Engineered Minimalism: A Field Watch Manifesto.
Tools are a defining part of the human experience. From the earliest age, children seek objects they can use to make the challenging task of navigating their small world easier. As time goes on, the tools necessarily become more complex and specialized, but even a baby who has yet to crawl understands the power and benefit of using objects in their environment to help them achieve their goals despite their physical limitations. One of the earliest things engineers are taught to do is rebuild that intuitive grasp of tools as a compound set of simple machines: levers, pulleys, screws, and more. This fascination with tools and their components is the genesis of my obsession with tool watches.
Toward the end of my engineering program, I began to try and find some fun classes as a mechanism to blow off the stress of balancing Air Force commissioning requirements with the course load expected of engineering upperclassmen. Growing up near the ocean had driven a keen interest in what lay below the surface, and I simultaneously picked up courses in diving and ocean engineering. I would spend the weekdays writing programs to model tidal action and storm surges while the weekends were spent feeling those forces at work in the Gulf of Maine. Part of my initial equipment purchase was a watch. Our instructor was a traditional type who would have been at home in any military basic training institution worldwide, and she subjected us to many challenging drills.
We had our tanks shut off when we weren’t paying attention, we spent several shallow dives doing surface interval and deco calculations on board underwater, partners had to free each other when fouled in fishing net, and she even required a compass-only zero visibility dive where we navigated a course and returned to the shore start point. Part of that traditional instruction was an emphasis on redundant capabilities, of which watches were a cornerstone component. Like many, I started with an obsession for submariners that my wallet couldn’t back up, so I bought an Invicta Pro Diver and took it on every dive. It held up and always performed what I asked it to do, but my research, and a healthy dose of watch fan homage-shaming, led me to the Seiko SKX.
(The Author’s SKX after dismantling a contaminated concrete block facility)
By this point I had graduated and was doing some hazmat response while waiting to go on active duty, and I wanted a cheap watch that had a more original design and better legibility in dusty or low light conditions. I abused that watch beyond any reasonable expectation for a mechanical watch. It entered confined spaces with me and was abused in every manageable way. I used jackhammers and concrete saws for hours, subjecting the escapement to severe vibration. It never failed to run and was the watch on my wrist when I reported to my first duty assignment. While I dabbled in other watches at the time, I was an unapologetic budget Seiko fanboy.
It wasn’t until I was sent TDY to initial skills training at Wright-Patterson AFB that I really dove headfirst into the hobby. I started listening to a brand-new podcast that had just published its initial episodes: The Grey NATO. Jason Heaton’s coverage of the Glycine Airman No 1, a watch deeply tied to the USAF and whose petite proportions more perfectly fit what I was looking for in a watch was exactly what I was trying to find. I splurged most of my per diem from that two- month course to pay full retail for the limited-edition model and proudly wore as I learned about my new profession. I participated in a color guard detail while I was assigned there and got the official photographer to snap a shot of my new prized possession.
(Simplicity Personified)
We spent the next couple of weeks in the field and the watch performed flawlessly, often getting soaked in both seawater and sweat as I worked to build a mobile air base from a pile of shipping containers in the Florida swamps. The easy time zone shift using the 24-hour bezel made engaging with operations centers in different time zones more effortless than even my flight-mates’ G-Shocks. Getting used to the half speed hour hand took a few days of acclimation, but the increased usability of the bezel scale was well worth the effort. We finished our exercise and went our separate ways; I was both newly minted engineering officer and a devotee to the cult of the small field watch.
I proudly wore that first Glycine Airman for years, eventually selling it in a moment of weakness chasing some watch I thought was my grail that week, not realizing that Glycine would eventually be acquired by Invicta and stop making the Airman No 1, making getting another almost impossible. Even without it, that watch established my idea of what made a perfect daily wear field watch, both through what it had and what it lacked. The 36mm size was perfect for my 6.75-inch wrist, forming a preference I still maintain. The simple spartan layout and thin case also were added to my dream watch list. A thin crown which doesn’t dig into the wrist and effective lume rounded out my set of requirements.
This is starting to sound quite a bit like a list of attributes shared by the 124270 Explorer, and I’d love to eventually own one. Watch aficionados often lust after the mythical perfect watch, and the Explorer might be that for me, but the pedestal I’m building for it may well raise it above its modern intent as a luxury accessory. There are many watches in the modern era which are striving to achieve that bill of materials and set of specifications, and many of them succeed without the exorbitant price tag and long waiting list For now, I’m experimenting with a Traska Summiteer 36mm, but the search for the perfect field watch will continue as I seek to recreate my first Airman No 1.
(A Battered Airman No 1 In a Variety of Field Exercises)
Ryley.
