Cowboy Confessional

I spent the morning rubbing shoulders with politicians and other disreputable characters.

Normally an amputation without anesthesia would be preferable, but in this case I was enjoying the commissioning of the new Coast Guard Cutter Bertholf.

This ex-cowboy ended up in the company of unsavory elected ruffians by virtue of having grown-up with the Bertholf’s captain and his wife. We reconnected shortly before Captain Stadt, Michelle and the new ship arrived here in San Francisco.

The cutter emphasizes the old and new priorities of the Coast Guard. In a post 9/11 world, the coasties have an expanded mandate involving defense from the world’s nasty players. The Coast Guard’s  enhanced mission becomes clear when you discover that this 418 foot (127 meters for my foreign friends who use a vastly superior system of weights and measures) ship can sprint through the water at 28 knots, run for 60 days and reach 12,000 nautical miles.

Oh, and the laser aimed 57mm bow gun that fires 200 rounds per minute is a dead give away.

The Bertholf is the first cutter of this design — the Legend class — and I feel a bit sorry for Pat having to take the lumps that come with version 1.0 hardware (quite literally, that forward gun is serial number 001). But after a shakedown cruise, everything appears to be in fighting order.

Security was amusing as it always is when dignitaries are in town. Homeland Security secretary Michael Chertoff was at last night’s reception as well as today’s commissioning. I managed to leave the poor fellow alone. Taking the helm of a bureaucracy hastily assembled from bits and piece of the federal government in the panic of post 9/11 is enough pressure for one lifetime. Unsolicited critique from me was wholly unnecessary.

However, the parking lot and reception area had the usual assortment of large men in ugly suits, sporting dark sunglasses (at night while indoors), coiled cables coming from the ears and conspicuous bulges under the left side of the jackets. Piece of advice: don’t engage these guys in conversation, especially with an opening line like “So, what make of handgun do you carry?”

The security situation was even more entertaining outside. The Bertholf is moored at the Coast Guard island next to Alameda, California — two islands in San Francisco Bay. The ditch between the islands was littered with smaller Coast Guard patrol boats that slaked menacing sideways, bow always facing away from the Bertholf and the assembled guest.

And each had a very stern looking fellow on the bow, hands firmly gripping the Browning .50 caliber machine guns mounted there.

The Bertholf bridge is geek heaven. Nothing resembled the helm of ships you have seen before. The twin rudders are independently operated using two tiny dashboard wheels that I could cover with one hand. Large computer screens provide an at-a-glance view of the entire vessel’s status. Both screws are independent as well and have variable pitch controls, allowing the thrust of each to be tailored.

In a pinch you can steer the ship using just the propellers.

The captain and crew certainly are ready. Not a dullard in the pack. All young, healthy and seemingly eager to get the on with their duties. If al Quaeda reads this blog, then allow me to suggest not screwing with this crew. You’ll arrive in Paradise well ahead of schedule.

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