As it turned out, neither of us saw the ghost, but it was what we heard that was memorable. We slept peacefully beneath Lake Michigan in the womb of the sub, lullabied by the rhythmic lapping of waters against the still solid hull of 70-year old Silversides. We realized that sound, not sight, was truly the sensory currency of the submariners, for while sight was certainly critical to navigation and attack, it was sound that was the primary sensory stimulation for the crew in the close, dimly lit confines of the sub. There were the sounds of sonar, torpedoes, propellers of enemy destroyers, depth charges … all measured by duration, proximity, and magnitude… sounds and silences by which these men lived and died. Running silent and deep gave the sub a stealthy advantage and made the sub less likely to be detected by the enemy, while sound betrayed their position and increased the already high risks of successful enemy counter-measures. A careless, indiscrete sound could literally sink the sub. The experience gave us pause, as we reflected on the indiscrete behaviors that unwittingly impose on the sensory sensibilities of others… something to think about in anticipation of the next time we bike a path, hike a trail, paddle a slough, or consider the “be considerate of others” principle of Leave No Trace.
No comments:
Post a Comment