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November 25, 1954
Cape Sarichef, site of a U.S. Coast Guard LORAN (Long Range Aids to Navigation) station, overlooked the Bering Sea from the northwestern corner of Unimak Island, Alaska. Also under our care was the westernmost lighthouse on the American continents. Lieutenant (jg) Lawrence Hamilton, a Washington native, commanded the 17-man unit.
Thanksgiving day began with enticing smells drifting from the galley. Emmett Thompson, our food expert, claimed New Orleans as home. I doubt that he was Cajun, but his culinary skills brought light to our bleak existence on an isolated outpost.
When I got off mid-watch that morning Thompson told me the big meal would be ready about 1400, so I hit the sack for a few hours.
Someone rapped on my door in time for me to brush my teeth and put on fresh dungarees befoe chow. I waxed my moustache but didn't shave--hadn't for eight months.
Joe "Preacher" Maples, an Oregonian, said grace before we began passing the food.
The main courses consisted of Virginia-baked ham with candied-Louisiana yams, or roast tom turkey with giblet gravy and oyster dressing. Several side dishes highlighted Thompson's culinary skills. We had a choice of tossed green or pineapple raisin salads. I opted for some of each. Among things we hadn't seen at our table before were buttered asparagus, and stuffed celery.
Fortunately our bi-weekly grocery and supply flight from the Coast Guard Air Station on Kodiak Island, 550 miles away, had arrived only eight days prior to the holiday, so the vegetables were relatively fresh for our part of the world.
For dessert Thompson served mincemeat pie, pumpkin pie and fruit cake, with candy and mixed nuts on the side. The crew provided hand-cranked ice cream--well maybe it wasn't hand cranked. We used a half-inch electric drill.
By the time everyone drifted away from the table the wind had slackened to tolerable and visibility had increased to a half mile between snow flurries. The Bering Sea, wearing its winter suit of slate gray, sent white capped waves tumbling toward the black sand beach below the station. (Days later whales began migrating out of the Arctic Ocean, headed south to calving areas along Mexico's Baja Peninsula. We often saw several spouting simultaneously.)
In spite of full stomachs, several men decided to go skiing on the slopes below Pogromni Volcano, a 6,568 foot backdrop to the station. We climbed into one of our Weasels, a tracked conveyance designed for snow travel, and headed for the foothills. Lacking a ski lift, the vehicle, with a tow rope behind, made an acceptable substitute.
With winter upon the island, we didn't worry about encounterilng one of Unimak's giant bears.
Even though the snow was deep, a thin crust of ice kept skis from digging in enough to steer the ungainly sticks. The only one of our group able to stay erect all the way down the slope couldn't turn or stop, so he fell to keep from crashing into a lava bed at the bottom. Also, due to the snow and cloudy sky blending into a dark shade of white, a skier couldn't always spot a drift across his path, which usually sent him sprawling. I spent more time horizontal than vertical. Due to the early sunset we only made a couple of runs.
For an evening treat we ate leftovers and watched two Technicolor movies on loan from the navy. And of course the holiday ended at midnight--back on watch for me.
The crew of Cape Sarichef LORAN Station:
L.O. Hamilton, Commanding Officer
Emmett Thompson CS1
Wayne A. Anderson ET3
James W. Baker FN
Norman C. Dressler RD3
Fred B. Gallien ETC
Wilbur A. Hill SA
John L. Lehman ET3
Joseph C. Maples DC3
Robert A. Michaud RD3
Donald J. Nigh RM1
Louis V. Parker HM1
Ronald J. Passarelli RD3
Donald J. Schneberger SA
James L. Sherman EN3
Harry L. Strother ENC
Herbert E. King EN3
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