50 Years Ago, Mux visits Sao Salvador, Brazil for the first time!
(Excerpt from “The Last Gun Ship - History of USS Mullinnix DD-944” - A Historical Novel By Frank A. Wood)
The morning of 17 July found Mullinnix steaming for Sao Salvador, Brazil, literal translation, Holy Savior of All Saints' Bay. A city on the northeast coast of Brazil and the capital of the northeastern Brazilian State of Bahia. A relatively short trip found Mullinnix moored port side to berth 8 with fifteen fathoms of chain to the starboard anchor at 0903, 19 July. Ships present included the Brazilian Corvette May V-22 and numerous merchant vessels. Civilian pilot, Captain Raimundo A. Lins, made maneuvering the harbor channel of Sao Salvador a breeze.
Salvador is located on a small, roughly triangular peninsula that separates Todos os Santos Bay from the open waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The bay, which gets its name from having been discovered on All Saints' Day forms a superb natural harbor, and Salvador is a major export port, lying at the heart of the Recôncavo Baiano, a rich agricultural and industrial region encompassing the northern portion of coastal Bahia. The local terrain diverse, ranging from flat to rolling hills and low mountains. The coastline featuring sandy beaches, sea cliffs, mangrove swamps, and a number of islands, the largest of which, Itaparica, being a famous resort area.
After near paradise in Rio followed by 3 days in Sao Salvador, the crew was wondering if they could have too much liberty. That was nearly impossible wasn’t it? They were about to find out. At 0935, with the guidance of Civilian Pilot Captain Arlinido M. Santos, 22 July, Mullinnix headed to Recife, Brazil. The buzz on the fantail was centered on how the women in Recife would stack up with those from Rio and Sao Salvador. A sailors imagination can do some awful funny things to imagines of beautiful women in their minds.
Recife, the capital of the northeastern state of Pernambuco, was built as a port city along tropical, white-sand beaches lined with palm trees. Called the "Venice of Brazil" because it is dissected by numerous waterways and connected by many bridges. The city got its name from the coral reefs that line the coast.
A sailors imagination can be very cruel at times. Liberty in Recife? Fat fuckin’ chance. A fucking fuel stop, period.
Civilian Pilot, Captain Julius Maihaco, guided Mullinnix to starboard side of Customs Wharf. By 1700 hours, she had taken on 119,450 gallons of Navy Special. By 1733, all lines were clear and the crew was drilling the coastline with longing stares of what could have been. What could have been? As the Mullinnix slipped through a grouping of local fishermen going out to sea in their jangadas, crude log rafts with their beautiful sails…what could have been. Instead? Guantanamo Bay, Cuba – well, shit!
The skipper must of thought the crew was getting the hang of things as drills were noticeable reduced in route to Gitmo. Besides the occasional general quarters drill and the daily steering casualty drill, the crew focused on their areas of responsibility. There was no pattern to the sky most days – no rhyme, no reason to the shading nor shape, like Mother Nature had thrown her cloud pallet against the heavens. It poured. The kind of rain that gushes over the top of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout. Its easy to be mesmerized by rainfall. You get lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and grit of the Mullinnix. The sky was black and bursting with trees of electric ties. Near dusk it would clear. By nightfall the sky would looked like a black piece of crepe paper that had been poked with millions of needles of light.
To be continued...
Cheers,
Woody
The morning of 17 July found Mullinnix steaming for Sao Salvador, Brazil, literal translation, Holy Savior of All Saints' Bay. A city on the northeast coast of Brazil and the capital of the northeastern Brazilian State of Bahia. A relatively short trip found Mullinnix moored port side to berth 8 with fifteen fathoms of chain to the starboard anchor at 0903, 19 July. Ships present included the Brazilian Corvette May V-22 and numerous merchant vessels. Civilian pilot, Captain Raimundo A. Lins, made maneuvering the harbor channel of Sao Salvador a breeze.
Salvador is located on a small, roughly triangular peninsula that separates Todos os Santos Bay from the open waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The bay, which gets its name from having been discovered on All Saints' Day forms a superb natural harbor, and Salvador is a major export port, lying at the heart of the Recôncavo Baiano, a rich agricultural and industrial region encompassing the northern portion of coastal Bahia. The local terrain diverse, ranging from flat to rolling hills and low mountains. The coastline featuring sandy beaches, sea cliffs, mangrove swamps, and a number of islands, the largest of which, Itaparica, being a famous resort area.
After near paradise in Rio followed by 3 days in Sao Salvador, the crew was wondering if they could have too much liberty. That was nearly impossible wasn’t it? They were about to find out. At 0935, with the guidance of Civilian Pilot Captain Arlinido M. Santos, 22 July, Mullinnix headed to Recife, Brazil. The buzz on the fantail was centered on how the women in Recife would stack up with those from Rio and Sao Salvador. A sailors imagination can do some awful funny things to imagines of beautiful women in their minds.
Recife, the capital of the northeastern state of Pernambuco, was built as a port city along tropical, white-sand beaches lined with palm trees. Called the "Venice of Brazil" because it is dissected by numerous waterways and connected by many bridges. The city got its name from the coral reefs that line the coast.
A sailors imagination can be very cruel at times. Liberty in Recife? Fat fuckin’ chance. A fucking fuel stop, period.
Civilian Pilot, Captain Julius Maihaco, guided Mullinnix to starboard side of Customs Wharf. By 1700 hours, she had taken on 119,450 gallons of Navy Special. By 1733, all lines were clear and the crew was drilling the coastline with longing stares of what could have been. What could have been? As the Mullinnix slipped through a grouping of local fishermen going out to sea in their jangadas, crude log rafts with their beautiful sails…what could have been. Instead? Guantanamo Bay, Cuba – well, shit!
The skipper must of thought the crew was getting the hang of things as drills were noticeable reduced in route to Gitmo. Besides the occasional general quarters drill and the daily steering casualty drill, the crew focused on their areas of responsibility. There was no pattern to the sky most days – no rhyme, no reason to the shading nor shape, like Mother Nature had thrown her cloud pallet against the heavens. It poured. The kind of rain that gushes over the top of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the earth it has no time to flow down the spout. Its easy to be mesmerized by rainfall. You get lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and grit of the Mullinnix. The sky was black and bursting with trees of electric ties. Near dusk it would clear. By nightfall the sky would looked like a black piece of crepe paper that had been poked with millions of needles of light.
To be continued...
Cheers,
Woody
posted by Frank A. Wood at 10:34
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