Free A Full Life: Reflections at Ninety by Jimmy Carter

innovative craft and devising all its future procedures for operating and conducting clandestine warfare, plus incidentals like the inventory of tools, linens, dishes, silverware, and food items. Captain Frank Andrews was chosen as our commanding officer, and he designated me as engineering officer when the other officers and men were assigned to the ship. Collectively, we quickly utilized and improved the voluminous documents I had prepared.
    Our new snorkel system would permit the submarine, with the hull and conning tower a few feet under the surface, to pipe air down into the ship to be burned in the diesel engines and breathed by the crew. A valve on top of the pipe would snap shut whenever a wave washed over it, and still-running engines would use up the contained air and create an uncomfortable temporary vacuum in the ship. The unique visual feature of the K-1 was a huge bulbous sonar array mounted forward on the main deck, which was capable of detecting the slightest sounds from distant sources in the sea. This meant that our own ship and people within it had to remain as quiet as possible. Every piece of equipment was isolated from the hull by special flexible mounts to minimize noise transmitted through the water. Our total crew was about forty men, compared to seventy-fiveon the Pomfret, and our ship was about two-fifths as large as a fleet-type submarine. Bunk sizes and food were about the same, but we had an extremely limited supply of fresh water from a small distillery. Other than for cooking and drinking, our individual allotment when at sea for long periods was only a quart per day, and we showered with salt water.
    It was exciting duty because of the new technology and because we were preparing for potential conflict during those Cold War years with Soviet submarines. We could go deep, stop propulsion, turn off all unnecessary equipment, and at these times of silence all of us removed our shoes and walked around—only when necessary—in stocking feet. We learned to hover at a desired depth by changing very slightly the seawater we displaced. When we reached a final trim, we would just elevate or lower our periscope a foot or two, which would cause our boat very slowly to rise or sink. In this condition, our huge listening device could detect ocean sounds from far away, more distant when temperature gradients were perfect and wave action was minimal. I became fascinated with the underwater character of the ocean, and read all the books on the ship about the subject. These factors were important to our survival in combat with other ships, and even during normal peacetime operations. I remember one day when we were cruising at periscope depth east of Newfoundland, in the relatively warm waters of the Gulf Stream. Suddenly, the bow of our submarine entered the much colder (and more dense) Arctic waters, and we were propelled to the surface by the strong upward force. The cold and warm waters had not mixed, even within a distance of less than two hundred feet.
    We officers would sit in with the sonar specialists to become more familiar with the equipment and to monitor the more interesting sounds. In addition to distinctive propeller noises of different ships, we were interested in listening to shrimp and other creatures, especially the remarkable calls of whales. At the same time, we knew that our primary duty was to detect potential enemies before they ever realized that we were present and monitoring their movements. I wrote a poem about this contrast of peace and war.
    Life on a Killer Submarine
    I had a warm, sequestered feeling
    deep beneath the sea,
    moving silently, assessing
    what we could hear from far away
    because we ran so quietly ourselves,
    walking always in our stocking feet.
    We’d listen to the wild sea sounds,
    the scratch of shrimp, the bowhead’s moan,
    the tantalizing songs of humpback whales.
    We strained to hear all other things,
    letting ocean lenses bring to us
    the steady throbbing