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The San Juan Islands Souvenir Year Book 1930 Published by the San Juan Islands Publicity Bureau Anacortes, WA. Click to enlarge. Original booklet from the S.P.H.S. library. |
"Even though this was just another trip among the hundreds that we had already made, the adrenalin was burning my stomach sour, it always did, even when the load was gone. Everything done now was done with careful thought; there could be no mistakes. Cold –– it was always cold and dark this time of year in the late afternoon, and the dawn was hours away. Good weather for what we were doing. The mist was swirling about us, visibility only a few hundred yards; the problem was, it worked both ways. The cutter could happen upon us as easily as not, then it would be a desperate run to get out of range and out of sight.
The diesel is muffled and quiet at this speed; the exhaust is muted due to its location beneath the sea; however, if we have to start the big Packards, all that will change. They are warm and should start instantly; we run them up once every hour until we have crossed the line somewhere between D'Arcy Island and San Juan. The darkness pulls at my eyes; we cannot afford the luxury of going below decks, for the winter tide brings out the deadheads. We are loaded with one hundred and fifty cases of scotch whisky that is to be delivered just south of Anacortes tonight.
I turn my head slightly so that I see out of the side of my eye; peripheral vision picks up any small change in light, and it has been as black as the inside of a barrel for what seems like hours. Turn Point slides by on the starboard side, and if we had running lights the keeper would see us, but we are not advertising and it is doubtful that even if anyone knew we were here they would not see us - no lights, muffled exhaust, and a hull painted a dark maroon that blends into the blackness.
It has taken hours to work our way to the rendezvous point, but at least the unloading will warm us up. A shaded light flashes from the shore, twice rapidly and once after a pause - tonight's signal. We drop the anchor and wait for the smaller boat to come out to us. It takes four trips to carry all the cargo ashore, but so far it has been an easy trip, the tide is out, and with any luck, we should be back in Victoria Harbor by dawn.
Now clear of the area, it is time to start the big Packard aircraft engines and run for home; daylight is not a good time to be seen in these waters. I start up the first engine; the noise always surprises me, and the second engine is that much louder. The surge of power throws the boat ahead; we are doing twenty knots with another fifteen in reserve. If the weather holds; if the Coast Guard cutter hasn't planned an ambush; if we don't tear a hole in the hull on a deadhead; if we don't take out a prop on driftwood, it will be a piece of cake. My eyes strain to see the water ahead, watching for the kelp that mark reefs and the debris that every winter tide pulls off the beach; the wind tears at my face and the cold is penetrating; the temperature can only be a few degrees above freezing. Every fourth or fifth wave sends bullets of icy spray back over the wheelhouse; the steering window is open and the spray cuts like a knife. The fog is lifting and the wind has begun to pile the waves into ever-increasing humps that we feel through our legs.
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US Coast Guard ready for action during prohibition years, near Anacortes, Skagit County, WA. Click to enlarge and view the foredeck. Photo from the archives of the Saltwater People Historical Society© |
The light is coming up behind us and the Coast Guard cutter stands out from the land as it rounds the point ahead – he must have been laying in Roche Harbor. The cutter can only hope to sandwich us against South Pender; he knows he can't outrun us, but if he can get close enough to use his one-pound cannon we could be in trouble. We have sea room to manoeuvre and I run the boat up to thirty knots, at this speed, the impact of each wave hammers up through the hull and adds to the din of the engines in full race. A round from the one-pounder raises a plume of water slightly behind us off the port side, the sound drowned by the howl of the engines. We are gaining ground but a turn to the southwest is necessary very soon. We have the distance and the boat heels as the rudder throws us to the starboard lean and we make the turn to port that will take us across Haro Strait. Today we will not return to Victoria, that would just lead to awkward questions from the customs people.
We are out of range and I bring the power back to the twenty-knot cruise range that will give us time to steer around any debris. It would have been nice to have avoided the encounter with the Coast Guard, we could have gone quietly home to a hot bath and to relax. Our extended journey is part of the price we must pay. It will be an hour before my ears stop ringing from the thunderous howl of the big power plants."
Words by Richard S. SoleyVintage Vessels of British Columbia
Power and Sail, Work and Pleasure
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