TCC #2: Volcanic Interludes
In this issue: Beauty & the Beast, plus Rainier Rangers
The past few months we've been fascinated with the ongoing volcanic eruption at La Palma, in the Canary Islands.
If you're unfamiliar, this is the same volcano made famous a few years back when a documentary TV show sensationalized a geological research paper from 2001 (PDF download).
This paper concludes that it is possible that La Palma might sheer off a massive piece of itself during an eruption, sending it crashing into the sea. That in turn might create a tsunami which might be up to 80 feet high by the time it reaches the 50+ million Americans living on the eastern seaboard.
Queue the apocalyptic soundtrack…
All those scary bits got amplified by the Echo Chamber and before you know it, the word “mega-tsunami” entered our vocabulary and was placed on the impending doomsday checklist.
There are no indications that scenario has arrived with the current eruption. In fact, the USGS says it has been debunked in the 20 years since the paper was published.
Regardless of it’s doom-filled attraction, La Palma's past few eruptions have been relatively limited in scale & duration, lasting an average of just sixty days. But with this event in it’s 12th week, the mountain appears to have regained some vigor and informs us that the show isn’t over just yet.
And what a show it is!
There are a few good live cams (here, and here) streaming ‘round the clock. The time zone difference makes it perfect for North American viewers to watch in the early to late evening to see the best nighttime lava flows in glowing detail.
For the more curious viewer, this stream includes feeds of seismic data and audibly announces earthquake activity on top of the live video.
As the December cold finally begins to catch up with us here on the homestead in Oregon, we’ve been putting one of these on the big screen with the sound down, and curling up under a blanket while we listen to a podcast or audiobook. The cottage is small enough that the heat from the back of the TV actually helps it stay toasty.
I suppose it’s our version of a fireplace; the lava has the same ability to arrest our attention as glowing embers and dancing flames.
From half a world away it would be easy to stop there with it’s entertainment value.
But Beauty dances best when she's partnered with a Beast.
Since this eruption began on September 19th, at least 20 acres have been added to the island as the lava meets the sea. In the long march to get there, however, it has covered more than 2,400 acres of existing land. It’s taken with it whole towns and thousands of buildings, causing the evacuation of almost 10% of the island's 85,000 inhabitants.
Banana production, making up 30% of the island economy, has been hit particularly hard. It’s a tough situation and those affected are scrambling to react. One politician wants to develop a tourist industry around the event, while another went so far as to suggest bombing the volcano to redirect the lava flows.
I can only imagine that if I lived there I’d be ready for Beauty to take a rest, and Beast to get his dance card punched somewhere else.
Reader Challenge:
It's said that animals can predict geologic activity before it happens. We’ve noticed it too.Spend an hour or two watching a La Palma livestream with the sound on.
What animals do you hear? Do their vocalizations seem to match the frequency of the larger blasts and quakes you see? Do they come before or after the events? Share your observations in the comments.
By early 1995 I'd been in the Army for almost five years. My rank & title were Specialist E4, Personnel Records Specialist. I had graduated leadership school and been sitting on the promotions list to Sergeant for about three years.
At my first duty station in Germany I’d served in all of the major sections of a Personnel Services Company (PSC). The PSC is basically the lowest level Human Resources unit in the Army. We managed things like military IDs, passports, personnel files, life insurance, reassignments, promotion packets, and evaluation reports for all the units in the Nuremberg region.
My job there was very Radar O'Reilly, with lots of typing, signatures, and digging through regulations. The similarities didn’t stop with clerical work, though. I even managed to serve six months attached to the 502nd MASH for Operation Provide Promise. Throw in a little Cold War and Gulf War mayhem, and service in Europe really had turned out to be an adventure worthy of the recruiter’s promises.
But this isn’t that story.
After Germany, and nearing reenlistment, I spent a year at G1 division level in the historic 1st Cavalry Division, Fort Hood, Texas.
That was a completely different experience. I was part of a large headquarters team that coordinated real-time information meant to cut through the fog of war. Our job was making sure the Division’s 18,000 soldiers could deploy and stay in the fight even after heavy losses.
Things like:
Finding qualified replacements for dead or wounded soldiers.
Tracking medical evacuations, hospital bed availability, and reporting casualties.
Managing security clearances and secure documents.
Ensuring the Division commander was making decisions with accurate information.
It was sort of like this video, but with a lot fewer computers and a lot more tents & command trucks. The Army of the mid 1990s was just beginning to become a networked operation in the sense we think of now. Modern, high level strategic systems only existed in early form, often experimental.
Most things were still done on paper. We had a few PC’s, but they were primarily for making Power Point slideshow briefings for the two-star general.
It was a short, grueling assignment, and one of my most illuminating.
But this isn’t that story either.
By the time I reenlisted for my third duty assignment at Fort Lewis, Washington in January of ‘95, I felt like I had a broad experience in my career field, and a good idea what to expect with my job no matter which type of unit I got assigned to.
Boy was I wrong.
And, yes, this is that story.
I was assigned as the NCO-in-Charge of the Personnel In-Processing Branch of the Fort Lewis Welcome Center - the first place new soldiers report when arriving on station. I would be responsible for a portion of the same building I myself had in-processed through just the day before, managing personnel records intake.
Not far from the main base entrance, the Welcome Center was in a rustic complex of WWII-era wooden barracks buildings. From the front porch of my building I could see Mount Rainier looming over the base. We were also just down the road from Mount St Helens, the volcano that spectacularly blew it's top in 1980.
It was a beautiful location to work, with many of these older buildings on short stilts tucked under tall cedar, pine, and fir trees. There were picnic tables for break areas between most the buildings. Overall, the complex felt as much like a summer camp as anything else. I had great office hours, and it was stable for the family with little risk of deployment.
Coming from the Pacific Northwest it already felt like home.
But there were problems with the new job too. Instead of a normal military chain of command I found myself reporting under a dual civilian/military structure called the Military Personnel Division. Even the unit name was weird: it was not a Division at all, but a small, Company sized element of about 80-100 soldiers.
While doing my Monday through Friday 9-5 job at the office, I reported to both a civilian manager and to a Master Sergeant, who then reported to the civilian head of daily operations.
When I was doing all the things every other soldier does - physical fitness, going out on field exercises, mandatory training and cleanup details - I reported through my military chain of command under the First Sergeant and Commander. Some members of my military chain were in my civilian chain, but others were not.
This created some weird problems and misunderstanding as to who had authority over resources, and when.
For one example, if I needed to deliver something across base for my job, I couldn’t just jump in a Hummer and drive. My unit had a motor pool, but the civilian work function had one van used only for one purpose. I either walked, rode a bike, or drove my own car to do my daily job tasks. Those needs just weren’t the unit command's concern.
Initially I was frustrated with a unit command that wasn't directly invested in my mission. But it proved to be exactly the kind of environment I could thrive in.
Fort Lewis was also home to the 2/75th Ranger Regiment, a much different kind of unit. For infantry soldiers, the Rangers are the gateway into the elite world of America's special operators.
Several times a year Fort Lewis would receive a large batch of these newly minted Rangers arriving from Fort Benning, Georgia. They were usually still privates. Many had been together since Basic Training, thru advanced Infantry training, and then Ranger school.
Most hadn’t served in anything other than training commands prior to arriving on Fort Lewis, so they were a bit naïve, but tough, cocky, and ready to prove themselves.
One of these new Ranger cohorts arrived at the Welcome Center one morning shortly after I’d taken charge of the section.
Now as the new NCOIC I'd only made one major policy change: if a customer signed in before 3 p.m. they would be seen that day no matter what. No more making soldiers come back the next day to finish in-processing. If we had to stay open late, then we stayed open late.
My employees warned me that it wouldn't be workable, but I was adamant.
“We’re going to find out then, aren't we?”, I insisted.
To be honest, I’d never supervised a mixed civilian/military group of employees before, much less union members. I was used to having full control over things like when people take breaks or go home for the day. I was used to having military-specific authority to accomplish my mission no matter what.
I was not used to resistance.
On this particular morning, my five soldiers were off all day on unit training and one of my civilian clerks called in sick. That left four of us in an office usually staffed by ten.
When we opened the doors at 9 a.m. a herd of several dozen new Rangers packed into the lobby - easily a full day’s worth of work under normal conditions, much less when we were short-staffed.
I was about to find out if my new policy was as over-ambitious as I’d been told.
After a quick instruction briefing the Rangers split off in different directions, looking for the shortest line. Throughout the day they visited each section, turning in medical, dental, personnel and finance records that they had carried with them.
By lunch-time my section had slowed down everything else in the whole building, my line deeper & the wait getting longer as more new arrivals continued trickling in, only adding to the work load.
This is not the kind of impression a newly arrived NCO wants to leave with his bosses!
I spent lunch calling around my unit, trying to find a senior NCO who would release my soldiers from training. But the answer was always the same - training would be over by 5 p.m. and I could have them after that if I wanted.
It wasn't the unit's mission at risk, their mission was training.
My civilians insisted I needed to tell half of those waiting to come back the next day, which only reinforced my original resolve. I was going to get every soldier in-processed that day if I had to stay all night and do it by myself.
In-processing a new duty station is tedious and boring under the best of circumstances. Even after all day standing in lines and waiting areas, it could still take up to an hour to get through the records review process once we called someone's name. Day long waits are just the military way sometimes, but by 3 p.m. even these guys were losing patience, anxious to be off to their first real duty assignments.
I had a group of four of them that were tired and impatient, horsing around, and getting disrespectful with my civilians.
I came out to the front desk to get them under control. Obviously by this point in the day my own patience was stretched and needing some relief as well. As I approached, one heavily freckled kid nudged his buddy, nodded his head my direction and snickered under his breath,
“He don't have the tab; doesn't count.”
I went from frustrated to pissed.
The tab he was referring to is the Ranger tab, the uniform patch worn by those who’ve completed the tough, two month long Ranger School. It's an honor to be proud of, certainly, but these guys had picked up an unauthorized “arrogance patch” along with it.
That needed removed post haste.
There is a long running debate about who can or can’t call themselves a Ranger. Technically, wearing the Ranger tab only means you are Ranger qualified.
Veteran Rangers are pretty clear on the subject, however: you don’t get to call yourself an “Army Ranger” until you’ve served in an active Ranger Regiment, no matter how many schools you’ve graduated.
These guys had orders to the Regiment, but could not report in until after I verified their orders and qualifications for the assignment.
“On your feet!” I barked, turning on The Sergeant voice.
Every Non-Commissioned Officer has their own version of that voice. Military servicemembers around the world have learned to respond to that voice by instinct.
Instantly they stood & formed a line at taut attention.
“Listen up, privates! I know it’s been a long day and you’ve been patient, but now you’re hanging your asses out the back of your pants like you came in off the street yesterday!
“Do you think those tabs make you special? Don’t answer that!
“I have not earned the privileged right to wear that tab. But I have earned the right to decide whether or not to send you on to your Regiment. No Regimental service? Then you aren’t Rangers at all.”
Now I had their attention.
“You aren't special! Hell, I haven't even seen your records yet; until I do, I’m not sure you’ve earned that tab. You wouldn’t be the first idiots to sew something on a uniform they hadn’t earned. Are you really Ranger qualified?”
This brought an affirming chorus of “Yes, Specialist!"
"I don't know,” I continued. “a real Ranger would show a lot less clown and a lot more respect while wearing that tab, don't you think?”
“Yes, Specialist!”, they barked.
“This is your lucky day, ‘cause I’m gonna let you prove it. I hear a Ranger can low crawl on his belly any distance through any environment, is that true?”
“Yes, Specialist!"
I pointed towards far end of the office, about 40 feet away.
“Then get your asses on the floor and crawl to the wall. Whoever gets there first goes to the front of the line; the rest of you will be staying here to clean my building tonight. Now go, go, go!”
Without wasting a second these gung-ho grunts hit the floor, dragging their bodies in classic low-crawl fashion, racing towards the back of the office.
Only a moment later I realized my mistake.
We had faded light blue carpet in the building, and as soon as those highly polished boots started scuffing across the floor I saw they were leaving long, dark, black streaks in their wake.
“Stop, stop, stop!" I shouted. “What the hell are you doing? I thought Rangers could handle any environment! Look behind you - you’re leaving a trail even my civilians can follow! Pick your feet up while you crawl, you inbred nuggets!”
The Army has a name and designated purpose for everything.
The purpose of the low-crawl is to move forward while flattening every inch of your body against the ground as much as possible. Trying to accomplish this correctly without dragging your feet behind you is impossible.
To pick their feet up they had to shift their weight onto their knees. This had the humorous follow-on effect of forcing their butts up into the air with their faces still down on the the carpet.
I paced them as they inch-wormed along, correcting their form and haranguing them as they went.
“Keep your head down!”
“Get your feet up!”
“Why is your ass in the air?!”
“Don't you scuff my beautiful carpet!”
It was a hilarious moment of stress relief for everyone, drawing people from nearby offices to see what the commotion was. My civilian clerks got into it, pausing work for a few moments to cheer the Rangers on as they passed row after row of desks.
Private Freckles managed to eek out a lead on his buddies and won the race.
I took him back to my desk and had his paperwork finished up in short order. He actually seemed like a decent guy, but since he'd been the mouthy instigator it didn’t seem right that he was the one who got rewarded. Seeing he came from the Midwest gave me an idea.
“Follow me," I said and led him out the back door. I lit a badly needed cigarette and pointed to Mount Rainier.
“Have you ever seen anything like that before, Private?”
“Just on the bus ride this morning, but it was cloudy," he answered.
"That right there is Mount Rainier - an honest to gods volcano, Private. Fort Lewis command has designated that monster as an immediate threat to the readiness of this post. Every unit on the installation is required to maintain a volcano watch around the clock.”
I gestured first towards him, then the roof access ladder on the back of the building.
“Trouble is, I don’t have any soldiers here today. That leaves you, Mr. Ranger.
“I need you to go up on that roof, find a safe, comfy perch, and keep your eyes glued on that mountain. If it burps, if it coughs, if you see smoke or hear any loud rumbles you come let me know right away. You think you can handle that mission?”
He looked a little incredulous and then dejectedly said, “Yes, Specialist,” and started slowly up the ladder.
I finished my smoke, hiding my satisfied smile, then went back inside.
The break in monotony seemed to have motivated the office. The rest of the afternoon went by fast and we actually wrapped up the last of the customers just before union quitting time. The civvies went home and I put the three remaining Rangers to work emptying garbage cans and scrubbing the boot polish out of my carpets.
Once they finished cleaning up I let them go call their Regiment for a ride.
Finally, at around 6 p.m. I could go home for the night. Feeling confident I’d managed to successfully weather a very hectic day, I shut the lights off, locked the back door, and started walking to the parking lot.
Just as I reached my car, I stopped in my tracks when I heard a somewhat timid, yet very respectful voice calling down out of the dark.
“Excuse me, Specialist? I can’t see the volcano anymore and it’s getting cold. Can I come down now?”
I have loved volcanoes every since.
Miss the First Issue?
I’d like to thank everyone who subscribed or shared the first issue. It received a better response than expected thanks to you. Score one in the “Friends & Family” column and another for the #Substack community on Twitter. You're all awesome!
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I hope to put out at least one more issue between now and the Christmas holiday.
Stay safe & thanks again!
A.W. Ford
Disclaimer:
The personal stories and essays in this & future publications are based on my own life experiences per my recollection and points of view at the time, as well as thoughts about what they mean to my life now, after years of recollection, revision, and rumination.
I’ve taken literary license to change names, locations, or other specific details where needed in order to respect the privacy of all those who’ve enriched my life with their influence - the good, the bad, and the wart-covered arse plugs!
Hahaha! Rainer is gorgeous, and I miss ft.lewis. but good job making freckles humble! Rofl.
Looks like the La Palma volcano may have come to the end of this eruption