A graduate of a small Maui high school and then the University of Notre Dame, Taylor Sheppard commissioned into the US Navy in 2012 – during the second year women began to serve on submarines. She has since completed eight overseas deployments on two different submarines, most recently as the engineer officer on the USS Florida. “My parents were career naval officers and I always admired the Submarine Force,” she tells monocle. She is now a navy reservist assigned to the Office of Naval Research, supporting r&d projects and technology development opportunities with a civilian career doing asset reliability and maintenance operations for McKinsey & Company. 

“I have always thought of submarine life as an interesting comedy of manners underwater,” says Sheppard, who is based in Florida when she’s on dry land. “People immediately think of torpedoes and war or national defence but it’s not always like that. We live for months underwater, existing in our own compact community. The arguments onboard are about the fact that the cooks overboiled the spaghetti, not that we could be headed off to war. I try to remind myself that we’re just existing, learning and living with each other. It’s not as one-dimensional as always being on guard for some sort of international conflict.”

Here we hear about naval superstition and why submariners’ shoe choice really matters, and glean some lessons on leadership, sharing and self-preservation from life lived under the swell.

First, tell us something we might not know or expect about life in the briny deep.
Shoe style and quality matter – even underwater. Once we’re at sea, we change out of our combat boots primarily because it’s easier to respond to potential emergencies, such as fires, if we have to run across the boat. But the comfort and flair of a person’s shoe choice makes for endless conversation and individualism among a sea of blue uniforms. One of my junior officers wore platform sneakers so she would be tall enough to see out of the periscope. The auxiliary machinist mates wore red ones on drill days for good luck. The nuclear mechanics had to rotate pairs at least weekly (recommended more frequently) because their shoes – and all other items of clothing – would lose all structural support after constant exposure to the lube-oil bays in the engine room.

So, there’s space for some self-expression onboard. Does this extend to how you keep your quarters?
Comfort matters. My roommate and I covered the walls surrounding her bed with peel-and-stick wallpaper. The existing enclosure, fabricated from recycled material, was neon green and glowed in the dark. We found a blue toile print during a port call in Greece and transformed our room into an Eden; it was discernible [as on a submarine] only by the metal trimming in each corner.

Your training ended around the time that the US Navy started allowing female recruits. Were you daunted, being among the first women onboard? What did you feel as that hatch first clicked shut behind you?
I was the third female to show up on the first submarine to which I was assigned and feel very fortunate about the group that I went through training with. My first and lasting impression was the talented crew: they were so resourceful. You go underwater and you have each other and that’s about it. So, if you buy into that particular deployment with that crew, everything else becomes easier. There were challenges at times but success started and ended with the crew.

The military is seen as inherently conservative because of its history of defence but when it comes to changes, it can act quickly. I don’t think the navy gets credit for that. When a law or policy changes, it’s “operationalised” and the new norm is established. Coming in as a woman on a submarine, there was no question about us belonging or whether the new concept would succeed because it couldn’t fail. It was up to the crew to ensure that the growing pains were solved quickly.

So, changes quickly become part of your mission and decisions can be made unilaterally. But are there moments when people are at odds with their commanding officer or grumble about the mission at hand? Is it about being yourself or putting yourself aside?
We live with each other for months at a time in an enclosed space. The stress can build up. It’s important to remain calm, much like flight attendants in rough turbulence. It’s also important to remember what makes this profession fun: seeing dolphins ride the waves across the bow, seeing the world through a periscope, letting the captain talk over the bridge-to-bridge communication system in a foreign language that he’s been practicing. 

It’s important to be yourself and stay true to your professional self but also to recognise the mission and the naval hierarchy: a good approach is “ship, shipmate, self”. It’s why we break up the command structure into watch teams, divisions and departments, which provides a communal aspect and also helps us achieve our mission. That’s not to say that I don’t stick to my values. I’ll give you an example, as it’s hard sometimes to give philosophical answers about leadership because situations change so frequently. If you’re on a submarine during a holiday, there’s a potential strategy: keep the crew busy, which helps to distract them from the fact that they’re not at home and they’re away from their loved ones. Or you could give the crew the day off to enjoy it. The strategies change depending on what your deployment is and where you are in its cycle, so it’s hard to have a firm rule.

Tell us about communication onboard – what can the world learn from it? Is it about being precise in a way that makes it impossible to be misunderstood?
When an emergency happens, there’s a sensory overload as alarms sound and orders are given over the noise. It could be overwhelming if you aren’t prepared properly. The crew members are conditioned to respond to these situations. They are professionals at reacting quickly to maintain safe conditions. Orders need to be clear and the navy has spent centuries perfecting the protocol. We train for concise communication so that orders won’t be misunderstood. There is a formality that we follow. 

An example: if you pick up the phone or answer a call, you state your location and the billet that you occupy. So, I’d pick up the phone and say, “Engine room, engineer.” I have already communicated a lot of essential information in just a few words. There is also a procedure when speaking. Orders are standardised and we respect the traditions and formalities of the navy. You don’t waste unnecessary moments communicating because there’s often no time to explain yourself. 

“Better communication” is often mentioned in leadership training but I think it’s really just relationship building, especially when you have a hierarchical chain of command and peers who you work with very closely for a long period of time. I got to work with many crews on many deployments and my perspective changed over the course of my time on the boat, from when I showed up as a 22-year-old to 11 years later. I was lucky to gain a better understanding of who people are and how to relate to and interact with them. It’s about knowing how to navigate challenging situations but also appreciate the great moments when they arrive. We can have so much fun with each other if we embrace those moments. That’s probably the best lesson that I have taken away. And now that I’m working in a civilian role on the business side, I couldn’t credit that experience more.

Can communication ever be too efficient? Do people make decisions too quickly, if so? Sometimes miscommunication can come from sloppy interactions but reacting too swiftly might be just as bad. Have you ever experienced that and in what kind of scenarios?
I can give you two talking points on this. The first concerns the larger theme of perspective. Being on a submarine gives you great perspective about what you’re trying to say. There’s not much room for drama. An example that comes to mind is that I once had a junior officer run up to me, saying something about a “major discrepancy” and that I needed to come and see what the problem was. In my head, I was thinking, “major discrepancy” – something’s really wrong. I got to the area of concern and saw that an overhead light bulb had burned out. We went to the storeroom and replaced it. I had a conversation with my junior officer afterwards, in which I said that a “major discrepancy” is something like losing electrical power – a problem that you should treat very seriously. But a room that’s dark because a light is out? You just fix it. Our captains always say, “Don’t be dramatic. Just state the facts, then we can go and address them.”

Second, in training, we reiterate that you do often have quite a bit of time to make decisions. In new scenarios where we are training operator responses during drills, the fastest time that you would actually have to react and make a decision is between seven and 10 seconds. While that might not seem like a lot of time, whenever we seem to be jumping to or pre-empting decisions, because of the downstream effects, we can stop and step back. As part of training, we’ll sit there in silence and count to 10. If you do so, it’s quite a bit of time. It’s enough to look at all of your indications, make sure that you are making your best judgement, get the watch team aligned and then go take the action.

What should you carry in an emergency: a toothbrush, a penknife, a watch…?
Always carry a flashlight. There are four reasons for this. First, there’s nothing so dark as a submarine that suddenly loses electrical power. Second, at night we “rig for red”, which means all overhead lights go off and only red flashlights are used (to avoid straining the eyes). This works well unless you’re trying to read instructions from the engineer, who signs in red pen. Third, your only hope of minimising your bilge-cleaning time is to let your buddy shine his light over your shoulder and find the dirt before the chiefs do. Four, there’s an instant morale boost when a group of sailors lines up the “strobe” function in sync and suddenly the crew’s lounge turns into a disco. 

I’d add a cleaning rag. You never know when you have to wipe down oil so you don’t slip on a ladder – and you can’t see the oil unless you have a flashlight. 

OK. Deep breath. Are there certain things that people don’t talk about when they’re on a submarine? Do people steer clear of politics? Are there some things that are deemed to be too divisive? 
Anything goes. That’s partly because you spend eight hours of your time just on watch with your team and that’s a long time to be around the same people every day. When you’re off watch, you’re doing training with them or doing jobs or taking care of other responsibilities with them. If you’re on the mid-watch, there’s a lot of time to discuss things and have deep conversations and it has never felt uncomfortable for me. You build such strong and deep connections because you’re all on the same journey together. It’s a strange thing to go underwater with people for a long period of time while the world continues without you. Even now, if you walk into a room and you find out that someone else is a submariner, there’s an inherent understanding that exists because of what you’ve gone through. So, yes, I think that we’re very comfortable with discussing any sort of topic.

A few years ago, I interviewed a psychologist who said that one of the mistakes that he thought we make as a society is telling anyone that they can be anything, which creates a series of unrealistic expectations. But in the same vein, are some people just not cut out to be on a submarine? Or do you believe that you could, with the right amount of training and incentives, train anyone?
I have two answers to your question. I think that humans in general are capable of amazing things. We’re extremely adaptable. And that shows every time that you get under way because you adapt to whatever situation you’re in. And it’s just as easy – well, I wouldn’t say it’s easy necessarily – to come back and be transplanted into the real world. Most people can assimilate to any environment and situation. I do believe that we’re capable of more than we give often ourselves credit for. 

The Submarine Force is exceptional at empowering its members. At some point, it seems like society stops telling people that they’re capable of doing things that they want to do. I have never seen that on a submarine. The crew continues to encourage each other and strive for excellence. There’s no point in being pessimistic or restricting anyone. I am in awe of the 21-year-olds who come from all over the country to do something that they set out to do, whether it’s to see the world or learn a trade.

To take another tack, the sea is home to lots of superstitions. State-of-the-art cruise ships in the Caribbean sometimes have garlic on the bridge to ward off spirits. Are there any kinds of superstitions aboard a submarine?
There are so many. I could talk about this all day. I’ll give a couple of examples that are sort of tried and true, then maybe some more nuanced ones, from just my experience. One that has existed among sailors for centuries is the idea of tattooing a rooster and a pig on your foot: one on each. I served with a captain who had some sort of Tiki idol from one of his voyages: if it fell, he expected something bad to happen.

I feel that submarines have their own personality and identity. My submarine was the third oldest in the fleet, commissioned in the 1970s, and the sailors always treated the boat as its own entity. If we fought the boat, the boat would fight back. We would get to a point where, if one thing was breaking and then another thing broke, and we were spending all night trying to fix something, we would decide to stop and let the submarine be – go to sleep, rest and play nice the next day. So, there’s sort of a superstition around the submarines themselves being their own beings. They have lived a thousand lives on their own. Treat the boat nicely and the boat will treat you nicely.

One thing that is true for mariners but especially true for submariners is the “crossing the line” ceremonies that are held when you cross the equator. You always pay your respects to King Neptune and Davy Jones. Whenever we cross the equator, the crew holds a ceremony that evening for a safe voyage across the sea with a crossing-the-line certificate. There’s a whole circus of ordeals going on aboard the submarine but it is rooted in superstition that any time we cross the equator, we pay homage to the mariners who have gone before us and request safe passage.

I like the idea of having respect for vessels and their integrity and needs. Are submarines male or female? Does that vary?
They’re all female.

Roger that. Are there any other characteristics that they have? They sound a bit cantankerous – or is that just because you’re the engineer?
I remember a time when we were in the Atlantic and we had come up to transmit a message. The swells are big when you’re mid-ocean. We were at a slower speed at periscope depth and were rocking so much we needed to come up further and send a message off. We’re sitting there at periscope depth and we’re rocking so much. The fairwater planes are taking direct hits from the waves. And when that happens, they right themselves, which cycles the hydraulic pump. As the engineer, I’m sitting there listening to the clinking and in my head; I’m just thinking about all the maintenance that we’re going to have to do to fix it. 

Submarines do have characteristics but each operator also has their unique way of handling it. You could always tell which diving officer, who controls the trim of the ship, was on watch based on how much pitch and list you felt walking forward to aft.

What do you think you have learned about the things that you really need in terms of possessions? Or things you don’t need?
As deployments go on, trades for goods get more interesting. Three packs of Nespresso pods for one candy bar is not unheard of. Money has no meaning. The circular economy thrives and the barter system rules. One of the lessons that I have learned is the importance of communal possessions. We go under way with only so much shared resources: I’m thinking duct tape or tools. The machinery divisions maintain their own set that are related to them; mechanics will have any drill bit that you could want. Electricians have wires and clamps. What it taught me was that not everybody needs to have their own thing because we have the ability to share. Also, that barter system is extremely viable. You get to a point where sometimes shared resources dwindle but that brings us together in a way that doesn’t happen when you’re in a more usual society with easily replenishable resources. 

Also on limited resources, how important is it to spend time wisely on a boat – to devote time to learning, fitness or reading something worthwhile?
I would run on our treadmill and stare at the same pipe every day, year after year. Just running on this treadmill – looking at the same hydraulic pipe every time. But whenever I was able to listen to podcasts that I downloaded beforehand, I still felt part of the world and could understand what was happening in the different regions in geopolitics or architecture, design or urbanism. And that always made me feel that, even though we were underwater, we were going to come up somewhere looking at a society from the periscope. You need to make an effort. It’s easy to fall into the mundaneness of it all but my takeaway was that most people really wanted to make an effort.

I was always encouraged by the sailors – take the quartermasters, for example – on a long mid-watch for eight hours while the rest of the crew is asleep. They’re just navigating the ship through its charted waters and it could be very mundane. But then maybe a skilled quartermaster might pull out an old book by someone like Nathaniel Bowditch [a 19th-century navigator] and they would read about celestial navigation. And then they would spend their time determining what stars were on our horizon and would try to understand whether their gps systems were working well, or how they could better fix their charts like the navigators of old.

Humans are inherently curious and enthusiastic creatures. Even when you take away the world from them by having them deployed on a sub, they will still want to know more about it.

Tell us about your relationship with technology. How do you stay up to date on a submarine and how much time do you spend on a device such as a smartphone or a computer? What effect does that have on your life?
I’m probably far behind everybody else when it comes to the technological world. That could just be me, I’m not sure. We don’t have cellular phones or access to the internet underwater so when we come back it feels very overwhelming to reconnect. When you come home from deployment, you get messages and phone calls, and have to try to catch up with the world. Usually, a lot has changed since you left. It’s a lot to take in but you also sort of forget that the connection exists. Whenever I come home from deployment, it’s a couple of days before I can remember that I can text somebody or call them – you’re just not used to that being at your fingertips.

And maybe sometimes it’s comforting to know that the world keeps turning, whether you’re paying attention to the details or not?
That’s true. I was underwater when the coronavirus pandemic happened and that was a really strange thing to try to figure out. There was a period of time in June and July of 2022 when we were under way doing local operations and training exercises and we had been so busy that we hadn’t had time to download any news. We download radio messages and decrypt them so that we can stay up to date on what’s going on in the world. If we’re busy, we don’t typically stay in connection long enough to send or receive emails. 

I remember I had got a news download and the first two stories were that Boris Johnson was resigning as the UK’s prime minister and that Shinzo Abe had been assassinated. We were confused; we were wondering whether it was an exercise. Those types of messages have high stakes and consequences. It was one of those moments when we weren’t sure whether what we were reading was real or a training message. 

In 2016 I had been under way for the entire spring and summer. I didn’t come back until the end of October. At that point, the entire US presidential campaign had happened; Donald Trump had run and was about to be elected. So, the world continues without you. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the doom and gloom of the day but, at the same time, we could still move forward and progress what it is that we’re trying to do.

What if there’s an emergency?
That would depend on what our mission was. If we’re communication-silent or deep underwater and not transmitting, it could be a few weeks before we hear from our families. Our operational shore commands can always get in contact with us. So, if something happens – for example, with a sailor’s family – we can work with our chain of command shoreside to send the sailor home. There are options. 

On technology – how much of what happens on a submarine is automated these days and how much comes from the time-honoured analogue traditions of old?
Traditional navigation isn’t dead. Though we have upgraded our systems and electronic charts, the quartermasters compete on who can shoot the best azimuth [calculated course] from the periscope and get the navigator’s permission to enter the ship’s fix. The officers look for bottom topography to compare against sonar returns and reckon the course. And every so often, we haul the sextant up to the bridge if we’re on the surface at nighttime. 

Analogue should not be discredited. Our submarine was the third oldest in the fleet and most of my challenges revolved around decisions that were made in the 1970s because a random drawing hadn’t been updated in three decades. Even with the upgrades to digital systems over the years, I’m convinced that we were safer because nobody born after 1985 would understand the systems that we operated on. 

And finally, what’s the best thing about being back on dry land?
Nothing beats the feeling of that first warm ray of sunshine or the fresh scent of rain after living in the same 60f [15c], fluorescently lit, steel-enclosed climate for months at a time. I remember sitting under an awning during a thunderstorm after a long deployment because it was so nice to experience weather again. Walking on a beach with endless stretches of sand feels like a luxury after having to squeeze around missile tubes to move across compartments.

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Deep thoughts
Taylor Sheppard’s lessons from life on a submarine:

1. Keep calm
There’s never any point in getting spun up about something. The submarine is a closed system. We follow the laws of energy conservation. You can’t go anywhere and neither can your anger. Any release is trapped inside because the hatches are shut. It’s much better to submerge with a fixed amount of happiness instead of unproductive stress. 

2. Raisins are important
Fresh fruit and vegetables only last 10 to 14 days. After that, we shift to frozen stores. If you don’t want to eat syrup-soaked canned fruit for three months but still want to beat scurvy, dried fruit is essential. I can also tell you how versatile and long-lasting that cabbage is – who knew?

3. Trust your gut
There’s the science of engineering but there’s also the art of navigation. Sometimes you’ll come to periscope depth and the sonar biologics [animal echolocation] are heavy because you’re near a school of fish or shrimp. You trust your team, know your indicators, follow your procedure and decide. 

4. Racks are sacred
And roommates are your best friends. They will guard your sleep by preventing the messenger from unnecessarily waking you up 15 minutes early but ensure you’re on time for watch. 

5. Say proper goodbyes
It’s a strange thing to be pulled away from your life for months at a time and then transplanted right back – especially as the world has continued without you in it. 

6. Seek heat
We keep the submarine very cold. Closing air vents is a bad idea as it stops circulation. Showers are limited because we make our own water. Most people wear caps. All drink hot beverages (including hot water). The smart ones go to the engine room and sit on top of the main engines at full speed for warmth. 

7. Pack light
It’s truly remarkable how little you need. We take two seabags with us and most of that is clothes. Coming home, I’m always amazed by how many possessions I forgot I had. 

8. Sunlight matters
Sunscreen is key, especially after you haven’t seen sunlight in a while. The most luxurious indulgence after a deployment is taking a shower without having to wear shoes or turn off the water after one minute. We are good at resource management. If we ventilate after a long time, fresh oxygen keeps people awake because they’re not used to it. 

9. Timing is everything
We have two treadmills on the submarine. You have to be smart about when you use them – if you start a run and the ship starts taking angles, you’ll spend the whole exercise holding on at various inclines or rocking off the side in heavy seas. 

10. Trust the crew
I have watched teams achieve incredible feats, from figuring out how to replace a breaker at sea to filling a compensating tank with no trim and drain system (people formed a human chain to pressurise a firehose and get water back into a tank). Another team endured a four-month extension that was supposed to be three weeks. The crew is amazing.

About the writer:
London-based landlubber Josh Fehnert is monocle’s editor. While his paternal grandfather served on a submarine and his maternal one was in the merchant navy, Fehnert himself has yet to test his sea legs.