The Pickens was traveling to San Francisco late in July 1945, arriving in our home port of San Francisco in the early days of August. What I will never forget is entering Frisco harbor around dawn with fog at its heaviest. I was operating the radar, taking ranges and bearings to aid the navigator.
Fishermen were leaving for the ocean and they appeared on the radar like the buoys that were supposed to mark the channel. I was a bundle of nerves trying to determine if a blip was moving, thus a fishing boar, or stationary, a buoy. It seemed like every minute the navigator was calling for the range and bearing of a hill. We made it to our anchoring spot without running over a boat.
Weeks later as we were on the "magic carpet" bringing troops home, I went through this again.
Fishermen were leaving for the ocean and they appeared on the radar like the buoys that were supposed to mark the channel. I was a bundle of nerves trying to determine if a blip was moving, thus a fishing boar, or stationary, a buoy. It seemed like every minute the navigator was calling for the range and bearing of a hill. We made it to our anchoring spot without running over a boat.
Weeks later as we were on the "magic carpet" bringing troops home, I went through this again.
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