Katchi...

ROK Fleet Naval Base, Busan, Republic of Korea


About 4K into the traditional USN/ROKN 5K Friendship Run, a young ROK sailor trots up alongside me. Since I haven't run much lately, I've set a deliberate training pace, not looking to set a PR or take any chance on injury. So I'm running casually way at the back of the pack. I expect this much younger, fitter ROK sailor will blow past me as quickly as he materialized from behind.

He does not. He matches my stride almost step for step. After about a half a kilometer more I realize he's not leaving my side. I believe he may have already finished his race. He's probably just being friendly and pacing the older American sailor at the back of the pack. (Maybe he's a medic...? Nah.) Whatever the reason, he stays with me deliberately. I am sure of that.


I may have felt slightly annoyed at first. I usually run alone. In a race no one seems to be on the same pace as me. Yet here's this ROK sailor, matching me stride for stride, silently and inscrutable. I begin to appreciate, then enjoy the experience. And so we continue through most of the last kilometer. We even pass a few others who have stopped or slowed to a steady walk.


The final stretch of the course runs first abeam the premier ROK amphibious ship. A few hundred meters beyond that lies the finish line, abeam our own U.S. Flagship. As we pass the ROK ship, I spot the finish line ahead. ROK and USN photographers are taking pictures of all the finishers as the back of the pack straggles to the end. Inspired, I catch my new running partner's attention and I tell him, "Katchi Kapshida. We go in together."* He smiles his understanding. We continue to match each other, step for step.


As we near the finish, we raise clasped hands high above our heads and cross the line together, triumphant not only for the attention and photographers' flashes, but for the friendship we demonstrate, friendship that extends beyond these two random sailors to include the two free nations working arduously together to preserve the peace in this part of the world.


Finally past the finish line we shake hands. "Kamsamnida," I say. "Thank you."


Later we pose with smiling, jubilant shipmates for a group photo. Friendship.


At the end of the event we all join the large group of ROK and US sailors who raise hands high, and enthusiastically repeat after the US and ROK Fleet Commanders:


English speakers: "Katchi Kapshida!"
Hongul speakers: "We go together!"


What a great way to start a day.


*"Katchi Kapshida" is the motto of the USN/ROKN alliance and friendship. It literally means, "We go forth together."

Where Do We Get Such...?

EXT. USS SAVO ISLAND, BRIDGE WING - DAY

RADM GEORGE TARRANT

Where do we get such men? They leave this ship and they do their job. Then they must find this speck lost somewhere on the sea. When they find it they have to land on it's pitching deck. Where do we get such men?

MAN ON LOUDSPEAKER

Launch jets!

Thus ended the 1954 film, "The Bridges at Toko-Ri," starring William Holden as a reserve Naval aviator recalled from his law practice for the Korean War; Grace Kelly as his not-so typical Navy wife (She broke the rules to join him in Yokosuka, Japan.); Mickey Rooney as Chief Mike Forney, a Navy enlisted helicopter pilot; and Frederic March as RADM Tarrant. The movie is based on James Michener's novel of the same title, written well before women broke into tactical naval aviation.


As a Navy flight surgeon, I've known many naval aviators over the last two decades. I've shared their wardrooms, their ready rooms, their squadron spaces, and their aircraft. I've been through their survival training, initial flight training, recurrent training, and NATOPS quals. (I once earned a bona-fide F-14 NATOPS qual.) I've sat with them on Human Factors Boards, FNAEBS, and Mishap Investigation Boards. I've signed their annual exams, cared for their physical and mental well-being, and that of their families, given them down chits and up chits, and processed a variety of waivers.


And, I've flown with them in just about every platform they operate (P-3  and F/A-18 being notable exceptions).


I've enjoyed stick time in dual-controlled naval aircraft, including the Blue Angels' famous "Fat Albert." I've set up bombing runs in the venerable A-6 Intruder, searched for bogies in the back of an E-2 Hawkeye, done high pops in the S-3 Viking, and performed airborne intercepts in the F-14 Tomcat. I've flown close to the ground in the dark wearing night vision goggles in the H-60 Seahawk.  I've soloed in the T-34B Mentor.


Thirty times I've been with them as they landed those planes on that pitching aircraft carrier deck. That includes one dark, cloudy Adriatic night in the back seat of a Tomcat that boltered several times before safely trapping aboard. (CAG had some choice words for me after that flight.)


As I enter the twilight of my Navy Medicine career, its single most satisfying experience is my association with Naval Air. That was why I made the leap from civilian practice, and I've never been disappointed. (Except for not getting enough flight time, of course.) I love aviation and I relish flying. So no surprise that I'm thrilled to be part of this elite community, to have felt the head rush of transition from single engine Cessnas to tactical jets!


But it's not all about the flying. It is very much more about the people. Indeed, where do we get such men? And such women?


Some of the finest men and women I've ever known wear those U.S. Navy wings of gold. Their indomitable spirit would infect even the most cynical of hearts. Their commitment, focus, and dedication to mission would surpass many a driven businessman. Their love for life and for fellow man would overshadow even a wide-eyed optimist.


"I could die tomorrow."  I've heard Naval Aviators accused of using that phrase for wanton self-aggrandizement. The community is not perfect, nor do I mean to blindly glorify its members. But to this observer that phrase actually reflects an essential aspect of the aviator spirit. Certainly life should be cautiously managed, to include careful planning and deliberate risk mitigation. But we cannot reduce risk to zero, and we cannot outsmart life. Ultimately we must live and enjoy life as if we were to die tomorrow. We strive to achieve what Maslow called "self-actualization." I know few other communities that capture that self-actualization any better than my friends and colleagues in Naval Aviation.


I'm proud to be a part of the Naval Air community. That's why I love to don my flight suit, why I will always sport brown shoes with my khakis, and why I proudly pin my own wings of gold above the ribbons and that other warfare device on my left uniform chest.  For me, those wings represent peak experiences, not only of slipping the surly bonds of earth and touching the face of God, but also of being a better man for knowing those who do it as a vocation.

Harry and Jellyfish Lake

The guide wizards, Favio and Brad, led Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Ginny up the rocky path and over the hill that led to the enchanted Jellyfish Lake. They must find the horcrux before He Who Must Not Be Named called the end of liberty and forced their return to Blueridge for transportation to the next enchanted place.

  

The native Wizards insisted that the jellyfish would not sting, having evolved beyond the need to do so. Skeptical, the intrepid snorklers nervously donned the magic goggles and breathing devices and slid cautiously into the dark lake. The water felt uncommonly warm, heated as it was by the tropical sun. Yet beneath the surface it grew darker and almost viscous, and very deep. Looking down one could see only black.

Harry breathed easily through the device as his eyes scanned the water ahead and below him. At first all was dark except for small spit-eating fish. Then he saw it. About the size of a small cantaloupe, a pulsating jellyfish appeared just beneath him. Then two more. Then three. Turning his gaze forward he suddenly saw thousands of the creatures floating in the water ahead, like so many satellites roaming outer space. Clearly these jellyfish stood guard over some strange and haunted treasure. They appeared in all sizes, from tiny marble sized babies, to adults the size of melons. Soon Harry was surrounded by the jellies, which bounced off of him like soft tennis balls traveling in slow motion. He was truly relieved that  they did not sting.

Harry and his friends discovered that they could reach out and touch the creatures, cupping them in their hands and then letting them go with a slight swish, like spinning a softball pitch. The jelly would then twirl off into the murky water. This reminded Harry of an amusement park ride. “Do jellyfish get dizzy twirling like that?” he wondered.

By now the jellies were so thick that he could no longer avoid bumping into them. He tried to follow the wizards’ instructions about not beating the water with his finned feet, lest he squash or injure the jellies. Perhaps enraged they would find a way to sting...

Harry followed his friends and the wizard guides around the lake, learning that it was laden with 14 million of these jellified creatures. All of them beat rhythmically through the water and fearlessly approached Harry and the others from all angles. Harry wondered who was more fascinated with whom.

Then Brad, the South African wizard who seemed to be half fish, beckoned Harry and his friends to a different part of the lake. There they saw sea anemones attached to the coral. If a jellyfish would float too close, an anemone would grasp it in its tentacles and begin to chew it up. Population control, Palauan lake style.

Eventually they had made a full circle and returned to the dock and the rocky hill and the boat that had brought them to this marvelously enchanted lake. They had found not a single horcrux, so they must move on to the region of the giant clams where they would continue their quest.

And Dumbledore was nowhere to be found.