❖ ABANDONING A FERRY on the WASHINGTON COAST ❖

San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge.

When the bridge system was in place --

many of the ferries sailed north after 

purchase by Puget Sound Navigation Co.

This story regards Capt. Carl F. Frese

in command of the M.V. Lake Tahoe,

renamed the M.V. Illahee when she arrived

in Washington State.

Although the waters along the west coast are strewn with the wreckage of innumerable ocean-going vessels, the gods of the sea have been good to most small inland craft sailing the Pacific. Very few have experienced serious difficulty despite their open type of construction and limited freeboard that makes them easy prey to sudden storms frequently encountered along the coast.
      While a few Northwest-built vessels have been transferred south, the largest movement has been in the other direction, occurring mostly in the years immediately following completion of the San Francisco Bay bridge system.
      Between 1938 and 1940, 15 automobile ferries were brought up the coast by the Puget Sound Navigation Co., only one of which, a wooden vessel, sustained so much storm damage that repairs were impractical.
      When the Pacific laid claim to another ferry of this group one night off the Oregon coast, the age-old struggle of men against the sea took an unusual turn. Both the men and the sea finally gave up and the ferry made good her own escape –– unaided and unharmed.
      It was 9 August 1940, when Capt. Carl F. Frese and his crew left Oakland, California for Puget Sound with the Lake Tahoe, the first of six steel diesel-electric ferries purchased by the PSN Co.,'s Black Ball Line to increase its fleet. The boats had been idle for about a year after Southern Pacific-Golden Gate Ferries halted futile competition with the new San Francisco-Oakland bridge, the Lake Tahoe making the ceremonial last run.
      This group of six fine vessels, only 13 years old, would almost double the capacity of the Puget Sound ferry fleet. Each was of 2,468 gross tons, larger than any ferry on Puget Sound.
       As though glad to escape from idleness and an uncertain fate on San Francisco Bay, the Lake Tahoe, with engines running, was "pushing on the towline" behind the Commissioner, a Seattle tug, as they passed through the Golden Gate and headed north into the Pacific.
      In preparing the ferry for the voyage, wooden bulkheads closed off both ends of the main deck, plywood sheets covered the window and the upper deck superstructure was braced with timbers.
      The main deck bulkheads, intended to increase the vessel's seaworthiness, instead almost led to disaster.
      In addition to Capt. Frese, the ferry's crew, all Seattle men, consisted of Henry Mehus, chief engineer, and assistants Irvin Lancaster and Arthur Scribner; Ray Volsky and Lewis Currien, deckhands, and Earl Sallee, cook.
      Sea watches were set and the men on both the tug and the ferry settled down for the trip which was expected to require from a week to 10 days, depending on the weather.
      Mehus, later port engineer for Washington State Ferries, remembers the voyage up the coast as uneventful until they were nearly abeam Coos Bay.
      It was nearing the end of my 8-to-12 evening watch when I began to feel something was wrong. A moderate nor'wester we encountered that morning had freshened during the afternoon, raising a heavy swell and the tug had slowed to reduce the strain on the ferry.      

      "Down in the engine room I noticed a definite change to the vessel's motion which was becoming sluggish and she no longer was rising with the swells in a normal manner. I was pretty sure at least one of the forward compartments below deck was flooding and I had started the pumps when the Lake Tahoe took a list to port and remained in that position." 

      Communication with the Commissioner had been lost earlier in the evening when the ferry's radio failed but her plight was observed on the tug which dropped the towline and maneuvered up to the ferry's stern to discuss the situation with the crew.

      The Lake Tahoe had taken a list when the temporary bulkhead across the bow had carried away, admitting tons of seawater to the main deck which now was building up on the port side and it was felt the ferry was in danger of capsizing. The consensus was that the Lake Tahoe be abandoned.

      The tug embarked the ferry's crew without difficulty and then withdrew a short distance to stand a deathwatch which no one believed would be very long. Because there was everything to gain and nothing to lose, one generator had been left running on the Lake Tahoe to supply power to the pumps and all lights were left burning to aid in keeping the ferry under observation in the darkness.

      As the night wore on, the abandoned Lake Tahoe continued her lonely struggle against the long swells, the angle of her lights indicating the list was increasing. The fact that she remained on course gave the watchers an eerie feeling that she was underway with someone at the helm. Then it was realized that the long towing wire, now hanging vertically from the bow, was acting as a sea anchor, holding her head into the wind. 

      Shortly before daybreak, Mehus was awakened from a nap by one of the tug's crew who told him, "If you want a last look at the Lake Tahoe, you'd better hurry. We think she's going down."

      But in the increasing daylight, a closer study of the ferry showed little apparent change in her condition since the previous night. It was felt that an effort should be made to save her, particularly since there were signs of an improvement in the weather. Mehus and Lancaster volunteered to reboard the derelict.

      Earlier, the Commissioner had radioed a report of the abandonment to the Coast Guard at Coos Bay from which a cutter and surf boat had been dispatched. The surf boat put the two engineers aboard the ferry. No sooner had they stepped aboard than the generator which had been left running faltered and then stopped, but they were able to start another one immediately.

      The wind which had been blowing steadily from the northwest for more than 24-hours began to slacken. Since it was now determined that the ferry's list had increased only slightly during the night, there was a good reason to believe she could be salvaged although for the moment there was nothing the men could do.

      As the swells moderated, the Lake Tahoe began to free herself of water on the main deck, and before long the bow as above surface. Now for the first time, the pumps were taking effect, further increasing the vessel's buoyancy forward. Soon she was entirely free of water and in normal trim. Surrendered by her crew to the sea, the Lake Tahoe had struggled free unharmed.

      After the cutter had recovered the towing wire and returned it to the tug, a course was set for Coos Bay.

      Safely moored inside the breakwater, the ferry's forward compartments below deck revealed the source of the trouble. A six-inch steel ventilator duct leading from the main deck and entering the forepeak from outside the hull had carried away, probably from stress as the ferry labored through heavy seas. The opening in the hull was well above the normal water line, but in open sea, each passing swell deposited a small amount of water inside the hull.

      As the compartment began to fill, the bow was lowered until the temporary bulkhead was exposed to the full battering force of the rising seas. When this carried away, the main deck flooded, the weight of the water forcing the bow under.

      This meant that the ruptured ventilator duct was completely submerged and although the pumps were operating at full capacity, they simply were pumping the Pacific Ocean through the compartment.

      "We learned an important lesson from this incident," Mehus says. "When preparing a ferry for a coastwise voyage both ends of the main deck should be left open. Had we done so with the Lake Tahoe, the seas which came aboard after the bulkhead carried away would have swept on through and out the other end.

      "As it was, the water was trapped between the after bulkhead and the oncoming swells.

      "The rest of the ferries were brought up the coast with the decks open and later two boats were brought all the way from the East Coast in the same manner and experienced no difficulty."

      After the opening in the hull had been plugged and the ferry once more prepared for sea, the Commissioner departed Coos Bay with her tow and reached the shipyard at Winslow without further trouble.

      There a survey showed the ferry had sustained no structural damage on the voyage and after an engine overhaul, and painting, the Lake Tahoe, re-named Illahee, joined the Black Ball fleet on 3 February 1941. She went into weekend service on the Edmonds-Kingston run. 

Above text by Grahame F. Shrader, retired ferry captain.

The COMMISSIONER
At what was then called Pier No. 3, Seattle,
in August 1940, the year 
she succeeded in getting Lake Tahoe
to her new home in that city.
Then the tug went back south for more ferries.
The 600-HP diesel tug Commissioner was built
at Brunswick, Georgia in 1918.
 Here owned by Puget Sound Tug & Barge Co.
272 tons/ 108-feet fitted with an A-frame and 
steel boom of 10-ton capacity and steam boiler
for operating salvage pumps, air pumps, etc.
Click image to enlarge.
This original photo from the collection of  J.A. Turner
from the archives of Saltwater People Log©

Captain Carl. C. Frese

(1873-1960)

in command of the Lake Tahoe and 

11 other ferries coming north from the 

San Francisco Bay to Seattle, WA., 

at different times. 

Photo 1947 at his retirement, age 74.

Born in Skamania County, he began 

his career on paddle steamers

on the Columbia River. Someday

he needs his own post.

Original photo from the archives of the

Saltwater People Historical Society.©

❖ MERRY CHRISTMAS ❖

 

American Yacht
YANKEE
Owned and sailed by 
Capt. Irving and Electa Johnson,
Gloucester, Mass. and their crew.
Holiday card sent from crew member, 
Fenton, mailed from Cape Town, S. A.
Undated photo from the archives 
of the Saltwater People Hist. Society©

Capt. Irving (1905-1991)
and Electa Johnson
aboard brigantine YANKEE, in 1958.
Their last of seven voyages around the 
world and home to 
Gloucester, Mass. 
Click photo to enlarge.
Photo from the archives of the 
Saltwater People Historical Society©

Capt. Irving Johnson, author and well-known mariner who chose the sea over a farm life in South Hadley, had just completed his seventh -- and last -- sailing trip around the world.
      Johnson sailed his 95-foot brigantine Yankee into the port of Gloucester, Mass in 1958 after an 18-month, 48,000-mile trip with 21 passengers. They had paid $5,000 each.
      The trip was highlighted by a romance, the discovery of an anchor which may be from the famous Bounty near Pitcairn Island, and what Johnson termed a veritable Shangri-La.
      The 53-year-old skipper said the Shangri-La was in the Marquesas Islands. He described it as "the cutest valley you ever saw protected by sheer solid rock which made the harbor dangerous and discouraging to enter."
      Johnson said an anchor purportedly from the Bounty was returned to Pitcairn Island. It will be kept with other relics from the famous English vessel.
      After seven circumnavigations of 18-months each, the Johnsons have sold their vessel to Reed Whitney of Wilmette, Ill, a former Navy commander. Whitney planned to continue the global voyages.

The above text verso of the A.P. wirephoto.
From the archives of the Saltwater People Historical Society.

To learn of the shipboard romance see this post on Saltwater People Log here

❖ NO ROADS? With June Burn ❖

 

CHICKAWANA
San Juandering with writer June Burn on 
Orcas Island, San Juan Archipelago, WA.
Click image to enlarge.
From the archives of the 
Saltwater People Historical Society©

In the old days, there were no roads. Many now living can remember when the first wagon was driven from Olga to East Sound. "No limousine ever looked so bright and beautiful and luxurious," said one of those early settlers.
      I suppose the earliest settlers boiled over from the Fraser River goldrush into this section as they had come to the Olga neighborhood. Mr. King, who settled here over 45 years ago, said he came to Orcas instead of to Whatcom county because it was so easy to get here. There were no roads back into the vacant land of Whatcom in the early 1880s, but the road to the islands has always been clear. Somebody had told him he ought to come to see the islands. He came, he saw and was conquered, and he and his wife live yet in the cedar log house which he built down by the bay way back yonder in 1885 or '86.
      We drove in the 75-cent moon down to the King Ranch, going on up first to see the moon path across Cascade Lake and saw instead the long white tracks where the skaters had been.
      This beautiful house, built of squared cedar logs, stands as securely as it stood forty years ago, the very same mortar perfectly solid in the chinks. Mr. King and a helper got the cedars out of the woods, squared them with an ordinary ax, set them up, and finished the house in two months. Logs go all the way to the points of the gables and inside the house, the walls are whitewashed logs, very attractive. Even the cracks in the logs (not between them) are interesting, and the huge fine old square piano set against one of these handmade walls books perfectly at home, as if music were no hifalutin' snob.
      On the wall inside the piano hangs a panel on which five pairs of deer horns are mounted. Mr. King killed them all one night thirty years ago, though he says he shares the honors with his wife. "Yes," she agrees," I held the lantern while he shot them and I stumbled over one dead deer after another following after him and I got my skirts bloody." The deer these days ate the gardens faster than the settlers could eat the deer. The Kings were raising strawberries and blackberries for the market. Also, there was road work. These two slender sources of income plus the garden and the deer made up their living. The schools lasted only three or four months, Mrs. King used to teach the school at Doe Bay for $23 a month and her board. When the three-month term was out then she would come over to East Sound and teach for another four months. At Doe Bay, she used to board around between the Vierecks, the Moores, and the Greys, walking to school of course--walking, if need be, all the way to East Sound.
      The mailman used to walk, too, with his pouch of mail on his back, following that long road three times a week. Sometimes he rode what Mr. King calls a cayuse.
      

Eastsound, Orcas Island, 
San Juan Archipelago, WA.
Click image to enlarge.
Original photo from the archives of the 
Saltwater People Historical Society©

      There used to be a lime quarry near East Sound and the limerock is still there in paying quantities. But a syndicate bought up the land, stopped work for some reason, and so we still have as much limerock as ever. Shattuck kept store in the old days. He had a bolt of calico, a strip of bacon, and a pair of overalls," and what else was there to want?
      The Kings have lived off the land a good deal trying to keep up with their children in their goings and comings. But now that the children are all settled the two young old people have come back to the log house where they spent their first years together. Mrs. King is busy piecing a quilt of the pattern "glittering star," her stitches tiny and many. There are the flowers, too, and the grapes, the garden, the wood-getting, the canning and a swarm of things to keep them as busy as they used to be, and I declare they seem as happy as any young couple I ever saw just starting out. I tell you, there is some magic about this pioneering way of life which for the right people makes the most real happiness anybody can know.
      It was the gayest, warmest sunniest morning of the "cold spell" when I took the Chickawanna once more to go on to Orcas another village at which I had never stopped. East Sound slipped back against the bright background of island green as the little boat clicked off down the bay and disappeared as we rounded the west prong of the big island. There are worlds of interesting things and people at Olga and East Sound which I have not mentioned but there will be times again to come San Juandering. See you tomorrow. June.

June Burn 

Puget Soundings

22 January 1930

❖ Washington State Board on Geographic Names ❖

 

The San Juan Archipelago.
The county of San Juan is  
the smallest in
Washington State by land area.
Click image to enlarge.

    

SAN JUAN ISLANDS

"This name, long accepted in popular usage, has finally appeared on NOAA chart 18400 (ex-6300) written vertically through Orcas and Lopez Islands. The Washington State Board on Geographic Names, at its meeting of March 14, 1979, confirmed "San Juan Islands" as the name for the area, and rejected both "Quimper Sound" and "Washington Sound" as names identifying the whole body of water in which the islands lie.

      Subsequently, an issue arose before the Board as to the proper application of the term "San Juan Islands," in the form of a request that "the Board reviews its decision to confine the "San Juan Islands" to those islands within San Juan County." Minutes of the Board, March 14, 1979. At the meeting of the Board on June 22, 1979, the Acting Chairman, Robert Hitchman, commented that the critical feature in any such decision would be the "usage" of the term by persons in the area of the islands. the Board accepted the present author's offer to attempt to determine such usage, and a report was written and distributed in advance of the Board's September meeting.

      Specifically, the aim of the request was to include in "San Juan Islands" those islands, or some of them, that lie to the east of Rosario Strait, principally Guemes, Cypress, and Sinclair islands, although Lummi, Vendovi, Fidalgo, Allen, and Burrows islands might also be included.

      The report, entitled "Usage of the Term 'The San Juan Islands,'" found that, in the view of historical societies in the islands, and in the opinions of real estate dealers and newspaper figures, there was near unanimity that no change should be made in the current designation that limited the San Juan Islands to those west of Rosario Strait. The Board, at its September 1979 meeting, approved the report and decided against any change in the coverage of "San Juan Islands" on the charts."

Text by small craft mariner Bryce Wood.
Formerly of San Juan Island.

Coastal Place Names and Cartographic Nomenclature

1980. Published for the Washington State Historical Society.

❖ MOSQUITO MONDAY~~~ THE RELIANCE ❖

Steamer Reliance  
Kitsap County Transportation Company 
Verso dated 17 April 1913.
During this time she was busily employed 
in transporting logging machinery, horses,
and wagons from Seattle.
On the summer schedule, Capt. Charles Wallace
provided two round trips per day to Harper,
Colby, and Manchester, five days per week and 
three trips on weekends. Just before her busy season,
she went into drydock for her annual overhaul.
Click image to enlarge.
Original photo from the archives of the
Saltwater People Historical Society© 

 The Reliance Pitches and Rolls into Puget Sound, 1900

As told to Captain Torger "Tom" Birkland

by Captain Chris Moe.

"In 1889, the steamboat service to Poulsbo was not satisfactory. We felt that a bigger, faster boat should be on the run to take care of the fast increasing population. The steamer Dauntless on the Seattle-Tacoma via Vashon Island run was available, so we bought her for the home run by the east side of Bainbridge Island, taking in several way ports. We soon bought out the opposition boat, and the business increased to a point where the Dauntless became too small.
      The Oregon Railway & Navigation Co., of Portland, had a fast and larger boat for sale. This boat was built in 1899 for the upper Columbia River run between Portland and the Dalles and was very speedy with a larger capacity for passengers and freight. Andrew and I went to Portland to look at this vessel, and after a thorough inspection found her to be practically new and in excellent condition. We returned home with a favorable report so father went to Portland and prepared to close the deal, which he did after first telling the OR & N the vessel was of flimsy construction, and not worth the price which they asked. He then made an offer of several thousands of dollars less, which was finally accepted and we made plans for bringing our new ship home.
      I immediately went to Portland to supervise the job of preparing the little boat for the deep-sea voyage from the Columbia River to Puget Sound. The deckhouse was braced and re-enforced, the windows boarded up, the smokestack well-secured and everything lashed down.
      We departed from Portland on 8 September 1900, with a crew of two sailors, two firemen, two engineers, two mates, and Captain George Tyler in command. We arrived at Astoria on the evening of the 9th. For the next two days, the bar was too rough to cross, and this delay presented an opportunity for some of our thirsty crew members to go uptown, come back drunk and demand more money for liquor. This caused no end of trouble. Instead of money, we gave them meal tickets, which they pawned for liquor. We finally managed to get them all aboard at one time, and cast off the lines to get away.

      On September 12th, at 5:00 we crossed the bar. The first few violent rolls broke the water lines. Losing all our freshwater, it was necessary to use saltwater in the boilers. The seas broke over the superstructure and flooded the engine room to a point where there was danger of it putting out the fires. The engineer was worried about the saltwater in the boilers but there was nothing we could do about it. The brave little steamer rolled, twisted, and pitched along the Oregon and Washington coast until Cape Flattery was reached on the morning of September 13th. What a welcome sight was the faint flash of the Tatoosh Island light when first sighted by the anxious mariners that morning at 4:00 AM.

      With the boilers full of saltwater, progress was slow. It was noon before we finally rounded Cape Flattery and set our course up Juan de Fuca Strait. The chief engineer said he would try to make Clallam, hoping that there we could replenish our completely exhausted water supply. If not, the boat would have to stay at the dock! 

      Forest fires were raging and every man and boy in this community were out firefighting, and no one could be found to haul water to the dock for us. And now, to add to our already troubled minds, the heavy ground swell rolling in from the ocean kept the vessel surging on the lines to a point of eventually parting or pulling out the bitts.

      The following day on her regular run from Neah Bay and way stops to Seattle, the steamer Alice Gertrude came in. I boarded the vessel for a ride to Port Angeles to get a tug to tow our disabled ship to that city. The tugboat Katy was available and we departed for Clallam. All went well until a few miles west of Ediz Hook when she broke down. After temporary repairs, the captain hauled around and went back to the Port Angeles dock and tied her up. That was the end of that.

      What to do next? Constantly worrying about our boat, I boarded the next regular steamer for Clallam. There was not much else I could do as all means of communication with Seattle were broken down and word could not be sent through for a tug from there. On our arrival at Clallam we found the boat missing. I thought "the worst has happened--the lines must have parted and she's gone adrift." The man in charge of the dock had no idea of what had happened; all he knew was that a steamboat had disappeared. I could do nothing but remain aboard for the long run to Neah Bay and back to Port Angeles. It was a disagreeable trip. The smoke in the straits hung over the water like a dense fog and being uneasy and restless, I was pacing the deck with the man on watch most of the way. 
      But a pleasant surprise was in store! About the first thing I did see through the haze was the Reliance snugly tied up at the dock, with steam up and ready to go. I learned that the tug Tyee had stopped in at Clallam and our captain asked for a tow into Port Angeles. All this took place during the night, and in the dense smoke and fog, our ships passed unnoticed.
      But we were on our way home at last. During all this time since we left Astoria I had not had a wink of sleep, so no wonder when nearing our destination, I fell asleep. After what seemed only a few minutes I was wakened and told the boat was hard aground on some unknown beach and the tide was ebbing. The captain was going around in a drunken stupor and had no idea of where we were, so now it was all up to me. Realizing the danger of the vessel taking an out-board list and turning on its side and filling with water, I ordered the shore side lifeboats lowered and filled with water to give the vessel an inboard list. Then we waited for the tide to turn.
      With the captain sound asleep in his bunk, we once again got underway. As nearly as I could figure we were somewhere between Jefferson Head and Agate Pass, and by the echoes, we navigated the Reliance home to Poulsbo with no more mishaps arriving home on a Sunday morning just in time for church--where I fell asleep, and that's the truth."

Courtesy of The Sea Chest membership journal, 

Vol. 1, No. 1, September 1967

Puget Sound Maritime Society, Seattle, WA.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes, when known, we list some of the "other" officers and crew of a featured vessel, not part of the story presented, but part of the past life of the vessel. 

From Roland Carey's, The Sound of Steamers; pages 102-109, Seattle; 1965, we learn of Chief Roy H. Kimmel. (Abridged.)

      "Many a young man, during the bygone era of steamboating, earned his first wages working on a Sound steamer. Those lessons in resourcefulness, loyalty, and reliability were invaluable in later life and some men carried skills from Puget Sound to the wide waters of the world. 

      Such a man was Roy H. Kimmel (born on Vashon Island, 1891), who began steamboating at the age of 18, as fireman for Robert McDowell. Next, he worked for the Vashon Navigation Co., on several of their vessels, including the steamer RELIANCE, featured in the above writing by Capt. Birkland. Kimmel became Chief Engineer in 1918 on the RELIANCE. In 1922 he returned to Inland Transportation Co as chief engineer on the CALISTA. He had been back on the CALISTA but one day, on 27 July 1922, for her Seattle-Whidbey Island route. The fog became thick at the north entrance to Seattle harbor. On this day the CALISTA in command of Capt. Barlett Lovejoy was hit by the big Japanese liner HAWAII MARU. Chief Kimmel and all crew and passengers were saved before the CALISTA went to the bottom 28 minutes later. 

       During WW II, Kimmel carried his skill into the Pacific. In Nov. 1943, he was first assistant engineer on the Liberty Ship JOHN P. GAINES when the vessel with crew, Navy gun crew, and Army passengers, were battered with their ship broken in two by a hurricane 100 miles off the Alaskan coast. Everyone was rescued. 

Liberty Ship John Burke

Built by Oregon Shipbuilding Co.

Launched at Portland, 15 Dec. 1942.

422.10' x 57.0' x 27.10'

Two oil-fired boilers, 

triple expansion, reciprocating steam engine, 

single screw.

In this photo the John Burke is NW

of Vancouver Island, B.C, May 1944.

She was lost Philippines, 28 Dec. 1944

Complement: 40 crew & 28 Armed Guard.

      One year later chief engineer Kimmel was on the Liberty Ship JOHN BURKE, carrying ammunition to troops fighting in the Philippine Island of Mindoro. The ship, commanded by Capt. Herbert A. Falk, was part of a big supply convoy coming up from Leyte Gulf with manpower and material for airfield construction. The convoy was screened by nine destroyers. Japanese air forces attacked at dawn, morning, noon, dusk, and night. The pilots were well briefed, for they knew which ships in the convoy carried vital cargo. Kamikaze fighters made a direct hit on the BURKE and the explosive charge in the fighter mingled with the explosives in the ship's hold. 

      A tremendous flash was followed by an enormous white cloud covering an area of several thousand yards. When the cloud cleared, it was as though the BURKE had never been. As she sank to the depths of Mindanao Sea, other ships in the vicinity felt a severe underwater explosion, the last defiant growl of a vessel that went down with all hands." 

The BURKE had departed Seattle in late 1944 for Guam where she spent several days loading munitions for the invasion force on the island of Mindoro. BURKE then departed with the 100-ship "Uncle Plus 13" convoy, bound for Leyte in the Philippines. The JOHN BURKE fragments lie 1,500-ft below the surface in the strait between Negros, Siquijor Islands and Dapitan, Mindanao, Philippines. 

❖ THE FOUR-MASTER FORESTER ❖

Schooner Forester
217' x 32' x 13.6' 
Launched 10 Nov. 1900 at
 at Hay & Wright Yard,
Alameda, CA.
Click image to enlarge.
She came to Penn's Cove, Whidbey Island
to transport mining props to Mexico,
ca. the 1920s, as noted on verso of photo.
Original from the archives
of Saltwater People Historical Society©

A Rainy Afternoon aboard the Forester

"A couple of months ago, I took the family for a ride. We crossed the bay from Marin County on the San Quentin ferry, drove along the Sacramento highway to Pinole, and then to Martinez. Crossing Carquinez Strait on the Benicia ferry, you could look back and see her lying in the sedge of the tidelands, a little west of Martinez town.
      The skipper of the ferry was a jovial man named Captain Jansen, a Cape Codder by birth and on the Benicia ferry run since the early 20s. Above the wind that whipped through the strait, I shouted through the open window of the wheelhouse and asked him what she was.
      'Lumber schooner. Been tied up there for years. Go over and talk to her skipper sometime. He lives on board.'
      'Thanks,' I replied. 'I will.'
      The other day, I drove back to Martinez, crossed the railroad tracks, and bumped and swayed down a wet, muddy road. I parked the car as close to the schooner as the road would take me and struck off on a path across the flats toward the water's edge. a cold, west wind was blowing, driving the rain clouds up from San Pablo Bay and piling them up in the sky to the east. The path ended in a narrow plank walk leading out over the water to the side of the ship, and the walk ended at a locked door on which was the sign, 'Beware of the dog.' I pushed the bell button and waited.
      A few minutes later, Captain Otto Daeweritz, skipper of the schooner Forester, led the way down into the after cabin of the ship. 'One thing,' he said over his shoulder, 'I'm not bothered by noisy neighbors.'
      He was a short, stocky man, coatless in spite of the cold, and wearing a knitted sailor's cap. He had started going to sea in 1879, was 83, and like most men who have lived alone for many years, reluctant to talk about himself or his life. 
      Captain Daeweritz made his puppy lie down, got out some old photographs, and told me about his ship. She was launched 10 November 1900, at the Hay & Wright yards in Alameda, and as far as he knows is the only four-master left in the Bay Area. She went immediately into the offshore lumber trade for the San Francisco exporting firm of Sanders and Kirchmann. Captain Daeweritz, who was the only skipper she ever knew, had a financial interest in her too. 

      The Forester, one of Sanders & Kirchmann fleet of 16 schooners and barkentines, would take on a cargo of lumber in Oregon or Washington--the long, straight fir logs rising to a height of 15 feet on her narrow deck--and beat across the Pacific with it to ports in China or India or Australia. For the return trip, she'd pick up anything she could in the way of cargo, copra, mostly.

      'That's what she did until after WWI,' said Captain Daeweritz. 'Then, in the 1920s, business got bad. Copra, that had been $42 a ton, dropped to $10. And the Swedish and Norwegian steamers took all the lumber business away. They could make more trips and make them cheaper than we could.'

      When her day passed he bought out his partners' interest in the Forester and laid her up. From 1927 to 1931, she was anchored in the strait, protecting a pier of the Carquinez bridge from the swift-running tides. For the four years after that, she was in the Oakland estuary. And when Oakland port authorities told him he would have to move her, she was a menace to shipping there, he had her towed to those Martinez flats, and she's been there ever since.

      She makes a snug home for Capt. Daeweritz. She's wired for electricity, but has no water; he carries it onboard from shore and catches rainwater for washing purposes. In the tiny skylighted cabin off the sleeping quarters, there was the table at which we sat. On it were the paper he has been reading, a deck of cards and an ashtray from the Turquoise Room, Hotel Rosslyn, L.A. On the bulkhead over the table was a small painting of the Forester under full sail, done by an amateur, and the ship's original clock and barometer.

      There was a sudden patter of rain on the skylight, and the captain got up at once. 'Got to get my washing in,' he said. 'Should have had it in an hour ago.' I followed him up the companionway and onto the deck. He hurried forward, took down a few shirts and towels from the clothesline, and hung them up inside, over the stove in the galley.

      'What will happen to the Forester?' I asked.

      'I don't know,' he said. 'She probably will be burned up someday, like the rest of her kind. I'm the only friend she's got left.'

      We said good-bye a few minutes later, and he showed me over the side. The rain was coming in heavy gusts from the little gray sky. From the car, Benicia across the strait was dim in the low mist. The Forester, listing slightly to starboard, was dark against the green waters of the strait, and her four masts leaned dark against the sky."

Robert O'Brien. Published by the San Francisco Chronicle, 1947. 

SCHOONER FORESTER
in the mud with Captain Otto.

Forester Facts:

Cost to build; $60,000

Captain Otto A. Daeweritz, born in Czechoslovakia, was the Forester's only master. He came to San Francisco in the 1890s and received his captain's papers at the age of 24. He helped design the schooner and had two partners until 1927 when he bought them out. He lived on the ship with his faithful companion, the bulldog, Texas, until his death in 1947. 

Charles "Charlie" J. Fitzgerald moved aboard the ship in 1948, purchased it in 1950 for $90, and settled in, trying to preserve and protect the Forester from vandals and souvenir hunters.

In 1962, a crew from the San Francisco Maritime Museum dismantled parts of the ship and put them in an interpretive display at the museum.

On 18 June 1975, a fire swept through the Forester. It burned almost to the waterline.

Forester Facts courtesy of the Martinez Historical Society, CA.

❖ Monday Night Mosquitos ❖

The COLUMBIA RIVER STERNWHEELER--A TYPE

Written by Fritz Timmen
Blow for the Landing
Caxton Printers, Ltd. 1973.

WAUNA
The low, powerful lines of a sternwheel towboat
are evident on Wauna of 1906. She was built
for Lake River log towing. She later handled
oil barges on the Willamette until her layup in 1937.
Original photo by James Turner from the archives of 
Saltwater People Historical Society©

"To the eye of many beholders, there was beauty in the Columbia River type sternwheeler. Her hull lines were graceful, clean, and shallow, and about five times longer than the beam. The slight dead-rise made for a flat deck. The lower deck was housed forward from the wheel, with the forward doors and those on the guards wide enough for freight or engine and boiler parts. Above was the cabin deck, with a wide, railed promenade all around, a central passenger lounge and dining room, and windowed saloons fore and aft. The upper, or hurricane deck, carried a texas, with crew cabins or passenger accommodations. Atop the texas and well forward was the pilothouse. This was the Holy of Holies, grandly occupied by the captain and pilot, with lesser mortals granted admission only by special dispensation. Three sides of the pilothouse bore gracefully carved name boards. Often fancy fretwork topped it all.

      Aft of the pilothouse rose the single stack. The kingpost soared amidships, flanked by at least four hog posts to which were secured the hog chains that keep the supple hull aligned. After 1870, the stern-wheel often was enclosed in a box on which appeared the craft's name and port of registry and which also served to keep spray off the passengers.

      The main deck forward was open for winches and capstans and cargo.

      Wood construction was favored, even after steel became available. The initial cost and upkeep of wooden hulls were cheaper. Damage repair was easy -- a soft patch spiked over a broken plank kept the boat afloat until it could reach the beach.

      For propulsion, early engineers preferred a high-pressure, non-condensing engine. Cylinder bores varied between ten and twenty-two inches and the piston stroke was six or seven feet, rarely more. Locomotive-type boilers had a working pressure of about one hundred pounds per square inch. Not until well after WW I did cross-compound engines appear. These engines transmitted relatively low but effective power to the wheel and so were often provided with a bypass valve to permit fast injection of live steam into the low-pressure boiler in case the pilot called for extra power in a hurry. A few tandem-compound power plants were built. Among these was the Henderson at the time of her 1929 rebuild.

Sternwheeler HENDERSON 
O.N. 93168
Here she is working in a film in 1952 as
the RIVER QUEEN.
Built by Shaver Transportation Co. in 1901
158.7' x 31.' x 7.5' 
The skipper this day was
Capt. Sidney J. "Happy" Harris.
She was burned for scrap in 1964.
More about her racing on the river
 can be seen HERE

      A sleek, trim sternwheeler, moving grandly through a covey of noisy, bustling steam tugs, had a never-to-be-forgotten air about her whether she was a fast passenger packet or a towboat. Sure enough, they don't make 'em like that anymore."