposedly because of payment of wages was not forthcoming, and I became suspicious enough that a demand for payment of my services, was not unreasonable under the circumstances. I also thought that even if I did feel obligated to do the inspection, I was NOT obligated to do it for free. They seemed to accept this explanation and their attitude and body language relaxed.  It became apparent to me that these partners knew absolutely nothing about the Integrity.  They both were operating much smaller vessels, simultaneously while they were awaiting delivery of a newer bigger faster vessel as well. This was confirmed a couple weeks later, after we got underway for the appointment to the boat lift.  Dry dock was mandatory for the necessary repairs, so as we were approaching the narrow slot that would position us over the slings that would support the hull as the boat was lifted out of the water. Joe who was at the helm said "Mike I think you better take it from here, I am not used to these twin screws" So I was the hero as I easily used the throttles to steer the Integrity directly into the slot.  It was apparent that repairs could take sometime, so my services were available to the partners vessels.  The Hot Pursuit,  The Avril Q, and others.
      As it turned out the Integrity never did become the pick-up boat, it was sold to an outfit that used it for the clean-up in Alaska for a little oil spill that occurred that year courtesy of the Exxon  Valdez.

Shelter cove

 

                When I arrived in Point Arena there was this young man who was working the Noyo Queen an old beat up Radon.  He did not dive but he tended for the divers and did ok I guess.  He was enthusiastic and had ambition.

.       He was about 22 years old, and he had the wherewithal to seize upon a window of opportunity, that took some charm, not a little skill, a heap of some big balls, courage, tenacity and any other adjective one would want to throw in that would fit for mission he set out upon that summer.

               The year was 1990 and I had migrated up to Pt. Arena originally the year before in my 1960 International 3/4 ton dually Pick up truck. The long stroke straight 6 that powered that beast, was equipped with a 2 speed transfer case with 4 forward gears and 4 wheel drive. Her top speed was 45 miles per hour with or without a load, and she could pull quite a load.

        I bought that truck after seeing it for sale on the side of the road in Bodega Bay for 900 bucks. The Fisherman I bought it from use to use it to haul sea urchins from the beach in Timber cove, after he had lowered them onto a car hood from his little aluminum skiff, then winched them up to the truck over the sand. He then reattached the winch to the net bags, and lifted the nets on to truck which was equipped with an A frame, and a boom crane. After he drove off the sand he pumped the air back in the tires and drove to the processor located at Lucas Wharf Bodega Bay, about 25 miles away. Quite a feat of ingenuity, although it rusted the bed with all that salt water, which I dealt with later on when I painted it, but thats another story.

                 I had an 1955 Alaskan camper in the bed, of my famous (among the local fisherman any way) international pick up truck' you know the kind that you can pump up and down with the built in Hydraulic pump. I rolled into Pt Arena that year in April, a little early for the season, but I wanted to get a head start. Well Posiden or King Neptune whichever you prefer decided to beach 3 Radon dive boats up on the rocks, after the huge storm swells ripped them from there moorings. One of them had twin 454 Chevy marine mercruisers with outdrives, and was brand new. All 32 feet of her, and she looked pristine except that the bottom was gashed open from the jagged rocks on the beach in Pt Arena. Several attempts were made to salvage her off the rocks, until the owner decided it was a total loss and decided just to collect on the insurance.

                Well the aforementioned young man had the idea, after he had secured salvage rights, when everyone else gave up, to wait for the tide and re float her as the fish holes that were punctured  were meant to hold water anyway. I don't know exactly how he did it, but I know he had several pumps on hand and the motors were good although the out drives were beat up but operable. I think I remember he paid $5000 for a $80,000 dollar boat, patched up the fisholds put a new windshield in and rechristened her the UNDERDOG and was out pimpin for divers, when I ran into him and decided I liked his chutzpahs and agreed to give it a go.

I had been watching him for weeks patching up that hull as he had a spot near mine at the KOA campground in Manchester about 5 mile north of Pt Arena. He had his own boat as well, but it was not would I would call the pride of the fleet, but he made it work, after all a sea urchin fishing voyage in pt Arena was not all that far to go. He did not dive himself yet but I think he was going threw the motions to get his permit since they had recently closed the fishery. The California Fish and Game in there infinite wisdom felt the need to sell 900 permits, and then claim divers were overfishing the population. So they closed the selling of permits until they figured out a plan to manage the fishery. At any rate if he could work 3 good divers he could still make money with the percentage he would receive from all 3.

     So I was unhappy where I was at, which was not uncommon and I rather enjoyed the experience of other operations. Off we went toward Shelter cove which was about 50 miles north, but it had not really been touched by the divers yet and there were some virgin beds calling to us. Well after we took the second on-coming 4 ft wind waves the windshield he installed himself collapsed down on us and I about shit my pants. No way was I going to suffer 50 miles in this sea without a windshield and I don't think the electronics would fare too well either. We turned around and I was a little disappointed because I was looking forward to the new territory to be conquered.

        The young skipper however did not give up, he managed to convince the owner of a big heavy duty truck, that his truck would be ideal to tow his 32 foot Radon up to Shelter Cove. I don't know how he did it, but his powers of persuasion were firing on all cylinders that day.        Now the road to Shelter Cove makes the high mountain Inca roads look reasonable. It is a winding steep switchback of a road barely enough room for 2 cars and no shoulder. So I made the decision to hang back until that boat was safely delivered to Shelter Cove, at which time I would hitch a ride  back up after he returned the tow truck. The plan was to use The Underdog as a pick up boat as it could hold over 10,000 pounds. The other mostly smaller fleet could make the trip, onto the Underdog, then he could run them in every night, and now that the windshield was properly installed run back and the other small boats could stay in Shelter Cove without having to spend the fuel and time going back home every night. Now I had the option of staying in the campground, which would be kind of fun. ( I thought)

       Well the boat was delivered  to Shelter Cove alright after he half skidded backwards down a windy turn and almost went over the side on several occasions, but he was a man of his word so the next morning I headed up with him in his truck.

        Shelter Cove is a beautiful place, pristine Northern California seascapes with Redwood trees all around. Campground and bait shop and not much else. They did have a boat crane on wheels, that was equipped with a couple slings. Once the boat was off the trailer they would literally drive the boat down this long cement ramp about 200 ft to the water.

        Well looks like were in business, I thought to myself and I got suited up and swam the short distance to where the boat was anchored. We did not even have to move the boat the sea urchins were everywhere. After about 3 400 pound bags of urchins were still hanging on the side I realized something was wrong, and there was. The electric winch had broke, with no spare or parts. I had enough. I swam in and found a campsite. I could see the Underdog from my spot and I informed the skipper that when I saw him able to load those bags, I would swim back out, which I was less than confident I would see that happen. It was fairly windy outside the Cove but inside it was warm and calm so I ventured out to a little beach that had some large rocks positioned in such a way that you could use them as a blind or a little shelter for privacy, when lo and behold I ran into Cathy, I had met her in pt. Arena as she was attached to Joe one of the divers I knew, but for how long was anybodies guess. She was accompanied by a sweet young and beautiful thing who claimed another diver I knew, without their bathing suits on, well after a few pleasantries mine came off too. So I had 2 fine girls to beach naked with while I was waiting for the Underdog to be repaired. Not a bad thing under the circumstances.

         Well to my amazement, and by this time disappointment, the skipper began raising those cargo nets full of sea urchin on to the Underdog and it was time for me to get back in the water....but then it was getting late afternoon, by the time I got out there, sundown would be less than an hour away. I made my way, with a short swim, mostly out of curiosity how he managed to repair that winch. Well I found out he had not. Chad had actually utilized the hydraulic anchor winch, and ran a line from it, up and threw the block on the boom, down to the end and threw the block on the end of the boom. Down to the water, where the divers could hook up the net, and wallah, back in business. That guy would not give up, ill give him that, and because of him the operation was underway for several weeks anyway.

        So I ended up hooking up with some divers who wanted to share a campsite, and we had a wonderful time getting drunk and barbecuing, happy we did not have to make that 50 mile sea voyage back to pt Arena, and even worse 50 miles back against the prevailing seas, the next morning! After we crashed for the night, I was woken up by some scratching sounds. It appeared there was something trying to get into the tent. I jumped up and threw open the tent flap to find a herd, flock, school or whatever you called an army of skunks invading our campsite scrounging for our leftover chicken bones and invading our coolers. I attempted to shew them away, and made a feeble attempt at defending our food, but decided the better of it as being sprayed by a skunk is fairly unpleasant and those skunks knew it. They were not scared of us at all, they ruled this campground. Needless to say the next night I tried to hitch a ride with some of the divers that had vehicles there, but I was persona non Grata, because the girls told on me to there boyfriends, probably in the hope they could stir up some trouble. It was back to the Underdog for me. My introduction to Shelter Cove complete.

Glacier Casino

Glacier Casino

     I must admit I had played a game of poker or two, when I was in high school, but I was about to get schooled in the art/science of gambling.  Made even more relevant, in the scheme of things, as I was sequestered with 300 men underway aboard ship.  Our salaries were payed in cash and we really had no where really to spend money, except in the tiny ships store which they opened up only occasionally. The Filipino cooks were my nemesis and my lesson in gambling was expensive, but I always agreed one has to pay for an education and pay for it I did. One very important lesson I learn ed, was how and why those Filipinos won so much money and more importantly how they won so much of my money. The answer was they cheated. Now they were good at it, and I did not actually catch them cheating, and I cant say that cheating was the only reason that they won, but it was revealed to me, by my supervisor who happen to be the Captains cook. 1st Class Shit Slinger ( I cant even remember what the S.S. really stands for) Filipino.  I think he decided to take me under his wing as he was counting my pay, along with his other winnings. Maybe because I was so determined and committed to losing. Even though I won some too, I was quite a spectacle as I was as hooked as a gutter heroin addict. Or maybe he was looking for a partner, as I found out, they work in teams sometimes, which makes their cheating even more effective.
        There were 3 separate poker games. 1 for E-5 and under. 1 for chiefs and 1st class, and 1 for the officers and I never saw that game.  The stakes of the games increased in relation to rank, and we played payday stakes which means there was no money on the table.  We played with chips and someone kept the books, who was called the "Banker"  and on payday the losers payed up, or were suppose to.  It could get very uncomfortable to those who avoided responsibility in this area. Now the 1st class sailors were wobblers they could and would play in either game, whether it was with the Chiefs or the e-5 and below. I started out in the lower stakes game, but I realized the Big Money was the Chiefs game usually held in a space that was not in the chiefs mess, so the 1st class sailors could play as chiefs only were allowed in the Chiefs mess.
      Well I eventually summoned up the courage to play in the Chiefs game, and that was not without the glares and the derisive comments that emanated from the players, but quickly subsided after I lost a couple of pay periods worth of cash, to that game, in fact I believe I was made to feel right at home, after a while, and it certainly wasn't because of my looks or magnetic personality.  I had the distinction of being the only E-5 or below crew member to be stupid enough (or as I would say "has the Balls enough") to play with the Chiefs.  That attitude soon backfired on me, when one day I found that the Chiefs had moved the game into the Chiefs mess. This was a problem for me, since I was in debt to that game and without an opportunity to alleviate that situation, by playing in it, I would be stuck with that debt.  I would have none of it, and being the naive rookie, in over his head, I waltzed right in to the Chiefs mess and sat done at the game.  This was like entering the Holy of Holies, where the Ark of the Covenant was on display.  I ignored the glares and stares and mutterings, only to be informed as politely as I could ever hope to expect I was not welcome there.  I expressed my concerns and the game was moved back out to a site where I would be allowed to participate. I guess I raised quite a stir and then a little respect as the Chiefs realized I was no going to be hornswaggled in that way without a fight.
       Now the crap game was new to me.  I quickly learned the rules as I observed my shipmates involved in what looked and sounded like, what Meyer Lansky may have observed while growing up in the lower east side of New York, before he tried to dominate the gambling rackets of that place.  Get paid and find a bulkhead in the same space you got paid.   Just Crazy, lose your whole check in minutes.
      So back and forth it went, untill one day, while engaged in icebreaking operations in McMurdo sound I found myself in a head to head blackjack game with none other than Captains cook  1st class.  I was winning and he was pissed,  He would not let me leave with his money, so hand after hand it went, even after they announced liberty at McMurdo station, I felt obligated to at least, allow him to attempt to win his money back. And I wanted off that ship in a bad way.  I walked away with $400 of his money, which represented almost a months pay for me, in 1978. I thought he was going to kill me after searching his face on my way out.
      Well I was feeling pretty cocky as I scrambled up the iced over hill that was supposed to be a road towards McMurdo base proper.  I learned there was 3 bars, enlisted mans bar, chiefs bar, and officers bar.  The enlisted mans bar was known as The Snake Pit. So into the Snake Pit I went, with a wad of cash in my pocket.  I noticed that one of the cooks had a fairly easy shot at the 8 ball, on one of the pool tables.  I slapped down a 20 and retorted that I bet that 20 that he would miss the shot.  Well some of the sailors told me that he had been running the table all night and that was a pretty stupid bet.  I did,nt care, I was flush with cash and I felt like  superman. So as he lined up his shot, I grabbed the 40 bucks."YES!!!!" Now some might say I was a little quick on the draw and that may have startled that cook and he may have missed because of that, but nobody challenged me so as far as I was concerned I was good to go.  With The Spy Who Loved Me playing on the projector, I sallied up to the bar and bought drinks for all my friends.
      After I skidded on my ass all the way down the hill, back to the ship,  (I was trying to take a short cut and fell on my ass, and that's where I stayed all the way down the hill) I made my way to galley, frozen ass and all, because I was Hungry and it was about time for Mid Rats.  Midnight Rations, which was served for the watch standers underway because they may have missed evening chow.  Well I was dissapointed to learn that since McMurdo was considered a port-o-call mid rats was cancelled.  Dejected and drunk I stumbled to the berthing area and collapsed on the couch. Well lo and be hold who should be coming down the ladder, none other than the cook who just lost 20 dollars on the pool table to some drunk loudmouth.  ( that would be me)  so I offered him a deal.  I said I would return his 20 dollars if he would make me a sandwich, since he had access to the galley.  I specified what I wanted on it and he agreed.  A few minutes later he came down with what was not even close to what I ordered.Well right behind him I then noticed a couple of my shipmates coming    down with plates of food.  I then asked what was going on?  I thought mid-rats was cancelled?            Apparently some rank higher up countermanded that order.  Well I refused to pay that cook his money back,under the circumstances and I did not get what I ordered anyway.  I went to go open my locker and CRACK I felt and heard on the back of my head.  I reach around with my hand a came away with a handful of blood.  I went completely berserk, as pummeled the is cooks face. I normally wont kick anybody when they are down, but with this case I made an exception and gave him a couple in the ribs,due to the fact it was such a grievous sneak attack.  We both ended up in sick bay, where the senior corpsman was a warrant officer, drunker than a skunk, began yelling at the cook what a pussy he was, after he found out what happen.  The next morning, I had my eggs served to me, by that cook with a sour look on his face and two shiners on both eyes.

The Loft Con

       As it turns out one of my duties aboard ship as a seaman apprentice, ( soon to be promoted to full Seaman) was to stand lookout watches.  Normally a lookout watch would station himself outside of the bridge, or sometimes during the fog up on the focsule ( Forecastle) which is the bow of the ship.  However, special circumstances aboard an icebreaker require the lookout standing watch in the Ross Sea  ascend to the Loft Con which in so many words is a glorified crows nest on steroids. It is enclosed with lights heat radar and a helm  and compass a miniature pilot house about 3/4 the way up the stack.  during actual ice breaking operations the officer of the watch stands duty in the loft con so he has a birds eye view of the ice and the best way to negotiate the solid fast ice that just looks like part of the land except frozen white.  Until that time the lookout watch stands duty in the loft con, which was my privilege to be instructed to climb up the inside of the stack in a near gale, to the aforementioned loft con ,only to find the pitch black darkness and the frozen metal inside the stack a little challenging.  I just kept climbing until I bumped my  head on a hatch with a handle, so I turned it climbed up on the platform that thankfully had a railing, and held on for dear life as the wind was blowing about 30 knots in about a 20 foot sea, at night.  Then as the glacier listed to one side then the other, I was having the ride of my life, and I soon realized I was in the wrong place. I skedaddled back down into the stack and eventually located the hatch of the loft con, thankful to find it heated and lit, when I realized that the snickers I later heard from the crew, probably gave away the fact that the light that was supposed to indicate the loft con hatch, was accidentally on purpose not working at that convenient time.  I considered the episode another unofficial initiation.

Suva, Fiji Islands

        Three weeks underway, and Suva was beckoning.  Three weeks does not seem like much but underway in the open ocean, aboard an ancient Icebreaker, that was built for breaking ice, not comfortable rides, seems like forever. Every time she rolled it felt like she was going to capsize, finally got used to that after awhile.  With 300 +  crew  the food stores were dwindling and rusty lettuce in the salad was becoming a common site.
         The docking facilities in Suva were not prepared for us, consequently we had to anchor offshore until docking space was available. Which brings me to the experience of being handed a sledge hammer and ordered to lay to the anchor locker. It seems me and one other unfortunate soul  were given the duty of knocking all the big chunks of rust off that 2 inch chain so that it would make it thru the locker hatch .From the condition of that anchor chain, I don't believe anchoring was a very common event, at least not in the last decade. Looking back I believe a respirator and eye protection should have been in order, sweaty and filthy we managed it, our dark blue work uniforms were red with rust, as we headed for the showers.
        After we anchored, the natives rowed out in their outrigger canoes, like a scene from Mutiny on the Bounty, and proceeded to barter with us.  They were selling wood carvings among other souvenirs including Thai sticks.  They would throw them up to us and we would offer them bic lighters and Levis or any item that had Coast Guard logo on it was popular.
        We were mustered on the flight deck before liberty was granted, and we were told that there was an 80% VD rate among the local girls, which consisted of African American girls with British accents. Indians,  the dot not the feather, and the native tribe girls who lived in the hills above the town. There was also two bars that were off limits The Green dragon and the Golden something.  Well most of the ships company ended up in those establishments because they were the only 2 bars around.  The black girls loved us, it seemed the men treated the women, like Americans did 100 years ago. The girls were fighting over who would get the private bedroom at the hotel. Now missing movement is a very serious offense, but when about 2/3 of the crew missed moving to the dock from the anchorage, not too much was said.
         Some of us took a cab ride up in the hills and the scenery was what you would expect a tropical paradise, where the native girls were openly offering themselves to us as they watched our cab go by.  after about 5 days or so we were rejuvenated and bound for Wellington.