The Great Azores Adventure

The Great Azores Adventure

They say life throws curveballs, but the Air National Guard? They prefer fastballs at close range.

I had big plans that Friday—meeting friends, hitting the tables, and maybe channeling my inner high roller. But at 1700, my phone rang. I was told to report to the base immediately. I showed up, thinking, this better be good. Instead, I got handed orders: we were deploying for up to a year. Oh, and by the way, see you Monday.

Despite the sudden news, I wasn’t about to miss my weekend plans. I hopped back in my car, met up with my friends, and let loose. A little gambling, a lot of laughs, and for a brief moment, I convinced myself everything was fine.

The Briefing Gauntlet and Bangor’s Deep Freeze by Monday at 0600, I was ready to go. That’s when we learned we’d be heading to the Azores—a couple of lonely specks in the Atlantic. And before you ask: yes, I had to look it up on a map.

Cue what felt like 42 back-to-back briefings. If I had to check my ID card one more time, I might’ve screamed. But by the end of the week, we were on a plane headed for Bangor, Maine. It was late January or early February and let me tell you—I have never seen so much snow in my life. The cold? Unreal. At -10°F, it was the kind of chill that made your soul shiver.

Fortunately, we stayed off-base in a cozy downtown hotel for the night. After dinner at a nearby Ground Round (yes, they still exist) and a trip to the pool hall, we laughed, drank, and braved the icy walk back. That cold? It’s seared into my memory forever.

The next half day was ours to kill however we wanted. Naturally, I made a beeline for the indoor pool and hot tub – it was way too cold outside for anything else. So, there I was, arms stretched back, fully relaxed in the warm bubbles, radiating the confidence of someone who had all the answers in life. One of the older NCOs wandered over, leaning casually against the edge of the tub. He gave me a once-over and chuckled, “Man, you look and act like you’re the coolest person on the planet. The only thing missing is your gold teeth and chains. Aren’t you even worried we’re probably going to be gone for a year? “I shrugged, letting the grin spread across my face. “Nah,’ I replied, ‘sounds like an adventure to me.”

Hot Tubs and Open Bay Chaos in Moron, Spain the next morning, after a brief stint of “free time” (which I spent soaking in the indoor hot tub), we were off to Morón, Spain. Things got serious fast—tents lining the flight line, overcrowded rooms meant for two holding four guys.

One of my buddies rented a van, declaring he knew just enough Spanish. Turns out, he knew zero Spanish. Dinner that night? Whole fishes, heads and all. Nothing says “international dining experience” like staring into your dinner’s lifeless eyes. I was starving—and furious.

Azores or Bust (Almost Literally) The next day, we packed up and set off for the Azores. If you’ve never been, let me paint you a picture: relentless winds, runway drama, and the kind of landings that keep seasoned pilots sweating bullets. Naturally, we couldn’t land. Back to Spain we went.

This time, it was open-bay barracks for us—a warehouse filled with bunkbeds as far as the eye could see. It was co-ed, though thankfully the showers weren’t. Privacy? What’s that?

After another attempt to land in the Azores (and another failure), we rerouted to an Italian Navy base. In my grand adventure in Italy, I dined at a... Burger King. Turns out, Burger King in Italy tastes exactly the same as it does stateside. Disappointing, yes, but I guess it’s technically “authentic” in its own way.

Back to Spain. Again.

The Azores at Last: Supply Chain Problems and an Epic Thirst Finally, on our third attempt, we landed in the Azores. This is where the real fun began. The base had a tiny club, used to serving maybe 10 to 20 drinks a week. Our unit? We cleaned them out in one night—kegs, bottles, liquor, all gone.

The next day, we wiped the BX shelves clean of any remaining alcohol. Turns out, re-supplying a remote island takes time—about nine days, to be exact. Needless to say, there were a lot of disgruntled, very sober service members.

Eventually, the frenzy died down, and we got to work. Forty-five days later, someone decided we weren’t needed anymore, and just like that, we were sent home.

Takeaway It wasn’t the year-long deployment I’d been bracing for, but it was an unforgettable adventure filled with laughter, missteps, and enough alcohol to sink a ship.