tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23293064114238234442024-03-13T05:13:10.265-07:00Saltwater People LogSaltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.comBlogger687125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-24743587965504948712024-02-13T12:21:00.000-08:002024-02-13T22:54:43.233-08:00THE FOREST FRIEND <p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFBCY2iks1eXTMkDgojSoecBcLEGBUSYaMaKUdE7BN46OTQwGYyDtvIpqW5suWDrGFL0c_9WaeOdYqm-mr2y9DaArze7UBH_jEyNfAqzmtbJad10AraPewrgzKDnshf4_NwStbQNVTEQrnr6YaInH0lQbLyJOLXfJGcQvSRoGzHRV8B6PTrHGW0a9j3Zg/s3264/Lcmd%20Edward%20Lewis%20Tindall%20(b.1867).jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFBCY2iks1eXTMkDgojSoecBcLEGBUSYaMaKUdE7BN46OTQwGYyDtvIpqW5suWDrGFL0c_9WaeOdYqm-mr2y9DaArze7UBH_jEyNfAqzmtbJad10AraPewrgzKDnshf4_NwStbQNVTEQrnr6YaInH0lQbLyJOLXfJGcQvSRoGzHRV8B6PTrHGW0a9j3Zg/w300-h400/Lcmd%20Edward%20Lewis%20Tindall%20(b.1867).jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Captain Edward L. Tindall,<br />One-time master of <br />Barquentine FOREST FRIEND<br />Low-res scan courtesy of his <br />great-grandson,<br />Ed David, <br />to accompany the below essay.</span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ05uf6CvM-xtTiyw5vescXL1vox3HfLpI3iNuxegVRgis_XD3IYFid00BJkfUtVJY1if9RbLBYNLiKdCxEDortrw3EQNTwiJrvQCSM3u3cVvo7pIX4SOYPeC1_tYX0u4kd68jw6LwH8oviMW3nCzaOktGG70QyRWGTLcWX9f8-5RxNkTtrmpedQ5EVmU/s2698/FOREST%20FRIEND:%20here:%20.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2698" data-original-width="1655" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ05uf6CvM-xtTiyw5vescXL1vox3HfLpI3iNuxegVRgis_XD3IYFid00BJkfUtVJY1if9RbLBYNLiKdCxEDortrw3EQNTwiJrvQCSM3u3cVvo7pIX4SOYPeC1_tYX0u4kd68jw6LwH8oviMW3nCzaOktGG70QyRWGTLcWX9f8-5RxNkTtrmpedQ5EVmU/w245-h400/FOREST%20FRIEND:%20here:%20.jpeg" width="245" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">FOREST FRIEND</span><br />219452<br />built 1919, <br />Aberdeen, WA. <br />243' l x 44' b x 10' d.<br />1,614 G.t.<br />scan from a gelatin-silver <br />photo from the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Historial Society©<br />click image to enlarge.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><br /><br />Words by Reece Hague,<br />Formerly with the <i>Adelaide Journal.</i><br />Published by <i>The Mail, </i><br />Victoria, British Columbia, Canada<br />31 August 1929<p><br /><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">10 June 1929<br />"Take off your hats, gentlemen, she is the last of a vanishing race."<br /> The speaker was Capt. Edward L. Tindall, veteran master mariner, and as he spoke he directed attention to a barquentine sailing with all the grace and dignity of her kind, through the heads which give access to the beautiful Sydney Harbor.<br /> A closer examination would have revealed that the barquentine had lost much of her pristine splendor, but to the sailor and his landsmen friends, she was a thing of beauty and romance.<br /> It was February 1928, the barquentine FOREST FRIEND majestically entered Sydney Harbor, to awaken memories and longings in the hearts of many old seadogs.<br /> Capt. Tindall himself had almost decided to settle down to a humdrum existence on land, but the sight of the FOREST FRIEND revived a latent longing to take his place once again on the poop deck of a windjammer.<br /> As he left the harbor, musing over past happy years, Capt. Tindall murmured, "Oh, for one last trip on a ship such as that."<br /> Little did he then realize that less than 12 months later she should be towed, under the command of none other than Capt. Tindall himself, into the Esquimalt Harbor, Vancouver Island, there to be ignominiously libeled, and eventually sold for her value as a hulk.<br /> It was actually only a few days after his first glimpse of the FOREST FRIEND that Capt. Tindall was informed that a skipper was required for the barquentine, and his desire to sail once again the high seas as the master of a windjammer was realized.<br /> In May this year, while the FOREST FRIEND was lying at Esquimalt with libel notices nailed to her mast, I met Capt. Tindall, and told him that I had been present in Port Adelaide, Australia, in the latter part of 1927, when I had seen the barquentine in a similar predicament. <br /> Together we gathered up the threads of the story that I was now unfolding.<br /> In November 1919, when the whole world was crying out for ships to carry freight, a new and splendid barquentine, bearing the name FOREST FRIEND on her bows, sailed for the first time out of the harbor of Aberdeen, Washington, where she had been constructed a cost of £ 25,000. In June 1929, the same ship was sold to Victoria, B.C., for £800 to a firm of general towage contractors.<br /> For the first 2 or 3 years of her life, the FOREST FRIEND sailed jauntily over the great ocean.<br /> Then, as more and more mammoth steamships were built by the seafaring nations of the world, the owners of the FOREST FRIEND found it increasingly difficult to secure suitable cargoes.<br /> Speed in transporting cargo became a watchword, and fewer and fewer cargoes were available for the fast-vanishing sailing ships.<br /> The climax, of the FOREST FRIEND came in May 1927, when, 90 days after she had sailed from Anacortes, WA, the barquentine, badly battered by storms, limped into the Port Adelaide Harbor.<br /> Immediately, the American master of the ship cabled to his owners for money with which to meet the ship's liabilities. The owners considered that the FOREST FRIEND had been sufficient of a liability for some years, and ignored the request.<br /> Harbor officials became tired of waiting for the dues and libeled the ship. <br /> Long legal proceedings followed, and after many delays, a Supreme Court judge ordered the sale of the vessel.<br /> At the sale, an offer of £ 500 was received, and the barquentine was knocked down for that sum to South Australian interests styling themselves the Massey-Mort Shipping Co.<br /> Legal costs absorbed most of the £ 500, and the crew were sent to their homes in the United States by American boats, and the master obtained a berth as second mate on a ship bound for America.<br /> Capt. Adams another American sailor, who happened to be in South Australia, accompanied by his wife and child, was given command of the FOREST FRIEND, and in February 1928, sailed for Sydney. Heavy weather was encountered, and one morning, while Capt. Adams was attending to one of the halyards when his oilskins <br />caught in the barrel winch, and he was severely injured.<br /> The mate signaled with flares, and a pilot cutter was dispatched from Sydney to the FOREST FRIEND, which was then laying 20 miles from the heads. The captain and his wife and child were taken ashore and the ship was taken to anchorage by the mate.<br /> Three weeks later Capt. Adams died from his injuries, and on 29 March 1928, Capt. Tindall took command of the barquentine. She sailed for Peru with a cargo of Australian coal.<br /> Capt. Tindall's words: </span><br /><br /><i>"We set out from Sydney with a scratch crew of 13 men. The first mate was an inveterate drunkard and as I had been unable to get a second mate I was forced to appoint one of the men from the forecastle. He turned out to be quite useless.<br /> Only three of the crew were experienced sailors, and before we had been out two weeks I had trouble with one of them. He was a Russian. He was demoralizing the rest of the crew, so I sent for him, and with the aid of the storekeeper and steward, I put handcuffs on him. I kept him in irons for the rest of the voyage. <br /> As soon as I reached Callao, Peru, I cabled the owners for funds to pay off the crew, but it was two weeks before the money arrived. In the meantime, the crew refused to work until they got their money.<br /> When I paid off the crew, I was left on the ship alone except for the mate, who had gone on a prolonged drinking bout as soon as he got his money.</i><br /><i> Before I could get a fresh crew to take the boat out it was necessary to get a portrait from the port captain, and he insisted that I should take my old crew back. I did not want the men back and squared the immigration authorities to lay off them, but the port captain called upon the police to arrest them and put them on board the FOREST FRIEND. the police would bring one or two on at a time, and as soon as </i><br />they had departed in search of another batch the first crew would go back on shore. <br /> <i>The port captain got so sick of seeing me around that he approved one of the many crew listed I had presented to him. I left Callao in ballast for Port Townsend, Washington.<br /> The trip from Peru was uneventful until we ran into the latitude of San Francisco when gale after gale struck us. For a long time, we lay off Cape Flattery but managed to get 10 miles down Juan de Fuca Strait. It commenced to blow hard from the southeast, and I had to anchor in Neah Bay. There we waited for a fair wind, but the barometer was dropping, and had weather was looming up. We were in a very </i>dangerous position off an exposed coast when a coastguard wirelessed for a tug. <i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Four hours after we had left in tow for Port Townsend a howling gale set in."</span></i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /> It was in November 1928, that the FOREST FRIEND arrived at Port Townsend. Capt. Tindall was instructed by his owners to proceed to Port Winslow, WA, for cargo on charter. A survey of the ship showed that repairs amounting to ca. £1,600 would be necessary before the underwriters would insure her for the outward voyage. The charterers refused to release £2,000 in trust, and Capt. Tindall was reduced to borrowing money on the security of the ship and himself to pay off the crew.<br /> Pleas to the owners in Australia for money were in vain, but eventually, they instructed Capt. Tindall to proceed to Esquimalt, Vancouver Is, B.C. On arrival in B.C., the captain was informed by cable that the company owning the ship had gone into liquidation. Claims amounting to £950 were immediately filed against the ship.<br /> Once again, as had happened at Port Adelaide, libel notices adorned the masts of the FOREST FRIEND. Witnesses told Mr. Justice Martin, in the Victoria, B.C., Admiralty Court, that the FOREST FRIEND was valuable only as a hulk and might fetch £1,000 at a forced sale.<br /> The ship was appraised at a value of £950, the total of the claims against her, and early in June a sale was conducted on the deck of the vessel.<br /> When the terms of the sale were explained, it was discovered that as the FOREST FRIEND was of American registry it would be necessary to pay duty amounting to ca. £ 400 on the barquentine before she could be used off the coast of B. C., Canada.<br /> The additional sum for duty brought the price to more than anyone was willing to pay, and no bids were received.<br /> The Admiralty Court authorized the marshal to receive private bids on the vessel, and on 23 June, Hodder Brothers, general towing contractors of Vancouver, tendered an offer of £ 800 for the vessel. The offer was promptly accepted.<br />"What will be the future of the FOREST FRIEND?" I asked the Hodder brothers after they had left the Admiralty office.<br /> Mr. Hodder shook his head somewhat sadly as he replied, "<i>Well, I am afraid she will have to end her days as a hulk carrying lumber or other commodities. It seems a shame for such a noble ship, but after all, what else can I do with her?"</i><br /> And this is the tale of the FOREST FRIEND, one of the stateliest sailing ships that ever sailed the seven seas. She is to be relegated to the menial tasks of the hulk engaged in the lumber or the cannery trade on the B.C. coast. <br /> And how does Capt. Tindall view the fate of the barquentine of which for 12 months he was the master?<br /> "<i>She was a fine ship</i>," he said slowly, as I walked with him after he had taken his last view of his late command. "<i>but I suppose, the days of the sailing ship have passed."</i><br /> Capt. Tindall, however, will command another sailing ship.<br /> "<i>I have been instructed to find a small barque and take it to Peru</i>, he told me.<br /> It will not have the stately lines of the FOREST FRIEND but in the eyes of Capt. Tindall it will be infinitely superior to steam.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">There is another SPHS post of this former Washington-built sailing vessel <a href="https://saltwaterpeoplehistoricalsociety.blogspot.com/2018/01/forest-friend-beat-up-in-pacific-1927.html">HERE</a></span></p><p>If anyone has ship's plans for FOREST DREAM, FOREST FRIEND, or FOREST PRIDE, please email or list a comment in the box below. Thank you.</p>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-90507395738406287382024-02-08T02:07:00.000-08:002024-02-28T14:56:07.994-08:00DAYS OF BLOOD IN THE EARLY LIME QUARRYS----from 1860-- 1959 with Lucile McDonald<p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjduKLphbNUywuCjWIIZXA2xxSORGnaP4UYCabuRN2d_NBUD2A8YyuvU0shJBiWVyXXyhhfJtOlcb1-tG683Abq0tYqy7ig1pNrkOIZZWMgx27z1S5Yn956JLYxGBjOT4FlkWTWBWalkW9l_2J2hJ03U8bJhpa3bf3RweIv3bFQ-fpm57mvdIWE3f6Fim4/s2841/Cowell's%20Lime%20Quarry:%201959%20c.c..png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2193" data-original-width="2841" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjduKLphbNUywuCjWIIZXA2xxSORGnaP4UYCabuRN2d_NBUD2A8YyuvU0shJBiWVyXXyhhfJtOlcb1-tG683Abq0tYqy7ig1pNrkOIZZWMgx27z1S5Yn956JLYxGBjOT4FlkWTWBWalkW9l_2J2hJ03U8bJhpa3bf3RweIv3bFQ-fpm57mvdIWE3f6Fim4/w400-h309/Cowell's%20Lime%20Quarry:%201959%20c.c..png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Remains of the old Cowell quarry<br />stands on a hillside of <br />western San Juan Island,<br />where the Island's limestone industry began.<br />Photo dated 1959.<br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Click image to enlarge.</span><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photograph by W.R. Danner.<br />From the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Historical Society©</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Geologists this summer (1959) combed the San Juan Islands in a study of limestone deposits, trying to determine how much of the mineral resource remains on the islands and how practical the deposits are for exploitation.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Long ago the white substance furnished the principal year-round payrolls in the islands and was one of the factors in their settlement. Quarrymen, kiln-tenders, and coopers comprised an important part of the population between 1870 and the end of the century. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Dr. W.R. Danner, a Seattle geologist on the U of British Columbia faculty, headed a crew sent out by the Division of Mines and Geology of the State Department of Conservation to make a comprehensive survey of the deposits in the past three months. He worked mostly in the San Juans and in Skagit County, while Dr. J.W. Mills of WA. State University, with a similar crew, carried on the search east of the Cascades.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6moLdymYcZuI1Tx8E2JxFU0HDed5a1uDjxPa5kObR2MYRHp6fq351Y1B-XohxYUoPZxpZRLaz8088zrF5uE9NU-TnpkawItG3aR0DKqbYgVpM_dC9r7xjI8Ub_fSWCs0X-7MrzgfmRELETpD81rioN7ZNjLjb3b-6pQjoTzj1EHiuoiRxcZTAbxlEOw/s2711/Danner,%20geologist:%20SJC%201959%20c.c..jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2711" data-original-width="1850" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6moLdymYcZuI1Tx8E2JxFU0HDed5a1uDjxPa5kObR2MYRHp6fq351Y1B-XohxYUoPZxpZRLaz8088zrF5uE9NU-TnpkawItG3aR0DKqbYgVpM_dC9r7xjI8Ub_fSWCs0X-7MrzgfmRELETpD81rioN7ZNjLjb3b-6pQjoTzj1EHiuoiRxcZTAbxlEOw/w273-h400/Danner,%20geologist:%20SJC%201959%20c.c..jpg" width="273" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Dr. W. R. Danner,<br />Seattle geologist, at the door of <br />a disintegrating limekiln at the former<br />Eureka site on San Juan Island, WA.<br />Click image to enlarge.<br />1959 photograph by Parker McAllister,<br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">from the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Historial Society©</span><br /></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Industries such as pulp manufacturing consume enormous quantities of limestone, now being imported into Washington because of lower production costs elsewhere.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">At present, only one operator, of the Everett Lime Co. deals in this commodity from the islands. He employs a crew to blast rock from the Westerman quarry at Eastsound, Orcas Island, break it into chunks called 'spalls', and load it on barges to be taken to pulp mills.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The market for Washington limestone has shrunk greatly. Only in cement manufacturing is it expanding. However, this outlet requires large and easily accessible deposits.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was once supposed there was so much limestone in the San Juans that possession of tiny O'Neal Island alone was sufficient reason to justify the British-American boundary dispute of 1859. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Danner found this century-old idea amusing because, although limestone is visible on the surface of O'Neal, the island on close examination proved to have a negligible amount of the mineral.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">'Islanders think lime is all over the archipelago,' Danner said. 'This is not true. It is found in small deposits; there are no great sheets of it. We want to discover what actually is here, what is left in the quarries, and what deposits have not been quarried.'</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">With his two assistants, Danner tracked down forgotten places such as limestone caves, crumbling towers that once were kilns, and prospect holes in picturesque fern-filled glens where early-day miners did not find enough mineral to justify quarrying.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">'There are nine groups of quarries on San Juan Island and at least 14 groups on Orcas.' Danner said 'The Roche Harbor operation on San Juan, which ended several years ago after having been the largest on the Pacific Coast, had 12 quarries.'</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Roche Harbor plant was modern, compared with the ruins of earlier ones scattered in the islands. The towering old stone kilns, into which rock was dropped from the top and drawn out through oven doors at the bottom, have a medieval look about them.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Seven kilns can be seen on San Juan, ten on Orcas, two on Henry, and one in ruins on Crane, Danner says. The geologist found 21, including some which have almost disappeared.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Inaccessibility usually was the factor governing the closing of the old mines. A few were abandoned because of the height of overhanging cliffs, which threatened landslides. Another was shut down because of the death of a workman. Most became too costly to operate.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Danner had explored for lime in the islands in previous summers for private companies. This year he thoroughly examined San Juan, Orcas, Henry, Cliff, Crane, O'Neal, and Jones Islands for the state. He mapped old workings, took samples, and assembled all the lore he could extract from residents. Many of the lime properties have become residential sites</span>.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJ3mWJyBsTyEDJmdfY-AC995Pqy9Tjo_Nkh0T8lIAcxeNaF2Z6H4pxlxjbMjWl-I14e37qOVEM-SzIR7gJApaXPyecBRluhGlinyTmSimOYnOrO8-mT442cmuZzdqHzjcaYDF-OSK3q0ylGHlmAXB_IUOWwyYzXsDT-ma1gZAOqnRp8Ikyehs2nVeAVM/s2255/Danner,%20geologist:%20SJC%201959%20c.c..jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2203" data-original-width="2255" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJ3mWJyBsTyEDJmdfY-AC995Pqy9Tjo_Nkh0T8lIAcxeNaF2Z6H4pxlxjbMjWl-I14e37qOVEM-SzIR7gJApaXPyecBRluhGlinyTmSimOYnOrO8-mT442cmuZzdqHzjcaYDF-OSK3q0ylGHlmAXB_IUOWwyYzXsDT-ma1gZAOqnRp8Ikyehs2nVeAVM/w400-h391/Danner,%20geologist:%20SJC%201959%20c.c..jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Charles McKillop, Friday Harbor, foreground <br />& Alder Revisto, of Tacoma, survey the old <br />Cowell quarry in 1959, on San Juan Island, <br />San Juan County, WA. <br />They were assistants to Dr. W.R. Danner.<br />Click image to enlarge.<br /><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo by Danner from the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Historical Society.©</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The industry began on San Juan Island's west side, on the cliffs near Lime Kiln Lighthouse.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Augustus Hibbard, who became the island's first quarry operator in 1860, was a man who attracted trouble. Military authorities were annoyed with his men for keeping liquor in camp and selling it to soldiers and Indians. Hibbard's cook was stabbed to death by a cooper and Hibbard himself was killed by his partner, on June 17, 1868, in a quarrel over an Indian woman.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Hibbard died just before the completion of a new kiln. His heir, who journeyed from the East to take possession, died two years later. The federal census of 1870 indicated that the firm then employed 18 persons and in 12 months had produced 13,000 barrels of lime, worth $26,000.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Lime at that time was used mainly for mortar and as a soil 'sweetener' in agriculture. None had been discovered closer than California or Vancouver Island, so trade in Washington Territory appeared to offer good prospects.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">George R. Shotter, a Canadian, opened the first quarry on Orcas about 1862, across Eastsound from the site where Clauson is mining today (1959.) The Shotter site, north of Rosario on Eastsound, is owned by the Crown Zellerbach Corp. Two ruined kilns on the beach are all that remains of the lime settlement of Port Langdon, which existed before there was a town of Eastsound.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Nova Langell, an old resident of the island, is a son of Ephraim Langell, a Nova Scotian who went to work at the quarry in 1871. He recalled that the company's oldest kiln has disappeared: the two standing on the shore are later ones.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In 1874, after American ownership of the San Juans was agreed through arbitration, the British quarry firm sold to Daniel McLachlan, an employee, and Robert Caines of Port Townsend, who later bought McLachlan's interest.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">McLachlan went to the east side of San Juan Island and, with his brother, William, and Thomas H. Lee, a relative by marriage, in 1881, organized the Eureka Lime Kiln, on what became the property of Mrs. D.M. Salsbury.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Seven little quarries are scattered through the woods on Mrs. Salsbury's 250-acre tract and two kilns stand on the beach. Once a small community was on the spot, including a hotel, post office, saloon, and 20 families.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Eureka is one of the oldest quarries in the islands, older than the McLachlan-Lee enterprise. Probably it was opened by an Englishman named Roberts during the joint military occupation of San Juan by the British and Americans. Early in 1863, American squatters attempted to seize it from him through an illegal order of the Justice of the Peace. The controversy ended with Roberts's death by drowning before the year was out.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Eureka property has not been operated since about 1890. Mrs. Salsbury converted two of the quarries into a Japanese grotto and a woodland chapel. Rock from one of the kilns was used for building her chimney and fireplace.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Danner found the forgotten quarry of the Chuckanut Lime Co. on the east side of Point Lawrence, Orcas Island. It was abandoned before 1910.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">One of the most spectacular quarries, Danner said, is on the west side of Orcas Island, about 300' up in the cliffs, where the Orcas Lime Co plant for many years was operated by a woman, Mary Louise Dally. She and her husband, F.W.R. Dally, bought the original kiln on the President Cannel side of the island in 1900.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">From 1914 until she died in 1928, Mrs. Dally had lime properties on San Juan and Henry Islands, including one with an ancient pot kiln, the most primitive type of oven to be seen in the archipelago.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Part of Danner's objective has been to learn the age of the limestone deposits in the islands, using tiny fossils of one-celled creatures that lived in shallow sea-bottom and were uplifted after the age of glaciers. On Orcas, he found limestone 350,000 years old.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The fossils, Danner said, are dependable clues to the age of any land where they exist. Through their presence, scientists have determined that the San Juan Mountains (now submerged, the islands are their peaks) ca. 200,000,000 years older than the Cascade Range.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The basic purpose of the summer work has been to learn whether suitable deposits of limestone are available to attract new industries.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Whereas kilns used to be of backyard proportions and a 200-barrel shipment was considered newsworthy in 1875, today's thinking has to be on a gigantic scale. If quarrying should reopen in the islands it will have to be undertaken by some large corporation financially able to overcome the physical obstacles and install an economical burning plant."</span></p><p>Words by historian/author Lucile McDonald and published by the <i>Seattle Times.</i></p>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-76990849215672644852024-02-04T19:05:00.000-08:002024-02-04T23:02:46.201-08:00The PRESIDENT, a Veteran Making History<p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRN2JZ8nU8yP-0pMDAg0NandiAZaENBsaU2gfOJ8Y3ijmVGt2G0qsdXH-Z4L97vq3FpmjoCFvWSRUUlnvu9SmGGOdrQGlzA2GLJhAJBd3U1SyZcjtYXo0qpvvxC9s3zFCR5LJJYHtpQmqsVCCr7ahVUv4ZIQKXEREQIPlpJvLMB_RpJof6UfbRuTX7lBg/s1610/President%20rppc%20:%20c.c..jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="984" data-original-width="1610" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRN2JZ8nU8yP-0pMDAg0NandiAZaENBsaU2gfOJ8Y3ijmVGt2G0qsdXH-Z4L97vq3FpmjoCFvWSRUUlnvu9SmGGOdrQGlzA2GLJhAJBd3U1SyZcjtYXo0qpvvxC9s3zFCR5LJJYHtpQmqsVCCr7ahVUv4ZIQKXEREQIPlpJvLMB_RpJof6UfbRuTX7lBg/w400-h245/President%20rppc%20:%20c.c..jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">S.S. PRESIDENT <br />417' l x 48.2' b x 19.7' d.<br />Original gelatin-silver photo dated 1910.<br /><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Click to enlarge image.<br />Original gelatin-silver photo from the <br /> Saltwater People Historical Society©</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">1907: With a tonnage of 5,433, a single screw, the S.S. PRESIDENT was launched by New York Shipbuilding at Camden, New Jersey. Upon her arrival on the Pacific Coast, Capt. H.P. Weaver was placed in charge, where she was known for providing excellent passenger line service and the efficient handling of cargo. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">1913: The PRESIDENT gave up coal and was installed with an oil burner.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">1922: The veteran liner, S.S. PRESIDENT, following a thorough renovation, was renamed S.S. DOROTHY ALEXANDER, becoming the third of the famous steamers in the company's primary coastwise service.</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCsLqiQm85r57L8zLVmzqvRsfOysfCWhjEnqMjJC-OmvqV4PF7S059KuRVlSX9u1krdDgxosGJuJqLh0aLUlTuyrvbpKDEsJ9i2zIkCMOYV7jahR4DTQhuoarvSQG7JnLzfVKBnzc4zEL1battcp4TRgO2gAy7uRMb4pTh7S005cDGjyn-Q3Xdu_s_W74/s1487/DOROTHY%20ALEXANDER%20%20(ex-%20PRESIDENT)%20rppc%20:%20c.c..jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="926" data-original-width="1487" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCsLqiQm85r57L8zLVmzqvRsfOysfCWhjEnqMjJC-OmvqV4PF7S059KuRVlSX9u1krdDgxosGJuJqLh0aLUlTuyrvbpKDEsJ9i2zIkCMOYV7jahR4DTQhuoarvSQG7JnLzfVKBnzc4zEL1battcp4TRgO2gAy7uRMb4pTh7S005cDGjyn-Q3Xdu_s_W74/w400-h249/DOROTHY%20ALEXANDER%20%20(ex-%20PRESIDENT)%20rppc%20:%20c.c..jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">S.S. DOROTHY ALEXANDER<br />(ex-PRESIDENT)<br /><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Original gelatin-silver photo from the <br />Saltwater People Historical Society©</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">1923: A historic event in the sea community occurred in May with the official tests of the radiotelephone equipment installed aboard the steamships H.F. ALEXANDER and DOROTHY ALEXANDER (ex-PRESIDENT.)</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">"Greetings, Capt. Bartlett of the H.F. ALEXANDER, this is Capt. Harris of the DOROTHY ALEXANDER off Cape Blanco. How's the weather at Cape Flattery?"</span></i> Such was the first voice radio conversation ever held between ships at sea on the North Pacific. The H.F. ALEXANDER was then 300 miles south of Seattle, and the DOROTHY ALEXANDER, 280 miles north of San Francisco. The wireless message was dispatched by Jafet Linderberg, a prominent Nome mining man, to J.W. Kelly in Seattle, and was relayed via land stations at Carmanah and Tatoosh Island. A return message from Kelly was received by the PRESIDENT. This event took place shortly before the placing in operation of similar equipment aboard the U.S. liner LEVIATHAN on the Atlantic.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">1935: DOROTHY ALEXANDER was sold to Alaska Steamship Company and following her completion of the 1935 schedule, she was placed in service on the Puget Sound-Alaska route as the S. S. COLUMBIA. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgAF1ICtU6z9a7ASYLRB_wqk38R8kspgElv4poibtUyMSn-QBxSY77le0kM9mi6QgQodMg8w13rMgCaJ6LIwCsYp8KYp86ScofWOyUDBgHqP57AIrbfVyk-BR5-aFYMNk7UOdZh3KgbI0z1tKrNSUxwjFPmXaH94t5FfS8Zzlqi4w_voNdaoRbni_2qpU/s1475/COLUMBIA%20(ex-PRESIDENT)%20%20rppc%20:%20c.c..jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="927" data-original-width="1475" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgAF1ICtU6z9a7ASYLRB_wqk38R8kspgElv4poibtUyMSn-QBxSY77le0kM9mi6QgQodMg8w13rMgCaJ6LIwCsYp8KYp86ScofWOyUDBgHqP57AIrbfVyk-BR5-aFYMNk7UOdZh3KgbI0z1tKrNSUxwjFPmXaH94t5FfS8Zzlqi4w_voNdaoRbni_2qpU/w400-h251/COLUMBIA%20(ex-PRESIDENT)%20%20rppc%20:%20c.c..jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">S.S. COLUMBIA <br />(ex-PRESIDENT AND DOROTHY ALEXANDER)<br /><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Original gelatin-silver photo from the <br />Saltwater People Historical Society©</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">1946: COLUMBIA (ex-PRESIDENT AND DOROTHY ALEXANDER) was sold by the Alaska Steamship Company to Portuguese owners and transferred from Vancouver to Oporto by a Portuguese curfew under the new name of PORTUGAL.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Words in this piece were extracted from <i>H.W. McCurdy's Marine History of the Pacific Northwest.</i> Gordon Newell, editor. Superior Publishing. 1966.</span></p>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-48820555846940414292024-01-15T15:10:00.000-08:002024-01-15T15:11:56.081-08:00HAPPY NEW YEAR from N. Blakely Island<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEind2Zadu_iC7sqakRYku1bkomrKDKEbJdmehjM56jQMyYKqWru_HQjUpnq0WMkxAQxCLldGPuEzZpzyigL2dm1aAuJrg2SZV-9kF2d_KLTTPM889VrXuEvFACLiwO-wSQu0ELTmtWuTx-KrD8jxRnRoc3-vg623qhDf_sPSambMrzKXJeXUll3wFLvypY/s640/Ice%20on%20N.%20Blakely%20:%20Jan%2013%20:23.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEind2Zadu_iC7sqakRYku1bkomrKDKEbJdmehjM56jQMyYKqWru_HQjUpnq0WMkxAQxCLldGPuEzZpzyigL2dm1aAuJrg2SZV-9kF2d_KLTTPM889VrXuEvFACLiwO-wSQu0ELTmtWuTx-KrD8jxRnRoc3-vg623qhDf_sPSambMrzKXJeXUll3wFLvypY/w300-h400/Ice%20on%20N.%20Blakely%20:%20Jan%2013%20:23.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">North Shore <br />Blakely Island,<br />San Juan Archipelago, WA.<br /><br />Photo courtesy of L. A. Douglas<br />14 Jan 2024. </span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-22204053026005967232023-12-23T22:32:00.000-08:002024-01-04T17:33:40.186-08:00A Christmas Surprise for Tib –– From "Jello" Island and Lew Dodd<div><br /></div><div><div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOqOzzpyiFveeH9DdSElLSPkzxRa2Wr4AJH1Ih3jy3cZCu1t6SRy0JMkgQ2N055lYH_GHnBHHTmSnLsJepVCSWgAbJPTIPgP3zSbrpBdz-037t6EIbweME-10OrryAIhNkssKWJLP6CxRVpVIAqp0wKbQjRobt5Xn16lvLQqGAgY_pq0P5nEvvYW83Fk/s1119/Yellow%20Is.%20Int%20%2350.tif.tif" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="777" data-original-width="1119" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOqOzzpyiFveeH9DdSElLSPkzxRa2Wr4AJH1Ih3jy3cZCu1t6SRy0JMkgQ2N055lYH_GHnBHHTmSnLsJepVCSWgAbJPTIPgP3zSbrpBdz-037t6EIbweME-10OrryAIhNkssKWJLP6CxRVpVIAqp0wKbQjRobt5Xn16lvLQqGAgY_pq0P5nEvvYW83Fk/w400-h278/Yellow%20Is.%20Int%20%2350.tif.tif" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">The Tib and Lew Dodd cabin <br />Yellow Island, <br />San Juan Archipelago, WA.<br />Ca. 1948.<br />Courtesy of their family.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p></div></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigtJiV_UOSe-YqgTdz6rGTIksjdlsfBOHeet8qZmklkE6VNcgZpLVPdGevKwGvJ8_3bydt5r_CyxR6dRr_P3hXqtW1QYZLjgrPrtlw9aDu2VWCSUl7TDYYLYEtXnuzT4bzXQK8Fq73oqkitKE2cXnXVKppGnMF7qnkNqgGawUXzSNiYOzvjMAUr60wpvk/s1326/Yellow%20Is.%20Dodds.tif.tif" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="1326" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigtJiV_UOSe-YqgTdz6rGTIksjdlsfBOHeet8qZmklkE6VNcgZpLVPdGevKwGvJ8_3bydt5r_CyxR6dRr_P3hXqtW1QYZLjgrPrtlw9aDu2VWCSUl7TDYYLYEtXnuzT4bzXQK8Fq73oqkitKE2cXnXVKppGnMF7qnkNqgGawUXzSNiYOzvjMAUr60wpvk/w400-h217/Yellow%20Is.%20Dodds.tif.tif" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">"Tib" Van Order Dodd (1895-1989)<br />and Lew Dodd (1892-1960)<br />Yellow Island residents<br />Photo courtesy of their family.<br />Click image to enlarge.</span><br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">A letter written by the former co-owner of Yellow Island, San Juan Archipelago, WA.</span><div><br /></div><div>"Jello Island"<br />(is what one Swede calls it)<br />Deer Harbor, WA.<br />December 1957<br /><br />"Dear –––––––––––,<br /><br />Well, the Islands are about rolled up in mothballs until Springtime, I guess, and from all appearances anyway–for there are extremely few boats to be seen nowadays; the Channels are deserted except for the mailboat and the ferry.<br /> It is not really broad light in the morning until 7:30 and the sun (if any -and wherever seen) goes down behind the black San Juan Island hills at 4:15 PM. The whole Archipelago is slumbering and quiet in its usual winter hibernation so far as any comparison with June to October.<br /> For the first time since last July, accompanying Jack Tusler in his boat, we went to Deer Harbor, most of whose sparse population isn't very much in evidence; for, those who can afford it have folded their summer tents, so to speak, and have migrated to the South––the road from Kirk's to the store, black in the gloomy wet and little traveled, and at Norton's dock a single troller leaning wearily against the float as if utterly tired out from the summer's fishing, the essence of ennui!<br /> Blue smoke issues straight up from a few chimneys, and the forlorn old red cannery seems to stare vacantly upon the scene, which more than at any other time of year, resembles a small Port that once was and may never be again; deserted, forlorn, useless, abandoned; hopeless! Hard by, across the inlet, at the bridge, a forlorn sawmill no longer sings a tune, drift logs beachcombed, and red rust is King over all its metal machinery. The attitude which the whole hamlet has seemed to have acquired is one of extreme lassitude, and, perpetual waiting in a permeating forlorn hope that--well--"Something might occur someday; maybe." The place somehow manages to convey a very bleak empty and depressing picture as it sits on its sidehill, soggy, sodden, clammy, and damp--with its feet in the cold December sea. --Deer Harbor in winter! "The deserted village!"<br /> We are always glad to return to our Island from such a brooding atmosphere, for upon clearing the vicinity the forlornness and the lifelessness leave one as if awakening from an unrealistic dream.<br /> Back on our own Island, we are happy to pull the skiff up into its snug boathouse, shoulder the provisions, and climb the path to the bright, warm cabin where for so long as we have lived here we have been happy and content.<br /> There is never a dull or uninteresting day at our Island home and no two days are alike: for there is always something, yesterday Tib and I watched two otters hauled out on our East end. It was a sight seldom seen by even those who do live in the country, and we may never see such an interesting performance as they went through with no idea in their heads that two human beings were observing through binoculars every move they made.<br /> One reason that prompted me to drop you a line is because I wanted to (which is an excellent one, in my opinion!) Another reason is that I need Lloyd's advice:<br /> Recently I saw an "ad" in December <i>National Geographic</i> of Zenith's new Transistor Transoceanic radio (8 bands) etc. price advertised as $250. Lloyd, what do you think of this radio and do you deal with them?<br /> We are out here beyond television until they produce some kind of a battery set maybe––and even then if the programs don't get any better we wouldn't be interested. But, radio, a good one, yes, for it would give us worldwide contact everywhere, internationally––everywhere there are broadcasters. Ship to shore, aircraft, etc. How do these transistors stack up with the tube radios in performance? Do you think this new Zenith is a good buy at that price and could you buy one of them at any sort of a discount if you do not handle them?<br /> I've been toying with this zenith idea to surprise Tib for Christmas. (I'm 65 now and may not last too long.) I can manage to pay for something that should give us whatever is to be had in worldwide radio for some time to come. But before I make any move at all I'd like your candid opinion about this machine. Just what your knowledge and experience can tell me. I will certainly appreciate it.<br /> Tonight 8:00 PM we're having a hard westerly (about 40 mph) and the sea is noisy but the solid little cabin doesn't have a vibration in it, the kettle sings on the stove, the lamp is bright, and it a sweet, sweet home on an island in the San Juans far from the milling crowds and traffic, the fumes, and burning gasoline and the roar of trucks and trailers.<br /> Our sojourn in Bellingham this summer, after so many years away from the modern clatter and clutter taught us both to appreciate and love even more our peace and quiet, sweet air, unchlorinated water, clear running tides; and natural surroundings, the seabirds calling and soaring in the clear, clean sky! We are so thankful and grateful for it all. It is a good life.<br /> Our best wishes to you for a happy holiday season and we hope your year ahead will be a successful and contented one filled with whatever is GOOD and with whatever you most prefer."<br /><br />Signed, Lew and Tib.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Another SPHS post of Yellow Island Dodd's can be seen <a href="https://saltwaterpeoplehistoricalsociety.blogspot.com/2019/12/captain-of-yellow-island.html">HERE</a></div><div>Another SPHS post of Lew's sail on Gracie S around Vancouver Island, B.C., can be seen <a href="https://saltwaterpeoplehistoricalsociety.blogspot.com/2020/06/sea-story-with-gracie-s-verbatim-by-lew.html">HERE</a></div><div>And a post under the History section on the home page, for the 8,500 mile </div><div>passage crewing the R.B. Brown schooner <b><i>Ranger</i></b> from Milwaukee, WI. to Orcas Island in 1939, </div><div>click <a href="https://saltwaterpeoplehistoricalsociety.blogspot.com/p/orcas-man-takes-8000-mile-sail.html">HERE.</a></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-84871878119718787162023-08-08T14:27:00.004-07:002023-08-08T14:30:15.475-07:00"BIG STUFF" coming through the Islands 7 August 2023<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"><i>OCEAN GUARDIAN</i> working in the San Juan Islands.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Photographs courtesy of Lance Douglas from Blakely Island, San Juan Archipelago, WA. The top photo has Rosario Resort, Eastsound, Orcas Island in the background. Click an image to enlarge.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The offshore work vessel can be seen at https://www.vesselfinder.com/vessels/details/9272060</span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhhwQVPqllvefgNp5ZYenmxQ99P6k-vpzkEtVdbnQ9bgyA3ADdAppE66hleaunImONup4h7Vjg3eLrXO_lTgSMn7iBLCBIIwL6vHGJ5BHpCkTTvme5BRr86FeGiJPApWzN6StJoQgR79AH7TQXhF-5oau-ha-mY5KtkCL6nt-c77fTv-Ix0VwkdcKxnY/s1024/OCEAN%20GUARDIAN%20with%20Rosario%20in%20backgrnd.:%20lad:%20.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKhhwQVPqllvefgNp5ZYenmxQ99P6k-vpzkEtVdbnQ9bgyA3ADdAppE66hleaunImONup4h7Vjg3eLrXO_lTgSMn7iBLCBIIwL6vHGJ5BHpCkTTvme5BRr86FeGiJPApWzN6StJoQgR79AH7TQXhF-5oau-ha-mY5KtkCL6nt-c77fTv-Ix0VwkdcKxnY/w320-h240/OCEAN%20GUARDIAN%20with%20Rosario%20in%20backgrnd.:%20lad:%20.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3d7JOvcT2bhWOUGSlgcilmWtfdwLF7w7w9ZA8p-eEafqvOftnutqMkDxN9eLk0DW121HDYQjjK4qMNeHT9HbV--CzaAZmVAGKPE5kSzQJGKv1_GPp4hffSTZRKLNn-6H9zc-YHJRGx5IncEGI92tapN58cbb9V2_7VJDX72iQv_Ekoxc-L2-NpUYlPw/s1024/OCEAN%20GUARDIAN%20AFT:%20LAD:%20.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3d7JOvcT2bhWOUGSlgcilmWtfdwLF7w7w9ZA8p-eEafqvOftnutqMkDxN9eLk0DW121HDYQjjK4qMNeHT9HbV--CzaAZmVAGKPE5kSzQJGKv1_GPp4hffSTZRKLNn-6H9zc-YHJRGx5IncEGI92tapN58cbb9V2_7VJDX72iQv_Ekoxc-L2-NpUYlPw/w320-h240/OCEAN%20GUARDIAN%20AFT:%20LAD:%20.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEI68jrYUyUmWt8-JZcbwfkSn-LNM8_ksY-3YwZD7fnKQ8NcfJLt-eTxO_JMQuTMUJ04yUigIpzMgnGxHZoiI6Vpw30Wtjl2eiYWC9mRu0xaV1EkW7paeGelAXVRej4WygT6mDl1ipS6nco_q6qqkoTqeHmQTqtkUSEy2JxYycwSz9rA-WbZRk65I_1Y/s1024/OCEAN%20GUARDIAN%20:%20lad:%20.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEI68jrYUyUmWt8-JZcbwfkSn-LNM8_ksY-3YwZD7fnKQ8NcfJLt-eTxO_JMQuTMUJ04yUigIpzMgnGxHZoiI6Vpw30Wtjl2eiYWC9mRu0xaV1EkW7paeGelAXVRej4WygT6mDl1ipS6nco_q6qqkoTqeHmQTqtkUSEy2JxYycwSz9rA-WbZRk65I_1Y/w320-h240/OCEAN%20GUARDIAN%20:%20lad:%20.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-27009270527399513962023-07-12T20:10:00.001-07:002023-07-12T20:12:43.606-07:00CRUISING THE ARCHIPELAGO --- Crane Island Coast<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4aRQxgy64Aa591YPiS3hj4swA-a4E2XkTW0q2xWwCpYebep4QVIWQitJP5kLyaz2KzUmoYMo0eduMShcpzw6w92IRbsLiEouBA3gVBdZUfttdFU6odhFbrXulKP3G9C66hUrEIpO_zPdYh6jNPCtNQCZSNksN_P_IMDEgGFLc95-t4qtqkyZK1pWgy8/s1024/Crane%20Island%20bench%20by%20LAD..jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4aRQxgy64Aa591YPiS3hj4swA-a4E2XkTW0q2xWwCpYebep4QVIWQitJP5kLyaz2KzUmoYMo0eduMShcpzw6w92IRbsLiEouBA3gVBdZUfttdFU6odhFbrXulKP3G9C66hUrEIpO_zPdYh6jNPCtNQCZSNksN_P_IMDEgGFLc95-t4qtqkyZK1pWgy8/w400-h300/Crane%20Island%20bench%20by%20LAD..jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />COASTAL PERCH<br />Crane Island, San Juan Archipelago, WA.<br /></span><br />Photograph courtesy of Lance A. Douglas<br />For Saltwater People Historical Society<br />July 2023.<br /></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-90852871589071950642023-05-14T12:11:00.007-07:002023-06-10T22:39:29.567-07:00THE WATERFALL WIPE-OUT AT THATCHER BAY, BLAKELY ISLAND (UPDATED) <p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKo7svC4MaeDvbwEf3fGeTRR5LzXSL6PdKxmrjqGdR8vZcuL2EGugVrERTVFST4lrxDjpVrPkHwvLYmxinYm-fzEUryi37-XXQI5HcCG-WfUehlUcwxkn1-xO6BHwD-5IpqW-tS7DwU-dtLJedJXWpsUMDmzYKq_3-Cr8-V8O7Z7BhdZ2ECYDW7Ge/s963/Blakely%20map.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="703" data-original-width="963" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKo7svC4MaeDvbwEf3fGeTRR5LzXSL6PdKxmrjqGdR8vZcuL2EGugVrERTVFST4lrxDjpVrPkHwvLYmxinYm-fzEUryi37-XXQI5HcCG-WfUehlUcwxkn1-xO6BHwD-5IpqW-tS7DwU-dtLJedJXWpsUMDmzYKq_3-Cr8-V8O7Z7BhdZ2ECYDW7Ge/w400-h293/Blakely%20map.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Blakely Island, <br />San Juan Archipelago, WA.</span><br />Click image to enlarge.<br />Please see below for one recall update<br />of the Spencer Lake dam by <br />Blakely Islander, L.A. Douglas. </span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"> </span><p></p><div style="text-align: center;">BLAKELY ISLAND DAM BREAKS</div><div style="text-align: center;">DESTROYS MANY LANDMARKS</div><div style="text-align: center;">By Baylis Harris, Owner,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Blakely Island Marina, Blakely Island,</div><div style="text-align: center;">San Juan Archipelago, Washington</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">January 1965</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"</span>Sometime before daylight in the morning of January 30, 1965, the dam and spillway on well-known Spencer Lake on Blakely Island, gave way from the force of heavy overflow of melting snow and several days of unusually heavy rain.</div> The situation was reported to Blakely Marina, by the mail boat crew on arrival at about 7:20 a.m. The marina also serves as the Post Office for Blakely Island. When subsequently investigated by islanders, the destruction created is beyond description. The break created a ravine estimated at an increase of ca. 75 feet deeper than the former run-off stream bed. Both Thatcher Bay and Eastsound were muddy for miles in all directions. Hundreds of trees and litter covered an area of approximately 30 square miles, consisting of various trees, the old Thatcher Mill site, which was completely demolished, and fruit trees, and their products floated everywhere throughout the Eastsound area, Peavine, and Obstruction Passes.<div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nu_YdskkPbmOusiwlYWMMwB1B9bSspQlwLaCmPa1ocdoBixvecKWyqs5b6p8GP_CLnK2v0I3EtzwyKw3rNuG3hFZYw8Vq8_WZnn-UPwl-lc5WV5U8B2K8x8cMIAQ-wkMt-41zkAVNRwpQ36AZXlGG5YA8Sye15Gm7gAkuT4cDeTX6I1MVF7HEGyM/s2258/Blakely%20:%20Spencer%20Lake%20dam%20break%20from%20LAD:%20%232%20:%20.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1782" data-original-width="2258" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5nu_YdskkPbmOusiwlYWMMwB1B9bSspQlwLaCmPa1ocdoBixvecKWyqs5b6p8GP_CLnK2v0I3EtzwyKw3rNuG3hFZYw8Vq8_WZnn-UPwl-lc5WV5U8B2K8x8cMIAQ-wkMt-41zkAVNRwpQ36AZXlGG5YA8Sye15Gm7gAkuT4cDeTX6I1MVF7HEGyM/w400-h316/Blakely%20:%20Spencer%20Lake%20dam%20break%20from%20LAD:%20%232%20:%20.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">The broken dam on Spencer Lake,<br />Blakely Island, San Juan County, WA.<br />as noted in the photograph,<br /> courtesy of L.A. Douglas,<br />an eyewitness to the scene on this day.<br />Blakely Island, San Juan Archipelago, WA.<br />Click the image to enlarge.<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrz_hOFHgiak-RmFW4xvHS6BCxW0b2jDfI8ONwoC1rbMRGTqxYS99Pov60010s1etLBhKG2zhlhpHmICyh2WbRRdqDT1I9nLNFXT4AeK1V8IYlidDMtEZ2l9K-woMOE5TgYUQJqn8sOcXdg7q3VV6zEd64MwIGt6qpEIHvpPa-19UKrRuSfIV0xYoF/s2098/Spencer%20Lake%20dam%20break%20from%20LAD%20%231%20.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1688" data-original-width="2098" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrz_hOFHgiak-RmFW4xvHS6BCxW0b2jDfI8ONwoC1rbMRGTqxYS99Pov60010s1etLBhKG2zhlhpHmICyh2WbRRdqDT1I9nLNFXT4AeK1V8IYlidDMtEZ2l9K-woMOE5TgYUQJqn8sOcXdg7q3VV6zEd64MwIGt6qpEIHvpPa-19UKrRuSfIV0xYoF/w400-h321/Spencer%20Lake%20dam%20break%20from%20LAD%20%231%20.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Overflow and destruction <br />from Spencer Lake dam break.<br />1965<br />courtesy of eyewitness L.A. Douglas,<br />Blakely Island, San Juan County, WA.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div> <span style="font-family: verdana;">Spencer Lake covered an area of approximately 60 acres and was quite deep. Therefore, literally millions of gallons of water were lost along with many of the historical landmarks of the Island.<br /> As late as 4:00 p.m. in the afternoon, the force of water down this newly created ravine, cut to bare rock, and the cascading waterfall into Thatcher Bay was an awesome sight. Mr. Maurice Rodenberger who was making the early morning ferry trip to Anacortes reported on his arrival and even later by the crew of the Sidney bound ferry via radio.<br /> From a recreational standpoint, the loss of Spencer Lake will be quite a substantial loss to the Blakely Island Development. Fortunately, the main water supply for domestic use is taken from Horseshoe Lake."</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Above text by Baylis Harris. Published by the <i>Friday Harbor Journal</i>, 1965.</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">THE SPENCER LAKE DAM</span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">By Lance Douglas</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">(eye-witness testimony below) </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Blakely Island.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Submitted to the </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Saltwater People Historical Society </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">May 2023. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Back around the turn of the 20th century, the people starting the mill at Thatcher Bay built a dam on Spencer Lake to raise it about 15-20 feet to provide more year-round water to operate the mill. The lake as seen nearby the orchard and dam was not there; the lake started out around the corner by the rock cliff. The dam added millions of gallons of water. A 12-inch steel "penstock" was installed down the steep hill to run a generator to power the mill. A penstock is a pipe that delivers water to a hydroelectric generator. The mill folks were certainly entrepreneurs back in the day and they tapped into the penstock with a 2-inch pipe that ran out the length of the pier. Filtered fresh water was then sold to the steamer boats that served the islands from Seattle, Anacortes, and Bellingham. Remnants of the twisted old penstock were still visible at the base of the gorge into the present century. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"> In the winter of 1965, an overflow culvert plugged up and water flowed over the dam and it washed out in a rush of force that could be heard on other islands. All of the mill buildings that were abandoned in the 1940s were destroyed and washed out to sea. The road to Armitage Bay washed out and left the south end of the island isolated for a year or so. A couple of archived photographs show the washed-out area in the mid-1960s and a small access dock to control a culvert valve under the dam during construction.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"> After the new earthen dam was built, the lake filled in one winter from the huge watershed including Horseshoe Lake which flows into Spencer Lake. During the mill operation days, the lakes were referred to as the "upper" and "lower" lakes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Around 1980, a brilliant engineer in the north-end community could not stand to see all of the kinetic energy in the form of water flowing out to sea not being harnessed, so he commissioned a generator system to be built. It was located at the bottom of the gorge where the post office once stood and the dam was beefed up and a new 12" PVC penstock was installed down the road to power it. Up into the 21st century, the penstock delivers about one million gallons of water daily to the 50 kW generator but only runs seasonally. The generator system was gifted to Seattle Pacific University who had been gifted many acres of land where they built a marine biology lab on the island with a full-time caretaker."</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Below: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">History of the earliest days of Thatcher Mill Company written by </span><br />Nancy McCoy. Article sponsored by Lopez Island Historical Museum; published by the <i>Islands' Weekly</i>, 2000.<br /><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-BVZ2kLwrojOvdglEBcSSTxTnkTYei19oglgHN_4-GoQzOSwtMtYF4Yvwhod30MACP0XyyTeGfbr0LP8Q8nwWVPKRXA6hfJHXiPsOZ8Ey6LqTG9hTuxSyqVLk4y2v2ITd-l_d0m4-ppawA6_K1sgBsJfJCqoWxyd2_pld5iQFjQiT4TVQ5bKWL1rK/s1871/History%20of%20the%20mill%20by%20McCoy:%20Lopez%20:%20Islands'%20Weekly:%202000.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1871" data-original-width="1128" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-BVZ2kLwrojOvdglEBcSSTxTnkTYei19oglgHN_4-GoQzOSwtMtYF4Yvwhod30MACP0XyyTeGfbr0LP8Q8nwWVPKRXA6hfJHXiPsOZ8Ey6LqTG9hTuxSyqVLk4y2v2ITd-l_d0m4-ppawA6_K1sgBsJfJCqoWxyd2_pld5iQFjQiT4TVQ5bKWL1rK/w386-h640/History%20of%20the%20mill%20by%20McCoy:%20Lopez%20:%20Islands'%20Weekly:%202000.png" width="386" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">Click image to enlarge.<br />From the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Historical Society.</span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><br /><div><br /> <p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div></div></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-6399340240813857042023-05-08T10:29:00.002-07:002023-05-08T10:29:24.220-07:00THE ALMOST UNSINKABLE MARINER OF FRIDAY HARBOR, WA. by Brad Warren<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkSQe-cB6npKptMeb-l9bXYUMkRmHH4QB_yVzBJHD6F7sZGjQo7oW4wmzgBpCwm1zq2rAbRaJt48cyWGErDVFpmKm5bRlDhj_OaM7Ife7_E5tqxEQXwrKKObtIJaXyrygvJDCcBNUiOuSFo9TYeM8dI4N2xP5xxxObhXJFABUsDJ8dWpBcP8JnqW5u/s1500/Unsinkable%20Mariner%20:%20post%20for%20blog:%20.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1295" data-original-width="1500" height="345" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkSQe-cB6npKptMeb-l9bXYUMkRmHH4QB_yVzBJHD6F7sZGjQo7oW4wmzgBpCwm1zq2rAbRaJt48cyWGErDVFpmKm5bRlDhj_OaM7Ife7_E5tqxEQXwrKKObtIJaXyrygvJDCcBNUiOuSFo9TYeM8dI4N2xP5xxxObhXJFABUsDJ8dWpBcP8JnqW5u/w400-h345/Unsinkable%20Mariner%20:%20post%20for%20blog:%20.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">CARTOON BY DENNIS DAY<br />1984<br />click image to enlarge.<br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">From the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Historical Society.<br /></span><br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />When the only bar on Friday Harbor's waterfront changed hands last year [1983,] its detractors watched the name disappear from its weathered sign and confidently predicted that the raucous Mariner Galley & Bar had finally, and fortunately sunk. It had surrendered its prime location, they gloated, to a fancy new restaurant that would show San Juan Island what "class" could be. But neither the Mariner nor Friday Harbor was ready to be gentrified. The new restaurant fizzled out in November, a financial and social disaster. In December the Mariner's old owners, Ron and Sandy Speers, reclaimed it and fighting the building's owners, and the State Liquor Control Board, brought the bar back to its former self. Almost.<br /> The Mariner was still a salty den of noisy fishermen, surly rebels, 19th-century holdouts, and 20th-century dropouts––still the stubborn soul of a roistering bordertown, fishing port past, and still for Mariner regulars at least, the place that kept Friday Harobr true to its real identity as "the southernmost town in SE Alaska."<br /> But the Mariner lost its liquor license––on account of past violations for which it has already paid fines, suffered closures, and fired bartenders, according to the Speers. Unless they could win the license back, their lease will expire. "We'll get it back," said Ron Speers. "I'm willing to fight this all the way into court if I have to, but I'm sure we'll prevail."<br /> "The Mariner was the first place I worked when I came to the island," says self-proclaimed Marinero Tom Hook. "I went in and saw the piano and asked if they need someone to play it. They put me to work that night. The pay was lousy but it was a great place to work. A few weeks later I met Phil Martin there. I was playing 'Take Five' and I looked up, and there was the biggest fisherman I'd ever seen––he filled the doorway. He had a black beard down to his chest, and he looked like Wolf Larsen, straight out of the Sea Wolf. When he saw me, he said, 'Oh! A piano player!'<br /> "He walked right over and grabbed the handles on the back of the piano, braced the bottom of it against his leg, and lifted the whole thing six inches off the floor while I was playing it. "My name's Phil, he said with a big smile. "I like country and western."<br /> "I gulped and looked up at him, I said, "Yeah? Well, I like tips."<br /> "He put down the piano, slammed a five-dollar bill on top of it, and said, "There's more where that came from, partner if you're any good."<br /> I met him when we were reporting for competing island newspapers, and we became friends when I started playing guitar at the Mariner with the Crawlspace Blues Band. It was a great rowdy place to play. We were never paid much––sometimes not at all–– but we always got a free meal. That made a big difference when cash was scarce, as it usually was on the island. Nobody had money in the winter.<br /> If the waitress wasn't around in the morning when were went to collect our free meal, we'd go behind the counter, pour our coffee, and tell the cook what we wanted. Phil Martin and a bunch of local fishermen would be there rumbling or joking about the bad fishing or repairs on their boats, sometimes griping about the Boldt decision, something just staring out the window at the harbor. The Mariner was their place; they ate, drank, and brooded there by day––between turns of a wrench on their boats or knots in a net they were mending––and they came back to cut loose at night.<br /> Some fishermen had no phones at home and gave out the Mariner's number. One was Dennis Day, a seiner and artist who used to sit at the bar all afternoon when he wasn't working, drawing on napkins: he made magnificent, mythical images of boats riding out storms, mermaids rising from the surf, black-bearded fishermen hauling in nets––elemental, powerful visions. The wall behind the bar gradually became Dennis' gallery as the bartender saved and hung his napkins, and on another wall, Tom Hook hung a hand-drawn map of places to get drunk in southern France.<br /> The Mariner was full of people whose rough looks hid surprising talents. Many had left their old lives in the fast lane to rust back on the mainland. There were fishermen with doctorates and an amateur live-aboard boatbuilder who had dissolved his successful public-interest law practice and came to hide out quietly on the island. Even Ron and Sandy, the owners, were an unlikely mix. They ran a farm on the island and looked like it. But Ron had graduated from Harvard and been a naval officer; Sandy, the Mariner's fearless den mother, had lived for years in Germany. Almost everyone there had made a sort of stand against nine-to-five, bureaucratic, domesticated, and disoriented mainland American culture. The sea was their antidote. My landlady, an Alaskan troller and sometime teacher in Friday Harbor, once told me, "When you're out there on the open water in your own tiny fishing boat and you see a big storm come up over the horizon, it does something for your priorities. It's you and the sea, and you've got to survive."<br /> The sale of the Mariner meant a lot more than a change of ownership. It was a signal of Friday Harbor's rapid, painful growth into a prosperous resort and retirement community––a prestigious place to have a second home or yacht. The population of San Juan Island had doubled during the 1970s, and few newcomers fit into the islands' rough-handed fishing, farming, and logging tradition, where good old boys held office and smugglers held out in the islands many hidden coves. That era came to a political finish in the late 1970s, when the new electorate recalled a corrupt county commissioner and voted in strict land-use controls and reforms. At the same time, poor management by the Washington Department of Fisheries and a raft of court-imposed restrictions crippled the commercial salmon fishery in Puget Sound.<br /> The old diehard spirit, which had reached its apogee when locally notorious lawyer Charlie Schmidt drafted a plan for the island to secede from the union and become a free port, was losing its grip. Islanders watched the changes and said cynically that Friday Harob r would soon be "the northernmost town in Southern California." Land prices were skyrocketing and it looked, in Sany Speers' words, as if "the little people were going to be squeezed out."<br /> The Speers' precarious revival of the Mariner won't change any of that. But it is somehow cheering to think of returning to find the old crowd still scowling and winking at the ferry as it pulls in, the last dive holding out for all that is un-reconstructible and defiant in Friday Harbor, an enduring chip off the ornery, generous heart of the islands. <br /><br />Words by Brad Warren.<br />Published by the defunct <i>Puget Sound Enetai</i><br />9 February 1984.<div>From the archives of the Saltwater People Historical Society.<br /><br /><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-20175073920511769252023-04-20T13:33:00.004-07:002023-04-22T23:15:57.153-07:00FROM THE DEPTHS OF BLIND BAY TO THE KNACKERMAN <p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4_RPa2KQjtE1rPxxVyS4Ewcp6vxoZxgJqFaaNUnPjvX-myPus5KyT09nrq2Q0ZEQt92zimOcw_ebGtzIgh7EuLU5IXo0nn5bRtJF6tLW_gT6YyaoYOOZHYBWQGHKVo5qLhEcO0UaVoQzOcKKb1OAmHa44ZAseBG4BOVuZ1SNnFuc05QwZrv-G_h0r/s2383/MORNING%20STAR%20%20charter%20brochure:%20c.c..png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2383" data-original-width="1160" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4_RPa2KQjtE1rPxxVyS4Ewcp6vxoZxgJqFaaNUnPjvX-myPus5KyT09nrq2Q0ZEQt92zimOcw_ebGtzIgh7EuLU5IXo0nn5bRtJF6tLW_gT6YyaoYOOZHYBWQGHKVo5qLhEcO0UaVoQzOcKKb1OAmHa44ZAseBG4BOVuZ1SNnFuc05QwZrv-G_h0r/w312-h640/MORNING%20STAR%20%20charter%20brochure:%20c.c..png" width="312" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Brochure from the <br />chartering days of <br />beautiful MORNING STAR<br />(1956-2023)<br />when she was owned <br />by her penultimate skipper,<br />Captain Lee.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">THE <i>MORNING STAR</i></p><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">"She was a Chesapeake "Bugeye" designed by Luther Tarbox. Bugeyes date back to 1830 and were used to dredge oysters and crabs, haul freight, and buy catches from their sloop version, the skipjack. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">MORNING STAR was built in Seattle by master shipwright Harvey Graham. Her keel was laid in 1956. Built entirely of Alaska yellow cedar, she is a strong work platform finished as a live aboard and a powerful sailer-cruiser. She was 56 feet overall, 48 feet on deck, 13.5 feet beam, and 38 inches draft with the centerboard raised. She carried 1,034 square feet of sail." </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Above w</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">ords by Tony Lee.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">This spring she was raised from the mud of Blind Bay, San Juan Archipelago, and escorted to a haulout at Deer Harbor to end her happy sailing days in the San Juan Islands. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-85891686672456071922023-04-13T00:03:00.003-07:002023-04-28T09:45:50.130-07:00PRESIDENT OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN..... SPIKE AFRICA 1906-1984<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjO4ro5lsQX5Jnc3CtVUepkSzdh_ZlmogKFHZOcvGAoU3WKOD6y85SCa0ReNt3BRpk2LELIEmgjZgkwvYQOup_4EX7kLpPKfwQ4jDCvsg-GyZN_IQJWdO-tu0mwk00AYk5_1RUdtTiN5f1W84EjXFUsxXAyVBlVs1c380XgNxBjr1LIvczdXxvQbK/s2674/Africa,%20Spike:%20Press:%20Dec.%201965%20(Low%20Res.).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2674" data-original-width="2204" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjO4ro5lsQX5Jnc3CtVUepkSzdh_ZlmogKFHZOcvGAoU3WKOD6y85SCa0ReNt3BRpk2LELIEmgjZgkwvYQOup_4EX7kLpPKfwQ4jDCvsg-GyZN_IQJWdO-tu0mwk00AYk5_1RUdtTiN5f1W84EjXFUsxXAyVBlVs1c380XgNxBjr1LIvczdXxvQbK/w330-h400/Africa,%20Spike:%20Press:%20Dec.%201965%20(Low%20Res.).jpg" width="330" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">President of the Pacific Ocean<br />SPIKE AFRICA<br />Dated 1965, Sausalito, CA.</span><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana; font-size: xx-small;">Original gelatin-silver photograph from<br />the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Historical Society©</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <span style="font-family: verdana;">During the 1960s, if a meek, polyester-clad lady tourist had ever ventured into the no-name bar, chances are she would have received a courtly greeting from Spike Africa. President of the Pacific Ocean. He would have drawn her into his circle of friends, artists, writers, boat workers, and other locals and entertained her so memorably that it would have been the high point of her vacation. Spike was like that––kind, gregarious, and very entertaining. The no name was his office and his theatre. The stories he told were drawn from his many lifetimes of personal experiences, stories that for all their seeming spontaneity were never yarns, they were as well-formed and told as those of the best short story writers. He had jokes and spiels, too, told with a versatile voice, sentences punctuated by a stream of tobacco juice. There was no doubting his authenticity as a man of the sea with his handsome, weathered, bearded face, and his strong craftsman's hands. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Born on an Ohio farm, Spike's lifetime of adventure began as a teenager when he sailed on one of the last of the coastal lumber schooners, the five-masted K.V. KRUSE.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCtnmo1QtlqikYbOU9o89BRaKKq-Yz2FukaxpUkd-V0yi4-xDfXbs7zPN1Z9v1MBiXkz10k-s4bDBLRAZ9yetAa-OTHgB5HXy5ax_jSOJBLxSmbWSKnrcnxhuCJ99Il52sB0ascaxCYFc22fr2_OWS0BRq_wMWVXD_Plex0a-80nBpPBqy79bPFsVq/s1581/K.%20V.%20KRUSE~~rppc.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="881" data-original-width="1581" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCtnmo1QtlqikYbOU9o89BRaKKq-Yz2FukaxpUkd-V0yi4-xDfXbs7zPN1Z9v1MBiXkz10k-s4bDBLRAZ9yetAa-OTHgB5HXy5ax_jSOJBLxSmbWSKnrcnxhuCJ99Il52sB0ascaxCYFc22fr2_OWS0BRq_wMWVXD_Plex0a-80nBpPBqy79bPFsVq/w400-h223/K.%20V.%20KRUSE~~rppc.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">K. V. KRUSE</span><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">©</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">One Portland to Peru trip took 108 days when they were becalmed for three weeks. The entire crew was weakened by scurvy before they finally made port. His other careers included salmon fishing in Alaska and working in lumber camps; he was a stevedore, cook, yacht club manager, model, actor, and yacht skipper. During WWII he served as a naval officer in charge of Seabees, later, he took part in atomic bomb testing on Bikini atoll; he was an investigator for the Treasury Department, too. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In 1959 Spike served as a mate on the schooner WANDERER. During this time Sterling Hayden took his children to Tahiti against court orders, a much-publicized voyage. Spike's wife Red was part of the crew as were their children, Kit, Dana, and Dede–– just tots, then. They settled in Sausalito when the trip was over and Spike earned his living on, alas, a power boat. It was then he began to preside at the no-name bar. </span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1oR_L5duwuiNIO36LpyTeDVkbxj2v54JTezBwrNI91UEtgYN8HbluKwJCenMTD3U0SlfKoXipXCk70L_N--E6mARchZnxF_G3bhG0dPrtrmbyAb14JtlSHSJN5Gnlb4I1jkh5pR7nyqgFy9O7Gs3ei6O0q1sr0HZf4ppgqo9Nf3ceWJtO00nCKS7/s2481/Africa,%20Spike:%20Press:%20%232%20%20Dec.%201965.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2481" data-original-width="2068" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1oR_L5duwuiNIO36LpyTeDVkbxj2v54JTezBwrNI91UEtgYN8HbluKwJCenMTD3U0SlfKoXipXCk70L_N--E6mARchZnxF_G3bhG0dPrtrmbyAb14JtlSHSJN5Gnlb4I1jkh5pR7nyqgFy9O7Gs3ei6O0q1sr0HZf4ppgqo9Nf3ceWJtO00nCKS7/w334-h400/Africa,%20Spike:%20Press:%20%232%20%20Dec.%201965.png" width="334" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Spike Africa<br />with daughters Dana and Dede<br />Sausalito, CA.<br />Dated December 1965<br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Original photo from the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Historical Society©</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The title, President of the Pacific Ocean, was invented by Spike's brother, who used to send him letters festooned with seals, ribbons, and stamps. But then why not be president? "Nobody was taking care of the ocean," Spike explained. "I've been working on banning oil tankers; I'm going to bring back the whales and get this thing right." He put himself in charge of sea serpents, mermaids, tides, and currents. "If you want to make a good trip to sea, you've got to see me to get a permit." His permits were signed with flourishes that incorporated an anchor and a whale. After twelve years of holding court at the no-name it was regretfully time for Spike and Red to move on to the house Red had inherited on Lake Washington, near Seattle. For Sausalito, their move was an irreplaceable loss. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">But before going, there was a send-off that was talked of for years–– a surprise going-away memorial wake at the no name that was such a noisy affair it drowned out the sound of a bomb blast that ripped open the front doors of Bank of America just across the street.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">"The move to Washington," Spike wrote, "sometimes I get lonesome around here, then I go to the supermarket and look at all the people. That's my big thrill of the work." He didn't have quite as ready an audience as at the no-name, but he was by no means out of circulation. Spike went to work for the Ancient Mariner/ Rusty Pelican restaurant chain, then in the process of expansion. He was with the advance team, cooking for the work crew, planning <i>p.r.,</i> and decorating the restaurants with his nautical know work. At one opening he shocked the "blue-haired ladies," as he like to call them, by cutting the ceremonial first slice of French bread with his chain saw and continuing right on through the table. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3UZS2VN2-2kqBE54ty7j9u8VOAj0GQsd9GkgVq1KBoJGphD2hWG_MxaLlnBmdFL50zGa_i8VCnPRGRNsqBtOYJn2drD622_FEwLJWl2pi3ra5WANiXxDLiFAN9eioNy2h2pfgNF6cy6hZSTAOgthXSAnVvM38DtdmlNkVhj5T3esJswvCBseJdR4/s640/Spike's%20Macrame%20for%20blog.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3UZS2VN2-2kqBE54ty7j9u8VOAj0GQsd9GkgVq1KBoJGphD2hWG_MxaLlnBmdFL50zGa_i8VCnPRGRNsqBtOYJn2drD622_FEwLJWl2pi3ra5WANiXxDLiFAN9eioNy2h2pfgNF6cy6hZSTAOgthXSAnVvM38DtdmlNkVhj5T3esJswvCBseJdR4/w300-h400/Spike's%20Macrame%20for%20blog.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Knots on whiskey bottles</span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">crafted by Spike Africa.</span><br />Private collection.<br /></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">His quiet times at home were occupied with his fancy knot work, macrame––not the kind that plants hang from but the fine sailors' art of making belts and covering bottles. His was quite an art; he and his bottles were recently pictured in a Smithsonian book discussing maritime arts. After a life full of laughter and adventure, Phillip Marion "Spike" Africa died after a brief illness at home with his family near. </span></p>Liz Robinson<br />Sausalito, 1984.<br /><br />Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-86828899667850496912023-03-23T14:14:00.001-07:002023-04-26T17:33:08.124-07:00ONE WAY TO START ON THE WATERFRONT <p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjJmQDUYaRGQdLwRiicZ6iqo4FY7rsPeGL305J0HJRVX63bYc8149iDHOiW6-SZQP8r2EpXZOhTybovBPqa6qGOe6KTE2MzAyP5NPLXSFood_jdvyJLXlFVdKWIPxsOT-39aKmjPjkOYalM7VB2wMTP6Uy6HhykjqMIT_vRJ39VX3u9vUnWvP_JyJ/s1570/Seattle%20Waterfron%20rppc:%20%20c.c..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1013" data-original-width="1570" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjJmQDUYaRGQdLwRiicZ6iqo4FY7rsPeGL305J0HJRVX63bYc8149iDHOiW6-SZQP8r2EpXZOhTybovBPqa6qGOe6KTE2MzAyP5NPLXSFood_jdvyJLXlFVdKWIPxsOT-39aKmjPjkOYalM7VB2wMTP6Uy6HhykjqMIT_vRJ39VX3u9vUnWvP_JyJ/w400-h258/Seattle%20Waterfron%20rppc:%20%20c.c..png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Seattle waterfront postcard by Ellis.</span><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> "<span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: verdana; font-size: 18px;">Early in the summer of 1929, this boy of 16 got his first chance to explore Seattle’s fascinating waterfront on his own. My family had moved from Everett in the previous fall.</span></p><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> My walk usually took me along the route of the Kinnear streetcar line. A pleasant pause was always made at Kinnear Park, from where the activities at Smith Cove could be checked. One of the “President Liners” and/or a Japanese steamship of the N.Y.K. Line was usually in port from the Orient.</span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <span>The plank sidewalk of Railroad Avenue was joined at Bay Street to check out any vessels at the Union Oil Dock. Then came the many finger piers with ships working cargo. The most exciting area was around the Colman and Grand Trunk Docks, with the comings and goings of the ferries and the steamers of the “Mosquito Fleet.” The schedules were quickly learned so as to be at the right places for sailings and arrivals of interest.<br /> One unforgettable hour was spent on Pier 7, Schwabacher Dock, when the old wooden motorship <i>Zapora</i> was to sail for the west coast of Prince of Wales Island in Alaska. The passengers were already aboard, but the departure was delayed because of the non-arrival of the supply of potatoes. By the time the dray showed up, all of the space was filled and the stowage of even a dozen sacks of spuds became a problem. The mate settled the confusion by taking the canvas covers off the two lifeboats and then had six sacks put in each boat. With the problem solved, the little <i>Zapora</i> chugged off to the North, but an hour late.</span></span><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 18px;"> On Friday, the fifth of July, when at my aunt’s desk, I heard a booming voice with a cockney accent behind me and was then introduced to Billy Snow. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">He was a short man with tobacco-stained teeth and had a motorist’s cap on his head. As the waterfront driver for the laundry, he was in the office to pick up his papers for delivery of clean linens to a Matson Lines freighter at the Union Pacific Dock. I quickly accepted the invitation to go along for the ride. His truck was a Dodge Brothers, with wood-spoked wheels and an enlarged body for a big carrying capacity.</span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> Our load was for </span><i>Makiki</i><span>, a standard-type WW I freighter. On arrival, Mr. Snow went aboard to get help loading. The steward and a messman accompanied him back down the gangway. I noted right away that the driver was respectfully addressed as “Captain Snow.” Wanting to get aboard, I helped carry the bundles to the linen room. When the job was done, we were invited into the saloon for cold drinks. Right then and there I knew I wanted to ship out sometime.</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> On the way back I learned that Model Electric handled the laundry for the steamships of the Alaska Line, Matson’s freighters, three tankers of the General Petroleum Co., and the ferry steamer </span><i>City of Victoria</i><span>, which was running out of Edmonds. Scheduled deliveries were made both to Pier 2, for Alaska Steamship vessels, and to Edmonds, but the Matson freighters and tankers were handled whenever they were in port. I was invited to come along whenever I was downtown and got no objections from home as Captain Snow lived close to us.</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> The trips to Pier 2 were fun, as the stewards made a place for me in the “coolie” line that carried the laundry bundles aboard. I could get looks at the outside decks, alleyways, and linen rooms on all of the passenger steamships except </span><i>Northwestern</i><span> and </span><i>Yukon</i><span>. They had small side ports on the saloon deck and the bundles were just dumped in the doorway.</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> My biggest surprise came on boarding the General Petroleum tankers at Harbor Island. I had imagined that the vessels would be dirty as well as smelly, but I found </span><i>Lebec</i><span> to be quite the opposite. Her messrooms were attractively painted, a contrast to the starkly plain Matson freighters. All was spotlessly clean aboard.</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> It wasn’t long before I was on hand at 4 p.m. to make the trip out to Edmonds to meet the <i>City of Victoria.</i> How grand the stately old ferry steamer looked as she came across from Possession Point to make her starboard landing. I couldn't wait to carry some bundles aboard, through the auto deck side port to the linen room. Then I scurried off and toured the vessel. How beautiful, I thought, were her Victorian decorations and furnishings. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">The fore and aft lounges with their grand stairways and open upper deck galleries impressed me the most. However, there was a faint musty odor throughout the ferry. By the time the hurried tour was over and I had returned to the truck, the laundry had all been loaded. Captain Snow just winked and had me ride in the back with the dirty linens, as several officers were in the front seat hitching a ride.</span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> After a trip or two to Edmonds, I asked the Captain if he could get me a berth on the </span><i>City of Victoria</i><span>. His answer was yes, but he preferred I wait until the next summer when I would be 17. So I spent the rest of the vacation as an unpaid swamper on the laundry truck. However, it was a wonderful chance to visit various steamships and to learn something about our very interesting waterfront.</span></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Lloyd Statum. <i>The Sea Chest</i> journal. Puget Sound Maritime. Seattle. Sept. 1983,</span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Damascus; font-size: 18px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-29402518071994270772023-03-16T21:00:00.006-07:002023-05-11T22:54:13.590-07:00A SALTY AUTOBIOGRAPHY BY ROBERT F. SCHOEN LATE OF CLAM HARBOR, ORCAS ISLAND, WA.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFkGWSLeDg8y60M_-nRSBbT0heTwJ87tVgb_VPJDFcLZ9CFXg9RFpZ2K64MlaKlmlHrRb6OzHmk-oiK-K2bIn8vp2VP7_yDhhksH0EjO2qTpGHKmLFl3YfIyjsRjxaBIgsTMbYymFfbGSyLEjfVDkFRzwcLK31eof-a5cwoVinOAfnzlSCReT9JE16/s1588/CHANTEY~~.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1588" data-original-width="1385" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFkGWSLeDg8y60M_-nRSBbT0heTwJ87tVgb_VPJDFcLZ9CFXg9RFpZ2K64MlaKlmlHrRb6OzHmk-oiK-K2bIn8vp2VP7_yDhhksH0EjO2qTpGHKmLFl3YfIyjsRjxaBIgsTMbYymFfbGSyLEjfVDkFRzwcLK31eof-a5cwoVinOAfnzlSCReT9JE16/w349-h400/CHANTEY~~.jpg" width="349" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>CHANTEY </i></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Sailing the honeymooners,</span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">Bob & Mary Schoen, to Orcas Island,</span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">San Juan Archipelago, WA. 1946.</span><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">From the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Historical Society©</span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"My name is Robert F. Schoen, pronounced Shane. I lived in Seattle at 10th and Ravenna Blvd. I went to Univeristy Heights grade school, John Marshall Jr. High, and Roosevelt High School, graduating in 1936, and the U of W in 1943. (The war intervened.)<br /> When I went to high school we were living in the Kirkland area on the east side of Lake Washington, Homes Pt. Drive. I was boat CRAZY. During high school, I met John Adams and Anchor Jensen, and we all had a love of sailing. Bill Barden was our mentor and teacher.<br /> Jack Kutz, John Adams, and I all had 28-foot boats. Kutz had a gaff-headed cutter, John had a clinker double-ended teak lifeboat schooner, and I had a V-bottom John Hannah ketch, gaff main, Marconi missen.<br /> We were out cruising every moment we could get away, winter and summer. We learned to sail our boats well. On the first of August 1941, I joined the Coast Guard. Kutz went into the Navy, and Adams finished his architecture at the U of W, then entered the Navy as an officer.<br /> My boating experience served me well. I went into the Coast Guard because I wanted to work in small boats. I was stationed in West Seattle after 7 Dec 1941. I was made Chief Boatswain Mate before being transferred to California from Seattle in 1942. From Government Island, Oakland, CA, we were sent to Borneo. Several weeks late we arrived at Hollandia for our assignment vessel, a 155-foot Uniflow steam tug, <i>L T 218.</i><br /><br /></span><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qw9dTo-0yT1SdgGGClCV-CYzEuOU38wX9V7Z2DQG6QSJEHq7Frayj2QCGMEYHWZEyyg7s-H_ekuCbbp3joGqdM4gSkoCOxFqJSpcBAa9va-MB-n94vdVjYqjrVyVK7tRP-MAECi6BO-WHCQ5scPh3iq-r2JkLKh8uuTh8TT54QvBnXVOyE260nFC/s655/Schoen's%20tug%20in%20war%20zone:%20.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="652" data-original-width="655" height="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qw9dTo-0yT1SdgGGClCV-CYzEuOU38wX9V7Z2DQG6QSJEHq7Frayj2QCGMEYHWZEyyg7s-H_ekuCbbp3joGqdM4gSkoCOxFqJSpcBAa9va-MB-n94vdVjYqjrVyVK7tRP-MAECi6BO-WHCQ5scPh3iq-r2JkLKh8uuTh8TT54QvBnXVOyE260nFC/w400-h399/Schoen's%20tug%20in%20war%20zone:%20.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Bob's first ship in the South Pacific.<br />As he inscribed verso.<br />From his estate papers for the <br />archives of the Saltwater People <br />Historical Society. </span></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><p> <span style="font-family: verdana;">We were in the invasion of the Philippines, towing three barges of aviation gas to White Beach, near Tacloban.<br /> I had never seen so many ships of every kind, over 10,000 boats, rather exciting. Our tug broke down when we returned to Hollandia. It looked like it would be a long wait. I opted to take a transfer and went to Samar and duty on a US Army F. boat at a P.T. base. We followed behind the P.T. boats as they strafed the Japanese-held islands. We supplied fuel and ammunition and at times carried Japanese prisoners back to the base at Samar.<br /> We stopped at Iloilo where the army was mopping up the Japanese soldiers in the village. We were across a river, away from the fighting. From there we went to Zamboanga and waited for an escort to take us to Balikpapan, Borneo.<br /> From Hollandia, I went to Manilla where the Philippine sailors took over the boat. In Manilla, we boarded a transport for San Francisco and home by train to Seattle. Nov. 19, 1945, I was discharged from the coast guard. It was a great experience to be in the coast guard and I am proud of it. <br /> My sailboat, 29' Marconi cutter, W.H. Dole design was at Tony Jensen Boat Yard and I stopped to check in and told Anchor to get her ready for me to take her north for a few days and then continued to mother's house with all my gear and shared that I was going for a short cruise in <i>Chantey.</i> She responded with "Haven't you had enough boating?"<br /> I got hold of a couple of buddies and we headed for Friday Harbor in the San Juan Islands. It took us a few days and all of a sudden they decided one had to get back to register for college. The other had a girl he just had to see.<br /> About this time I remembered that I had just met a lovely young gal from the Juanita Beach area. I headed back and looked again. In July of 1946, we were married. It's been 53 years and we are still here.<br /> We sailed up to the San Juans in <i>Chantey</i> on our honeymoon and decided this looked like home.<br /> One of the things I did in the interval before we got married I bought and learned to fly an airplane. When we were on the island I had the only plane on the island and I was working at various odd jobs such as sliming fish in the Deer Harbor salmon cannery and helping build a garage for the school bus near the Orcas ferry landing.<br /> I was frequently asked by loggers and people wanting things from Bellingham, such as medicine and auto parts. Bellingham had a large airfield built during the war, eighteen minutes by air from Orcas. This made me decide to purchase a four-place plane and enter pilot training in the U.S. Veterans flying school on Bellingham airfield. <br /> That was a great experience, lots of fun. In two and a half years I operated and founded the Orcas Island Air Service on Orcas. Just before I sold the service we had a major fire at the Orcas ferry dock which burned up the store section of the dock and part of the oil dock.<br /> Things worked out that I could purchase the dock which included the Union Oil Co distributorship and agent for the Black Ball Ferry system. This kept me very busy.<br /> In 1950, we took <i>Chantey</i> to Port Ludlow for a New Year's party of cruising sailboats, about twenty or so. This was the first party since WW II.<br /> We departed Orcas the day before New Year's Day and after passing Point Wilson we headed for the channel between India Island and Hadlock. HOLY COW, there was now a bridge and the old <i>NORDLAND</i> lying on the beach on the Hadlock side.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsmrPMv0zFoE9tORXHp4LhaT4uWPVS1mGr7NFLv8BqEQm6qJREm-poIeQB91OE3DrMD_i4x-CW5kBuI89ut84lOyo_dDFQmhU2oB8Mu7fG55CLzO6nxCgjtxPH7r273zADNNcHiHXtiuFOwIn-jh9ywlqm7c6xpCfoQBOC-XScY2Ws5VtYcW0z5SZv/s2691/SCHOEN%20&%20NORDLAND:%20Orcas%20DOCK%20.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2098" data-original-width="2691" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsmrPMv0zFoE9tORXHp4LhaT4uWPVS1mGr7NFLv8BqEQm6qJREm-poIeQB91OE3DrMD_i4x-CW5kBuI89ut84lOyo_dDFQmhU2oB8Mu7fG55CLzO6nxCgjtxPH7r273zADNNcHiHXtiuFOwIn-jh9ywlqm7c6xpCfoQBOC-XScY2Ws5VtYcW0z5SZv/w400-h311/SCHOEN%20&%20NORDLAND:%20Orcas%20DOCK%20.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">NORDLAND</span></i></div><div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Official No. 228932</span></div><div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Class: Ferry</span></div><div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">34 G.T., / 30 Net tons.</span></div><div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">L, 58.1 x 22.4 b.</span></div><div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Home Port: Port Townsend, WA.</span></div><div><div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Build in 1929 at </span></div><div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Hadlock, Jefferson County, WA., 1929.</span></div><div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Construction: wood</span></div><div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Power: WA. Estep 2 cyc. 26 HPR diesel</span></div></div><div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">With the author of this essay at his </span></div><div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">dock, next to the Orcas ferry landing.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"> On returning north from the Port Ludlow New Year's party and passing the Nordland on the beach I had inspiration hit me between my eyes. This is just what I need at Orcas to supplement the oil business. I stopped at Port Townsend and looked up Blair Hetrick and Zelma, old-timers here. Blair was a hard hat diver in the area. I told him my thoughts about the vessel, and he told me it was for sale on a sealed bid. He took me up to the county courthouse and I went into the commissioner's office and they referred me to the county attorney. I went into his office and he said, "Kid, that thing is a pile of junk, forget it and save your money." I went back and told Blair about this and he said I'll get a bid form from one of my commission friends, I told him to get me two bid forms. I'll mail one in and I'll mail one to you to give to your commissioner friend and have him open it at the end of the opening. I got the bid by fifty bucks. <br /> It took me six months to get those papers and only after I went back to the commissioners in person.<br /> It was a learning experience handling the old girl. She would slide sideways as fast as she went forward, with her 26 HPR engine, not very powerful, and her reverse not too hot. BUT she could carry a hell of a load. And with her ramp, you could load and unload easily. It was something like learning the operation of an air-starting heavy-duty engine.<br /> You learn to love those wonderful machines. If you keep oiling them and keep the diesel coming they run forever, the engineer that ran the <i>Nordland</i> said 'They never shut the engine down the full length of WW II.'<br /> </span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDZKapnCrRaw73b2l0UuSrYGQJPv_WZq8oQj75WLm4vIXBVgqQfG6aKQdkxfJsQsD3crV5oNR2Ig_8tmdImwT3jQvzI943amffcczlMwuTUMmBeXJibJe8iN-FRGmTi1EF_Ctg_gj7acHgIM3CrJpOjwWRDOCXknklGLJnSi-2Nqc6S-PNJqljAdxZ/s1065/Nordland%20at%20Orcas%20dock:%20small:%20'54.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="610" data-original-width="1065" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDZKapnCrRaw73b2l0UuSrYGQJPv_WZq8oQj75WLm4vIXBVgqQfG6aKQdkxfJsQsD3crV5oNR2Ig_8tmdImwT3jQvzI943amffcczlMwuTUMmBeXJibJe8iN-FRGmTi1EF_Ctg_gj7acHgIM3CrJpOjwWRDOCXknklGLJnSi-2Nqc6S-PNJqljAdxZ/w400-h229/Nordland%20at%20Orcas%20dock:%20small:%20'54.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Home port for <i>NORDLAND</i><br /><br />ORCAS LANDING<br />DATED 1954.<br />Click the image to enlarge. </span><br />From the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Historical Society.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">Our first jobs were delivering fuel to loggers on islands without ferry service which involved filling steel 55-gal drums along with tractors, and logging equipment, not all at the same time. We had a loading area just west of the Orcas ferry landing, one at Obstruction Pass, and several others. We landed on various beaches all over the county. We always tried to land them on the highest part of the tide and immediately reverse and get off the beach. If we missed and couldn't get off, we could be stuck till the next tide, 6 or 8 hours later.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> Working the tides was very crucial to the job. When delivering fuel, the logger had to be there with a tractor or some men to roll the drums up above high tide or a full drum of fuel would drift away.<br /> I have hauled, over my 12 years of operating the Nordland; cattle and sheep to a Lopez slaughterhouse, broken aircraft, 1,000 sacks of cement, mobile homes, everything.<br /> The development of Blakely Island was started with <i>Nordland.</i> Four years later they built their own barge.<br /> The Orcas Power and Light Co used Nordland in several inter-island cable laying and repair jobs. I did most of the early years running of the boat usually alone or with my wife and kids. I had help from Miles McCoy and he later ran it as stand-by.</span><br /> <span>In 1963, I sold <i>Nordland</i> to Wayne "Corkey" North of Deer Harbor. He moved the wheelhouse to the stern and raised it so he could look over the vehicles and cargo on board.</span><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <span>In 1968, <i>Nordland</i> was sold to Bob Greenway of Friday Harbor. He remodeled the wheelhouse again, installed a marine toilet, and replaced the WA Estep diesel with a 671 G.M. engine. The old WA-Estep was dumped out on a sandspit near Jensen Shipyard in Friday Harbor. A diesel engine school in Bellingham came over and picked up the old engine and rebuilt it as a school project. Somebody in the last few years purchased it and took it to California for another old boat.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> </span> <span>Al Jones, who has homes in San Francisco and San Juan Island, purchased the <i>Nordland</i> in 1976. <br /> Finally, it was from Alaska Packers haul out at their plant on Semiahmoo in Blaine, WA that I came upon the <i>SEMIDI.</i></span></span><br /> </div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOXqju7A8MgwmSfJhULu3cydq3veyWWAjnSHu8tOPK0qr9EwQDmkTm3tZeBGunrRN-_F-fd0Rp4kwKb1-t4NB3PMZWXck8DqxAI_A-OBLv5Vm2cPAZPIO_j2fWi_BRdUKQLfOBerARcaLSM_LQjQlpkoxJWmU_41ImexbSITJ5YkRFFoutZslnTJe/s1933/Semidi%20(Schoen).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1179" data-original-width="1933" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOXqju7A8MgwmSfJhULu3cydq3veyWWAjnSHu8tOPK0qr9EwQDmkTm3tZeBGunrRN-_F-fd0Rp4kwKb1-t4NB3PMZWXck8DqxAI_A-OBLv5Vm2cPAZPIO_j2fWi_BRdUKQLfOBerARcaLSM_LQjQlpkoxJWmU_41ImexbSITJ5YkRFFoutZslnTJe/w400-h244/Semidi%20(Schoen).png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>SEMIDI<br /></i></span><br />ON 214876<br />Built Astoria, OR 1917.<br />36 N.t./ 45.95 Gross t.<br />Oil screw, 59.0' x 16.4' x 7.05' <br />Atlas Imperial Diesel engine<br />4 cyl. 135 HPR<br />Purchased by Robert F. Schoen<br />5 Oct. 1959<br />Sold 11 July 1965</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"> I used this boat for log towing, worked with Orcas Power and Light Co in servicing the cable laying, helped locate and service cable recovery, hauled cased goods, and barreled products. Many times I worked the two boats together on a job.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKxFhjBtLXRORPg64FqpV9R3H9Fj92i6HygLpIWUkuJE_ex_bNVehPRtj90oEbX-yv67fGvsZjX21xI_5_NzcSyN8NLv-4hBlAZlZ17K7uAGH_gVCfck6JMWUMUMjSR0_a5gj7lAJ-iCpDJu0AjFD0PTjTG-7ypEU5IHGkavEWGdNobEbg_Bc83B7/s1130/SCHOEN%20ON%20SEMIDI%20DECK:%20'61.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1130" data-original-width="789" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKxFhjBtLXRORPg64FqpV9R3H9Fj92i6HygLpIWUkuJE_ex_bNVehPRtj90oEbX-yv67fGvsZjX21xI_5_NzcSyN8NLv-4hBlAZlZ17K7uAGH_gVCfck6JMWUMUMjSR0_a5gj7lAJ-iCpDJu0AjFD0PTjTG-7ypEU5IHGkavEWGdNobEbg_Bc83B7/w279-h400/SCHOEN%20ON%20SEMIDI%20DECK:%20'61.png" width="279" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">The author Bob Schoen<br />off watch with his wife <br />Mary at the helm.<br />August 1961<br />From the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Hist. Society.©<br /></span><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">Photos and essay by Mr. Robert Schoen, <br />Clam Harbor, Orcas Island, WA.</span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><div><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p></div></div></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-5867396332365750702022-12-28T17:19:00.001-08:002022-12-28T17:34:43.665-08:00WRECK; HOOSIER BOY~~1911<p> <span style="color: #76a5af; font-size: x-large;">HOOSIER BOY</span></p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">96409</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Built in 1898 for Coast Fish Company of Anacortes, WA.</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">31 G.t.. 58' x 12.4' x 5.5'</span></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b3uvTVFjd0Q/VwaleVzxrnI/AAAAAAAAJC8/F6T3gdaZTn8W0KE9LmFiW9ltaYEZPOU8A/s1600/HOOSIER%2BBOY%2Bphoto.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b3uvTVFjd0Q/VwaleVzxrnI/AAAAAAAAJC8/F6T3gdaZTn8W0KE9LmFiW9ltaYEZPOU8A/s400/HOOSIER%2BBOY%2Bphoto.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;"><br />Scanned photo courtesy of J. Canavit.<br />From the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Historical Society.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5mAqhIxrab4/VwanFLZE0CI/AAAAAAAAJDI/7ysGBbCbUnkOcbtjcZYlpk4-Q2YU0_WTw/s1600/9%2BJune%2B1911%2BHoosier%2BBoy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5mAqhIxrab4/VwanFLZE0CI/AAAAAAAAJDI/7ysGBbCbUnkOcbtjcZYlpk4-Q2YU0_WTw/s400/9%2BJune%2B1911%2BHoosier%2BBoy.jpg" width="363" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />San Juan Islander newspaper, 9 June 1911.</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">From the archives of the S.P.H.S.</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-20574297268465344922022-12-28T17:16:00.000-08:002022-12-28T17:16:16.704-08:00WRECK; HARVEST HOME ~~1882<p> <span style="color: #76a5af; font-size: x-large;">HARVEST HOME</span></p><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Capt. A. Matson</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Built for Preston & McKinnon</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">San Francisco, CA.</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Lost: 18 January 1882</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">About 8 Miles north of Cape Hancock.</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uRAQlWis870/W8uh-KYErWI/AAAAAAAAYrY/uC5A9f2C1GEVeK-1PsvLXSctrQ3NHWw8QCLcBGAs/s1600/HARVEST%2BHOME%2Bwrk%2B1882.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="973" data-original-width="1522" height="255" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uRAQlWis870/W8uh-KYErWI/AAAAAAAAYrY/uC5A9f2C1GEVeK-1PsvLXSctrQ3NHWw8QCLcBGAs/s400/HARVEST%2BHOME%2Bwrk%2B1882.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">HARVEST HOME </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Possibly a reproduction by the esteemed </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">photographer/historian Charlie Fitzpatrick </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">a resident of this North Beach area, WA.<br /></span>Click image to enlarge.<br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo from the archives of the S.P.H.S.©</span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: xx-small;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="color: #76a5af;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">"If it is possible for a shipwreck to be a happy affair, perhaps the loss of the bark HARVEST HOME would fall under this classification. The date was 18 January 1882, and the bark was beating up the coast under a pleasant breeze in a calm sea shrouded by a white sheet of fog. Her destination was Pt. Townsend, WA, and she rode low in the water with a full load of general cargo. Under the command of Capt Matson, the bark was skirting along in a northwesterly course in the early morning hours while most of the crew were asleep. Only the sea water caressing the hull of the vessel broke the silence of the nearing dawn. Then came another sound, a sound quite divorced from those of the sea. The helmsman cupped his hand to his ear and then pinched himself––had he heard a rooster crowing or was he dreaming?</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> Suddenly the vessel began to pitch and roll as though it had been struck by a tidal wave. The crew was tossed from their bunks and in a matter of minutes the ship was deposited on the sands and suddenly became motionless.</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> Capt Matson stormed up on deck and leaped upon the poop, but before he could get his mouth open, the helmsman informed him that the vessel was aground.</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> "Aground you say, Mister, why we're six miles to sea, I set the course myself," bellowed the Old Man.</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> Fog was all about the stranded ship, but there was little doubt about her being aground, and before the flood tide had decided to go back to sea again the HARVEST HOME was bogged down in the sand up around the driftwood area.</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> Several hours later the bewildered skipper discovered that he had been navigating with a defective chronometer which was responsible for the stranding.</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> When the fog lifted around noon, the helmsman sighted a big barn a few hundred feet from the beach, and it was then that he knew that the rooster he had heard crowing had not been a figment of his imagination. The wreck was lying eight miles north of Cape Disappointment, on the sandy beach of the peninsula.</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> Later the crew walked ashore and the wreck remained stationary while the tides swished around her, more firmly entrenching her in the sands. The cargo was salvaged but the bark was left to die a slow death.</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> In the months that followed, tourists paused at the wreck to have their pictures taken under the summer sun or to picnic on her rotting timbers. Some of the shipwrecked sailors found themselves peninsula belles and tied the legal knot of matrimony.</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"> Meanwhile, Preston & McKinnon of San Francisco, owners, collected $14,000, the amount for which the vessel was insured."</span></span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: xx-small;"><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="color: #76a5af;">Above text from <i>Pacific Graveyard.</i> Gibbs, James A..Binfords & Mort. 1950</span></span> </div><div><br /></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-50279924332386020092022-12-28T17:14:00.001-08:002023-03-20T13:34:56.779-07:00WRECK; GROMMET REEFER ~~1952<p> <span style="color: #76a5af; font-size: x-large;">GROMMET REEFER</span></p><div><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">246509</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Blt. 1944, Duluth, MN</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">G. t. 3,805.</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">323.9' x 50.1' x 26.5'</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ArMJ4AZ31sI/VwaiaMQTk1I/AAAAAAAAJCk/bUhl4VU3Am8VFGQxG6IGbo92rkiq71G-Q/s1600/GROMMET%257E%257EREEFER%2B1948%253ASea.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ArMJ4AZ31sI/VwaiaMQTk1I/AAAAAAAAJCk/bUhl4VU3Am8VFGQxG6IGbo92rkiq71G-Q/s400/GROMMET%257E%257EREEFER%2B1948%253ASea.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">GROMMET REEFER<br />246509<br />Seattle, WA. 1948</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;">This year this vessel was moored in <br />Seattle, classed as a <br />US Navy ship but under US Army jurisdiction.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: 12.8px;">Original photo from the archives of the S.P.H.S.©</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2uzuam1Avy8/VwajOyX3OOI/AAAAAAAAJCo/PRDm4MAiPrQ3lCRiahcTf8MX9unTOQeow/s1600/GROMMET%2BREEFER%2Bwrk%2B%25231.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2uzuam1Avy8/VwajOyX3OOI/AAAAAAAAJCo/PRDm4MAiPrQ3lCRiahcTf8MX9unTOQeow/s400/GROMMET%2BREEFER%2Bwrk%2B%25231.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana;">GROMMET REEFER<br />Four US Navy helicopters hover <br />over the disabled ship.<br />Leghorn, Italy, <br />16 Dec. 1952.</span></span><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">AP Wire photo via radio from London,<br />Archived with S.P.H.S.©</span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2q3VsVRvsWY/Vwaj-jFRD3I/AAAAAAAAJCw/HG3gmhp7xEAmDhFPdOZkWKcJPNvc4tlUA/s1600/GROMMET%2BREEFER%2Bwrk%25232.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2q3VsVRvsWY/Vwaj-jFRD3I/AAAAAAAAJCw/HG3gmhp7xEAmDhFPdOZkWKcJPNvc4tlUA/s400/GROMMET%2BREEFER%2Bwrk%25232.jpg" width="337" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">GROMMET REEFER,</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Italy, 1952.</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">From the archives of the S.P.H.S.©</span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">On 16 December 1952 the freighter, GROMMET REEFER, supplying food to servicemen, ran aground on a rocky reef on the coast of Leghorn, Italy, splitting in two during a violent storm. </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">The first operation involved breeches buoy, small boats, and swimming, with the rescue of 26 crewmen. </span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> Next, the Navy helicopters rescued the remaining 13 crew during a daring aerial rescue from wave-lashed decks, as viewed in these two dramatic APWire photos from the S.P.H.S. archives.</span><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-38544359487163170882022-12-28T17:11:00.004-08:002022-12-28T22:12:14.528-08:00WRECK; GOVERNOR ~~1921 <p> </p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">GOVERNOR</span></p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">April 1921<br />Capt. F. P. BartlettCapt. Thomas Marsden.<br />Pacific Coast Steamship Co.<br />Near Port Townsend, WA.<br />Loss of life: 7 passengers and 3 crew.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w8wRHx1Hy-w/WBpWb8r0AWI/AAAAAAAAJzk/BqkQgbDSf-Iuo0C8HQi_VyKcxUkqmAukQCLcB/s1600/GOVERNOR%2B%25282%2Bpcs%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w8wRHx1Hy-w/WBpWb8r0AWI/AAAAAAAAJzk/BqkQgbDSf-Iuo0C8HQi_VyKcxUkqmAukQCLcB/s400/GOVERNOR%2B%25282%2Bpcs%2529.jpg" width="355" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">S.S. GOVERNOR</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;">One photo and one lithograph postcard </span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">from the archives of the S.P.H.S.©<br />Click images to enlarge.</span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The Sinking of the Steamship GOVERNOR</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">A letter from E. W. Horsman to author R. H. Calkins of Seattle:</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> "The memory of the collision is especially vivid in my mind as I had the unique experience of actually seeing the impact of the WEST HARTLAND on the starboard beam of the GOVERNOR. I was employed at that time by the Pacific Steamship Co. and was working out of the office of A. F. Haines on special assignments and happened to be on board the GOVERNOR in a deluxe stateroom directly under the bridge. I had retired but was not yet asleep and on hearing the danger signals, jumped up and went to the starboard railing. I saw the dark outline of the WEST HARTLAND about 20-ft from the GOVERNOR.</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> One or two minutes after the collision, the lights on the GOVERNOR failed. This made a particularly dangerous situation on the starboard side, as the nose of the WEST HARTLAND had pierced considerably into the promenade deck of the GOVERNOR, leaving a large hole that extended into the engine room. This, I fear, may have caused some of the loss of life.</span></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ydjb4iNP0ko/WnFWRzVStpI/AAAAAAAAXjE/vziG-GLvGzorCT_zpYeELKBygtmvCsecgCLcBGAs/s1600/%2BF.P.%2BBartlett%252C%2BCapt.%2Bof%2BGovernor%2B12-1923.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1530" data-original-width="1600" height="382" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Ydjb4iNP0ko/WnFWRzVStpI/AAAAAAAAXjE/vziG-GLvGzorCT_zpYeELKBygtmvCsecgCLcBGAs/s400/%2BF.P.%2BBartlett%252C%2BCapt.%2Bof%2BGovernor%2B12-1923.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Captain F.P. Barlettt</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Master of the GOVERNOR on this day. </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">He was a graduate of the famed New York<br />nautical school ship St. Mary's and one of </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"> the senior masters under H.F. Alexander.<br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Bartlett was exonerated of any blame;</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">he was not on watch at the time of the wreck.</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Original photo from the archives of<br /> the Saltwater People Historical Society©</span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #cfe2f3;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Immediately after the collision, I reported to Captain Bartlett and was instructed to assist in getting the passengers out of their rooms and into lifeboats, which I did with all of my energy. After we had checked all of the staterooms and no other passengers seemed to be on board, I again reported to Captain Bartlett near the bridge and he instructed me to slide down the boat falls. He followed immediately behind me. To the best of my knowledge, we were the last persons leaving the ship.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> Our lifeboat pulled a safe distance from the sinking GOVERNOR and we watched her slowly settle by the stern. Finally, when the deckhouse was just about submerged, a bulkhead collapsed and the stern settled very fast. The bow of the ship rose high in the air and as she took her final plunge, there was much noise of escaping steam and crashing wood.</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> One of the peculiar incidents the next days was the attitude of a well-known Seattle man, the president of one of the railroads. He had two valuable horses on board the GOVERNOR and they, of course, were lost. The Seattle railroad president threatened steamship company officials with everything but murder because of the loss of his horses."</span></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c8YQlZTOZlw/Vwagwj08uTI/AAAAAAAAJCU/ZdvxEGLF0K0PaC48YfDnJBmgL7ngrSMfQ/s1600/WEST%2BHARTLAND%257E%257E.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c8YQlZTOZlw/Vwagwj08uTI/AAAAAAAAJCU/ZdvxEGLF0K0PaC48YfDnJBmgL7ngrSMfQ/s400/WEST%2BHARTLAND%257E%257E.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">WEST HARTLAND</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Capt. John Alwyn</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Original photo from the archives of<br />the Saltwater People Historical Society©</span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Above text by R. H. "Skipper" Calkins. </span><i>High Tide</i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">. Marine Digest Pub., 1952.</span></span><br /><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">For an excellent in-depth report by Douglas Egan </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">with fine drawings from the pen of Ron Burke, </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">see the Sept. 1993 issue of </span><i>The Sea Chest, </i><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">the quarterly membership journal of the</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Puget Sound Maritime Historical Society.</span><br /><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">And then the salvage crews––</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Here's a link to read more about the divers' efforts over the years.</span><br /><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Maritime Venture, Inc., Aug. 1987.</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Two divers in a pressurized bell </span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">drop into the water off Pt. Townsend, WA.</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">An effort to recover an estimated $9 million</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> in gold coins, fine wines, and other goods</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">that went down with the luxury liner </span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">SS GOVERNOR.</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: x-small;">From the archives of the S.P.H.S.©</span><br /></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-27554024250916628582022-12-28T17:05:00.001-08:002022-12-28T17:29:47.318-08:00WRECK; GRACE ROBERTS ~~1887<p> <span style="color: #76a5af; font-size: x-large;">GRACE ROBERTS</span></p><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">ON 10870<br />269.91 G.t. Barkentine<br />129.5' x 32.' x 9.'<br />Blt Port. Orchard, WA. 1868<br />Home Port in 1886 was listed as San Francisco.<br />Wrecked Oysterville, WA.<br />8 Dec. 1887 Capt. M. Larsen</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w-fq7C-ezS4/VwaeoZVjNxI/AAAAAAAAJCE/O8tzbXuNh1wKlcXWK57mC0lKvxP8XY1Uw/s1600/GRACE%2BROBERTS%2Bwreck%2Brppc.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w-fq7C-ezS4/VwaeoZVjNxI/AAAAAAAAJCE/O8tzbXuNh1wKlcXWK57mC0lKvxP8XY1Uw/s400/GRACE%2BROBERTS%2Bwreck%2Brppc.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">GRACE ROBERTS</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo by Charlie Fitzpatrick.</span><br />From the archives of<br />the Saltwater People Historical Society©</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc;"> </span><span>The American barkentine stranded two miles south of Leadbetter Point, 8 Dec. 1887, without loss of life. The vessel, commanded by Capt. M. Larsen, was feeling her way along the coast in a thick fog when she drifted into the breakers, knocking several holes in her hull. The crew had to take to the boats. Shipbreaker Martin Foard purchased the wreck for a small sum and salvaged the cargo and equipment. The ROBERTS was built at a cost of $30,000. It was said that the owners of the barkentine had run the vessel hard, overlooking badly needed hull repairs which may have caused her to bilge on the sands. Parts of her barnacle-encrusted remains could be seen on the peninsula as late as 1953. They are the oldest visible ship's remains in the Pacific's Graveyard.</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: x-small;">Above text from:</span><br /><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: x-small;"><i>The Pacific Graveyard</i>. James A. Gibbs, Jr. </span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: x-small;">Binfords and Mort, 1950</span></span><br /></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-18597336971571253642022-12-28T17:00:00.002-08:002022-12-28T17:00:54.061-08:00WRECK; GENERAL M.C. MEIGS~~ 1972<p> <span style="color: #76a5af; font-size: x-large;">GENERAL M. C. MEIGS</span></p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Lost 9 January 1972</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">US Navy troop transport ship.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">7-mi south of Cape Flattery, WA.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Unmanned.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"></span><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PcDt9uE0uxE/VdKaAGbgOGI/AAAAAAAAHuw/6SauJBfwkm4/s1600/General%2BM.C%2BMeigs%2Bwreck%2Bphoto.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PcDt9uE0uxE/VdKaAGbgOGI/AAAAAAAAHuw/6SauJBfwkm4/s400/General%2BM.C%2BMeigs%2Bwreck%2Bphoto.jpg" width="273" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><div style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana; font-size: small;">GENERAL M. C. MEIGS </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana; font-size: small;">wreck, 1972</span></div><div><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana; font-size: small;">Near Tatoosh Island, WA.</span></div><div><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana;">Photo by Roy Scully </span></div><div><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana;">Original photo from the archives of the </span></div><div><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana;">Saltwater People Historical Society</span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #cfe2f3;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana;">Early 9 January 1972, the San Francisco tug BEAR put out to sea from the Strait of Juan de Fuca in the face of gale warnings, towing the 622-ft troop transport GEN. M. C. MEIGS, formerly in layup at the Olympia Reserve Fleet and en route to the remaining West Coast reserve fleet at Suisun Bay near San Fran. No sooner had the tug and tow rounded Tatoosh Island than the wind and seas tore the big two-stack transport loose and drove her ashore 7 miles south of Cape Flattery. Soon afterward she broke in two against a murderous cluster of pinnacle rocks. Although unmanned, the MEIGS was carrying much material from the Olympia Reserve Fleet, including a steel harbor tug chained on a deck forward [visible in photo].</span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Times; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7_tqf8sa3Wc/UcIZPX-OH2I/AAAAAAAADmU/OGg2fpuGsdg/s1600/Web+photo+of+MEIGS+wreck+'72.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7_tqf8sa3Wc/UcIZPX-OH2I/AAAAAAAADmU/OGg2fpuGsdg/s400/Web+photo+of+MEIGS+wreck+'72.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Burning wreckage from the </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc;">GENERAL M. C. MEIGS, 1972</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc;">"Smoke rose from a pile of burning driftwood </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc;">and timbers as USN enlisted men mop-up oil </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc;">washed ashore from ruptured tanks </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc;">on the MEIGS.<br /> The Navy is burning oil-soaked timbers </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc;">and shoveling globs of the tar-like substance</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc;">into bags. the beach is owned by <br />the Native Makah tribe.<br />The MEIGS was carrying 116,000 gallons and </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: verdana; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc;">only about 5,000 have appeared." </span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><i>Seattle Times</i> 1/1972.</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The loss of the MEIGS and her valuable cargo aroused numerous questions in maritime circles, aside from the basic one of why the GEAR, under contract to the US Navy, proceeded to sea in defiance of a Force 8 gale. Several experienced mariners reported seeing the tug headed out with the transport on a short towline and an inadequate hitch. The Coast Guard does not investigate accidents involving naval vessels unless asked to do so, and the Navy made no such request, leaving many questions unanswered to the present day. Naval personnel were dispatched to the scene to clean up the spill of heavy bunker oil and to guard the wreck, although no effort was made to salvage anything from it. Subsequent winter storms have torn the ship into many pieces, with only a section of the bow and a mast remaining visible [at press time].</span></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8;">Above text: <i>The H. W. McCurdy Marine History of the Pacific Northwest (1966-1976)</i>. Gordon Newell, editor. Superior, 1977.</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: x-small;"> </span></span><br /><br /></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-66166140519927985812022-12-28T16:55:00.001-08:002022-12-28T22:08:44.313-08:00WRECK; GLEANER ~~ 1940<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #76a5af; font-size: large;">GLEANER</span><br /><div><br /></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">O.N. 204548<br />422 G.t. / 408 N.t. Sternwheeler<br />Built 1907, Stanwood, WA.<br />Aground 6 December 1940.<br />Owned by Skagit River Trading and Navigation Co.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6lfhrcazDgM/VwacLoy0AAI/AAAAAAAAJB0/Jwzlvz0JsdkeHQHoN8kNxnMt2Cakzps0g/s1600/GLEANER%257E%257Ewreck%2B%252740.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6lfhrcazDgM/VwacLoy0AAI/AAAAAAAAJB0/Jwzlvz0JsdkeHQHoN8kNxnMt2Cakzps0g/w400-h269/GLEANER%257E%257Ewreck%2B%252740.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">GLEANER</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Skagit River sandbar, 1940</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Photographer unknown.</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Original photo from the archives of the S.P.H.S.©</span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">"No more bends in the river for the abandoned Skagit River sternwheeler GLEANER that ran afoul of a sandspit at the north fork of the river on 6 December 1940. Lying upstream from the North Fork Bridge, the steamer had her machinery and fittings removed. She operated between Seattle and Mt. Vernon.</span> </p></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-30146699433588885702022-12-28T16:51:00.003-08:002023-06-10T22:50:36.736-07:00WRECK: LIBERTY SHIP GEORGE WALTON~~ 1950<p> <span style="color: #76a5af; font-size: x-large;">GEORGE WALTON</span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">243051</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Liberty Ship hull #0344</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">7,176 G.t. 4,380 N.t.</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Built 1943, Savannah, Georgia. 422.8' x 57' x 34.8'</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Lost to fire off WA. coast.</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Died: 1 by explosion and 5 by drowning, according to <i>McCurdy's.</i></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Another source claims more died.</span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Capt. Alfred Bentsen</span></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fLK0WKkv-UY/VwabFknGuWI/AAAAAAAAJBs/4K3Nk8vwf44SSDRFqYpERYRvHq0pLiAMA/s1600/GEORGE%2BWALTON%252C%2Bcropped%2Bsinking%2B1951.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fLK0WKkv-UY/VwabFknGuWI/AAAAAAAAJBs/4K3Nk8vwf44SSDRFqYpERYRvHq0pLiAMA/s400/GEORGE%2BWALTON%252C%2Bcropped%2Bsinking%2B1951.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Liberty Ship GEORGE WALTON</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Lost en route to India loaded<br />with a cargo of wheat.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Acme Wire Photo to US Coast Guard.</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">From the archives of the S.P.H.S.©</span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">"The steamship GEORGE WALTON was swept by fire 390 miles off the WA coast on 6 Nov. 1950 as a result of a boiler explosion which killed Second Engineer Gus Larsen. Capt. Bentsen and the crew launched boats in heavy seas that capsized one of the boats. Five more members of the crew were drowned as a result of this accident. The Greek freighter KATHERINE picked up 12 survivors, the Japanese freighter KENKON MARU rescued 12 and the Coast Guard cutter WACHUSETT, six. The injured seamen were flown to Seattle hospitals, the remainder being landed at Port Angeles. The GEORGE WALTON, a Liberty ship, had departed Portland with 9,000 tons of grain for India. It was first assumed that the burned-out vessel would sink, but she maintained an even keel and, almost two weeks later, was towed to Puget Sound by the tug Barbara Foss. She was later scrapped."</span></span><br /><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><span style="color: #9fc5e8; font-size: x-small;">Above quote from <i>The H.W. McCurdy's Marine History of the P.N.W. </i>Newell, Gordon, editor.</span></span></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-14584328011504520032022-12-20T18:25:00.005-08:002022-12-28T13:34:18.298-08:00LIME WORKS WITH JUNE : November 1929<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUWBfHFv-HDEB3hWHTKHXekMqD4IrRmALXghZm4esJ6XKLEOLzXcx7b8-25Ghv7flLZiCo_PcQ10eoArf3xij4h9xBxbKtM-dXYLPgW7riIuMIzFcqPmkZ18C0_grrL6eXs0sqkYVnmVi-IYtmDRsQbN4fZy8tmz7IQQL13jqioB8XdG-6Nxxd0UK/s2085/2%20rppc%20of%20Roche%20Hb.:cc.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2085" data-original-width="1545" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUWBfHFv-HDEB3hWHTKHXekMqD4IrRmALXghZm4esJ6XKLEOLzXcx7b8-25Ghv7flLZiCo_PcQ10eoArf3xij4h9xBxbKtM-dXYLPgW7riIuMIzFcqPmkZ18C0_grrL6eXs0sqkYVnmVi-IYtmDRsQbN4fZy8tmz7IQQL13jqioB8XdG-6Nxxd0UK/w296-h400/2%20rppc%20of%20Roche%20Hb.:cc.jpeg" width="296" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Roche Harbor,<br /></span>San Juan Archipelago, WA.<br /> The<i> Lime Transport</i><br />moored to load barrels.<br />Click image to enlarge.<br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Original gelatin-silver photographs from <br />the Saltwater People Historical Society©<br /></span></span></span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Puget Soundings<div>June Burn<br /><i>Bellingham Herald</i>, November 1929<br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Five years ago and Capt. Wirstrom retired from the sea. He had sailed his last ship, kept his last watch, and tooted his last whistle in a pea-soup fog. He was going to farm for the rest of his life and take things easy far from the mad winds and the merciless reefs of rock out where no gentlemanly reef ought to be.<br /> Today, as you read this, Captain Wirstrom is probably down in Coos Bay, having navigated a boatload of lime rock from Roche Harbor, WA, to the paper mills of Empire City. For, when the call came, the old mariner found he could not resist it and so he sits again in what seems to me a lonely state in his captain's quarters aft, on the big <i>Roche Harbor Lime Transport.</i><br /> On the northern tip of San Juan Island, two companies dig lime from hills full of the purest lime deposit in the world, they say. Moreover, there is said to be enough lime in those hills to last more than a century with both companies going for all they are worth. (It is my private opinion that in a hundred years they will have dug up the whole island at the rate they are going now.</span></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUI2pLOFv0W8ao3F2IbGoo6IFMgMCqpesrcw2JCI5EAc0erLGBOKn-tCJaCYeTp1_0Qmxvzg51VgGQNNTAYsjIifec8wfFPJrq2Lsgaw0HkX5WiR-Xsyt3dKpYDlo2zCSMhVON3QRTkZvSIJ_rHVDiK0ZPu2fwDiJUm7EbopkKPqSZwPHevNxaS-FR/s1588/Orcas%20Lime%20Co.%20at%20Roche%20Hbr.%20:%20cc.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="995" data-original-width="1588" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUI2pLOFv0W8ao3F2IbGoo6IFMgMCqpesrcw2JCI5EAc0erLGBOKn-tCJaCYeTp1_0Qmxvzg51VgGQNNTAYsjIifec8wfFPJrq2Lsgaw0HkX5WiR-Xsyt3dKpYDlo2zCSMhVON3QRTkZvSIJ_rHVDiK0ZPu2fwDiJUm7EbopkKPqSZwPHevNxaS-FR/w400-h251/Orcas%20Lime%20Co.%20at%20Roche%20Hbr.%20:%20cc.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Orcas Lime Company</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Click image to enlarge.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">"The Orcas Lime Co worked a small quarry </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">just a few hundred yards south of the </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Roche Harbor deposit. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">It supplied its single kiln with </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">limestone by means of rail carts pushed </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">along on </span><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">top of a long trestle.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">That plant and dock were located on narrow</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Mosquito Pass, also served by </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Puget Sound Freight Line boats.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">When the quarry rock finally gave out </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">in the mid-30s, </span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">this trim little competitor</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"> gave up the ghost and the land </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"> became a sheep ranch."</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana; font-size: xx-small;">Text from the Journal Jan. 2003.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Author unknown.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span>Roche Harbor, San Juan Island, WA.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Original gelatin-silver photograph from the </span></div><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">archives of the Saltwater People Historical Society©</div></span></span><br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">On the beautiful old Scurr place, the Orcas Lime Works dig out the fine, white angular rocks to be broken and burned in the kilns where they will become flaky snow-white lime for a score or uses.<br /> And against the curving hill slopes behind one of the prettier harbors in the world, Roche Harbor Lime Company digs and burns, and barrels are loaded on ships for places far and near.<br /> The fine long dock at Roche Harbor is piled with barrels upon barrels, four deep, all filled with lime ready for the boats. Sacks upon sacks of lime are stacked behind the barrels. The daily capacity of the works is 1,500 barrels.</span><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAOLEPMbZZai0ZDRLxl1UAOXpu53cwuAKzqByjpTtZnzIKRq7rQC4Z6JJJ0bIl3yhWmyVpHSqXS4rqS4HIVNIIDXDvAMNNX886q8EDZN1b10MziINCCcZjKu7k8h7D5VtfgcwGVPk5tk14AVwlUa_raPNwfJHRTe6kgV_tGMxZCRIzH0ev161eYdkC/s568/copper%20templates%20to%20SJIs%20museum.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="568" data-original-width="459" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAOLEPMbZZai0ZDRLxl1UAOXpu53cwuAKzqByjpTtZnzIKRq7rQC4Z6JJJ0bIl3yhWmyVpHSqXS4rqS4HIVNIIDXDvAMNNX886q8EDZN1b10MziINCCcZjKu7k8h7D5VtfgcwGVPk5tk14AVwlUa_raPNwfJHRTe6kgV_tGMxZCRIzH0ev161eYdkC/w324-h400/copper%20templates%20to%20SJIs%20museum.jpg" width="324" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Antique copper stencils </span><br />once used to inscribe lime barrels <br />shipping out to these destinations from <br />Roche Harbor Lime Co.<br />Now archived at the <br />San Juan Island Historical Museum.<br />Stop by during their open hours <br />and visit their wonderful <br />effort highlighting history of San Juan Island,<br />San Juan Archipelago, Washington.</span><br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Boats come and go, bringing in thousands of cords of wood to Roche Harbor, going out with tons and tons of lime from Roche Harbor. The little bay is lively with boats.<br /> Ten years ago we helped to dig rock out of those hills. That is, Farrar broke the rock and I watched him! I used to walk up the Clematis-covered banks, over the tiny railway to the high-walled quarries to watch the men with their big sledge hammers cracking the boulders, breaking off one corner after another, sometimes finding themselves faced with an almost round, unbreakable rock at the end if they weren't skilled. The game was to break them so that there would always be another angle left. Farrar used to say there was poetry in watching the rocks come down after the blast, in selecting one's boulder to conquer with sledge and muscle, in breaking it so skillfully that the last bit was so full of sharp angles as the original boulder had been.<br /> The Clematis on those banks was planted forty-three years ago on the birthday of Mr. McMillin's son. The original plant is now a hoary old vine several inches thick, crawling all over the place. And the progeny of that vine softens every nook and cranny of the hill. It is chiefly responsible for the beauty of the place as one comes in by boat.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj80onrVBT8Fp1ruzOiCnh4AQq4tXUWWGQr_Fiv4vBJQmudTDzKV0uzGsC5W0x6gfBGIUrLD-GRdTsPubW_i1TpmGaHcnjv4G9wW3rMhirLoy1ZzotaAlk83jyyg10vpuZmkLEY9W13EAGgy8ugTBJdMWTpidAWJ_FzOS3FK9jPpSb44CBDPn-47Du/s1612/Hotel%20de%20Haro%20an%20gardens%20pc%20:%20cc.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1030" data-original-width="1612" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj80onrVBT8Fp1ruzOiCnh4AQq4tXUWWGQr_Fiv4vBJQmudTDzKV0uzGsC5W0x6gfBGIUrLD-GRdTsPubW_i1TpmGaHcnjv4G9wW3rMhirLoy1ZzotaAlk83jyyg10vpuZmkLEY9W13EAGgy8ugTBJdMWTpidAWJ_FzOS3FK9jPpSb44CBDPn-47Du/w400-h255/Hotel%20de%20Haro%20an%20gardens%20pc%20:%20cc.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;"><br />Hotel de Haro<br />Roche Harbor, <br />San Juan Archipelago, WA.</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div> <span style="font-family: verdana;">Against the dark hill rising up from the harbor on the left, as one enters, are the white cottages of the laborers, the combination church and schoolhouse, with its spire, the vine-covered hotel, the Clematis banks, and the big flower garden coming down to the water's edge. The effect is incomparably lovely. If there were no lime there at all, and no industry, the dainty small harbor would still be a village for the sheer beauty of the location.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"> But to get back to Captain Wirstrom: Several years ago the lime company bought a big sailing boat––a beautiful thing she is, with flowing robes riding her prow. For two or three years, the long slender six-masted schooner sat still in the harbor. She too has retired, maybe. Thought to ride the calm waters of a picturesque harbor for the rest of her days. But now she is to be used again. Stripped of three of her masts, part of them used now as cargo booms, she will haul lime rock down the coast to the new paper mills at Empire City in Coos Bay.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"> <i>La Escocesa </i>(<i>Scotch Maid)</i> was built in 1868 in Dundee, Scotland. She ran as a steamship between England and India. Later her name was changed to <i>Coalinga</i> and she was used in the carrying trade, whatever that means. Freight, I suppose. Finally, the Alaska Packers bought her, changed her name once more to <i>Star of Chile,</i> and used her as a sort of floating cannery in Alaska. Now she is the <i>Roche Harbor Lime Transport</i> barge and once more a "carrier" of things.<br /> Of iron her hull--thick plates of Swedish iron--and of her iron spirit, else she would never have lived out the seas which have broken over her in every sea in the world. And perhaps there is some iron in the spirit of her new captain that he comes from retirement to pilot a "barge." She doesn't look like a barge, certainly, with her trim lines and the three masts rising so fine and tall. But she is to be towed, sailing only when there is sufficient wind to make the use of her small canvas, worthwhile, and so she must now be called a barge, though her captain doesn't like it.<br /> Here comes my boat to take me to another island! I had thought to have dinner in the attractive hotel here and the soft-voiced Japanese boy is just serving the salad, but I must run. There will be a sunset on the channel as we chug across the island's dark shadow against the bright waters. See you tomorrow. June. "</span><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div></div></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-85917789028791485302022-12-10T00:23:00.010-08:002023-06-15T22:35:11.913-07:00PULLING 250 MILES EACH SUMMER –– FOR FIFTY-ONE YEARS <p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhgCm5-E1lqsyHhbBNiK_QMcTOOPKiCat2Xw4e0u6r73fe3zwWdQ1SeBTc4rYkh3zo88esLmI4hg6XcNUVTwVWwkCsRkLgBX8zQYWxo4a_Y40YjCbx7EzRDGW4J8YAlTixyUCrXNWe6DYrRUlHwBhLAp3wWv6K_rWCxC2ZveDX174RlX39gCjpsPi/s2565/McCormick,%20A.%20O.%20:%20for%20post:%20c.c..jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2565" data-original-width="1847" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhgCm5-E1lqsyHhbBNiK_QMcTOOPKiCat2Xw4e0u6r73fe3zwWdQ1SeBTc4rYkh3zo88esLmI4hg6XcNUVTwVWwkCsRkLgBX8zQYWxo4a_Y40YjCbx7EzRDGW4J8YAlTixyUCrXNWe6DYrRUlHwBhLAp3wWv6K_rWCxC2ZveDX174RlX39gCjpsPi/w288-h400/McCormick,%20A.%20O.%20:%20for%20post:%20c.c..jpg" width="288" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Arthur O. McCormick,</span><br />Rowed the San Juan Archipelago <br />for 250 miles every August.<br />His vacations were enjoyed for <br />fifty-one years in his 15' boat.<br />He passed at age 81, in Seattle, WA. <br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Gelatin-silver original photograph <br />from the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Historical Society©</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"A. O. McCormick rowed a journey of 250 miles each summer for his three-week camping trip in the islands. He did this every August without fail for 51 years. Often his excursions made news in the weekly newspaper in the islands.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">His mode of transportation was a 15-ft rowboat, of the old type that does not move unless someone is pulling the oars. McCormick said in 1947 when this photo was taken he pulled his oars just as hard as 45 summers ago. "Not as fast, maybe, but just as strong," he says.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">McCormick attributes his robust health to all the Augusts of rowing in the sun.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">He tried a sloop once––in 1905, his third junket into the islands––but sold it that fall. "I couldn't go where I wanted," he explained.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">McCormick preferred to pull silently along the crooked shorelines of the San Juan Islands, putting in here and there wherever it struck his fancy. Often in the heat of the day, he hauled his craft above the tide line and scrambled off into the woods or rock to make pictures with one of his two ancient cameras.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">McCormick said he would rather prowl along a shady shoreline with a camera than sit in a boat on the sunburned end of a fishline.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The oarsman shoved off from the same spot about a quarter of a mile west of the Deception Pass Bridge, which oldtimers of the region have named "Mac's Cove."</span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8BEnHJGR7NcukigJ4hounyVU1jux35nkQWiZNdeJQswW3A1nZNJ3AnwaQZ1JflsZW27eKBSDGngUbkIsJd39J6MxV9TMDP2-lZDA64AEb7E69KckYXvHCq5JS2QP8L6UIT708vUGHEL7T-MIvXDiuK15xheFuMKdos6efV6OXXxAdWOJnvigzmdMu/s2004/Canoe%20Pass%20pic%20by%20McCormick%20undated:%20c.c..png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2004" data-original-width="1808" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8BEnHJGR7NcukigJ4hounyVU1jux35nkQWiZNdeJQswW3A1nZNJ3AnwaQZ1JflsZW27eKBSDGngUbkIsJd39J6MxV9TMDP2-lZDA64AEb7E69KckYXvHCq5JS2QP8L6UIT708vUGHEL7T-MIvXDiuK15xheFuMKdos6efV6OXXxAdWOJnvigzmdMu/w361-h400/Canoe%20Pass%20pic%20by%20McCormick%20undated:%20c.c..png" width="361" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">CANOE PASS,<br />Deception Pass State Park, Washington.<br />48°24'30"N, 122°38'40"W<br /><br />Signed original gelatin-silver photo <br />by photographer James A. McCormick,<br />who might have been catching his brother Arthur <br />down below in his small craft working the tide <br />from "Mac's Cove" to camp on island beaches.<br />Arthur was still rowing in 1935 when a 511.2'<br />bridge was built across this scene <br />to carry vehicles and foot traffic <br />on WA-20 from Fidalgo Island<br /> to Pass Island (on right), <br />then to the next bridge <br />over Deception Pass to Whidbey Is., WA. <br />The views are a major attraction <br />for visitors to the area. <br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">from the archives of the Saltwater People Log©<br /></span><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">Every night during his three weeks trip, McCormick pitches his tent on a different beach, just out of reach of high tide, where he can hear the waves washing and there are no ants to crawl down his neck.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">McCormick and his older brother, J.A. "Mac" McCormick, a noted photographer of Seattle and San Juan County came to Puget Sound in 1901 from Denver, 1,500 miles on foot for 14 months. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">'Part of the time we walked, and part of the time we shoved the burros.'</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The brothers came across the Rocky Mountains in the dead of winter, but they feared not because those were the days when young bucks laughed at danger the way young fellows today sit by the radio and laugh at Bob Hope. </span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Arthur O. McCormick was a picture framer in the University District, widely known for his rowing tours. Proud of his physical strength and health, he declared he had never taken a nickel's worth of medicine in his life."<br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: xx-small;">Lenny Anderson, for the <i>Seattle Times.</i></span></span><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuvppikeLAXP53wkj80djoYoCYsod6Ra4TilA9JZLX9BJbYTyG_32MNEDCedzNG0T-QAQ39qJwJaQS3cKUgCMgUO9DzP37Vj7jqI-NHu7z30QMogz-lCVzRxFu-8Ei2z2vMAM3Sq3wsrZgZv6JIwEkraMujaP7MMhsj_liAnp-DhAL_ujz6i-pVnCs/s2449/2%20of%20McCormick%20with%20boats%20c.c..png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2449" data-original-width="2154" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuvppikeLAXP53wkj80djoYoCYsod6Ra4TilA9JZLX9BJbYTyG_32MNEDCedzNG0T-QAQ39qJwJaQS3cKUgCMgUO9DzP37Vj7jqI-NHu7z30QMogz-lCVzRxFu-8Ei2z2vMAM3Sq3wsrZgZv6JIwEkraMujaP7MMhsj_liAnp-DhAL_ujz6i-pVnCs/w351-h400/2%20of%20McCormick%20with%20boats%20c.c..png" width="351" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">Two salty scenes captured by <br />James A. McCormick.<br />Click the double image to enlarge.<br /><br /> Mac also took summer vacations in a small craft <br />loaded down with glass plate negatives,<br />tripod, camera, and camping gear.<br />When he got back to shore, he would process<br />at his seasonal photo studio in the county<br /> seat of Friday Harbor, Washington.<br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Two gelatin-silver original photos from <br />Saltwater People Historical Society archives.©</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-32743076159400392852022-07-30T21:10:00.007-07:002022-09-01T14:07:27.503-07:00 MEMORIES OF MADRONA INN :::::: ON A SMALL ROCKY SPIT :::::: Orcas Island, WA., 1950s.<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGtNKISVBOSv447Z5MkUcfRjngvyOPeyozDlTnTjh2IGKgmvLYAfdIlYej1R4NddafsIMgUE98DTcMYWOo6EIdCHzRP21n-iNH3ziT1g6GylkOBS_Fu7TXDc9eaM2vJBn7W2yVkQMAUPgPNzDsUxyvpYNs_illfNBoxjjduqYgOab4D3_1Xa2x9wZ/s987/Eastsound~~early%20docks.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="987" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGtNKISVBOSv447Z5MkUcfRjngvyOPeyozDlTnTjh2IGKgmvLYAfdIlYej1R4NddafsIMgUE98DTcMYWOo6EIdCHzRP21n-iNH3ziT1g6GylkOBS_Fu7TXDc9eaM2vJBn7W2yVkQMAUPgPNzDsUxyvpYNs_illfNBoxjjduqYgOab4D3_1Xa2x9wZ/w400-h183/Eastsound~~early%20docks.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;">MADRONA INN<br />in the center of this photo of <br />Madrona Point, Eastsound, WA.<br />The first cottages were built by <br />Dr. I.M. Harrison and managed later by <br />his widow Dr. Agnes A. Harrson and <br />their son, Max. <br />postmarked Eastsound, 1924.<br />Click the image to enlarge.<br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Original photo from the archives of the <br />Saltwater People Historical Society©</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">"The thoughts of those summers working at Madrona Inn are filled with warm and nostalgic memories.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The location of Madrona Inn was on a small rocky spit that went out into the waters of Eastsound, Orcas Island. It was surrounded by tall firs and native Madrona trees. The small self-contained cabins were tucked along winding trails, craggy boulders, and trees at various places. The main lodge housed the dining room, kitchen, lobby, office, and sitting /library room. The style of the main lodge was rustic comfort having a large stone fireplace (usually lit,) solid homey chairs, and exposed dark oak ceiling rafters. Many window views overlooked the grounds and pristine water. The dining room tables always had tablecloths and flowers. Fresh water, tea, and coffee were available in the library. Although there were other inns and lodges on Orcas Island, Madrona Inn was considered unique and was usually well booked all summer. This was true until the privately owned Rosario Estate (near Eastsound) was sold and turned into a high-end resort.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The guests came year after year often for months at a time. They came from the cities in Washington, California, and other states. Meals were served three times a day with a set menu that rotated over a couple of weeks; some menu variations were also enjoyed–– such as a guest sharing a self-caught salmon. There were 12-14 college students who worked various jobs to fulfill the needs of the guests at the Inn. The jobs were housekeeping, waitress, dishwasher, hostess, laundry, pots and pans washer, building and grounds maintenance, etc. Seven to eight girls were selected as waitresses' they wore yellow uniforms and were assigned tables. Two people were in housekeeping; one was a rover covering those who had days off; one was a dishwasher, and one was a hostess. We, as employees, came from a variety of colleges in Washington, and other states and island residents were also part of the team. A two-story house was the home for the girls. Our meals were at the lodge and showers were at the bathhouse by the laundry. I remember the night some bats flew in through the open upstairs window. Some girls shrieked with fear and put towels over their heads. After that, there was always an open window check and often the lights were left on all night. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I worked as a dishwasher, waitress, and hostess over three summers. I remember serving meals to Mark Toby, a renowned artist, with some of his artist friends from Seattle and around the world. At the time I did not recognize his fame as an artist with work in the Louver in Paris. I also remember serving an evening meal to the Harrison family one Sunday night. Mr. Harrson's son, a distinguished and decorated U.S Army General from WA, D.C., and his family were visiting. I set a plate of bread on the table; my finger caught the edge of a slice of bread and the slice flipped over the flower arrangement into his soup. I was mortified!!! Many distinguished guests had their names on the sign-in roster. Mr. Max Harrison was an amiable proprietor––always wore a sports coat, usually had a cigar in his hand, and often cleared his throat with a "harrumph." Mrs. Harrison, a frail and gracious lady usually stayed in their private quarters.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL5JYiUO7wc7XlsH00f_hCjQY4oO0ycCAlDs2cKLMdx5UIikTwTRClawfYjaEKGK9xLMLe_gH1aYVXAGPU0lOV6G4X5IwChSxxNVp6sBdWs1ZbKu4MiY05EfoFpnwDqxKezodl0H3idQ-BY_BJ4aF_rpCU8iuFhcE4aSMMcG2Oh79B5HDwlM1-9lbC/s1366/Resorts%20on%20Orcas%20July%201951.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1349" data-original-width="1366" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL5JYiUO7wc7XlsH00f_hCjQY4oO0ycCAlDs2cKLMdx5UIikTwTRClawfYjaEKGK9xLMLe_gH1aYVXAGPU0lOV6G4X5IwChSxxNVp6sBdWs1ZbKu4MiY05EfoFpnwDqxKezodl0H3idQ-BY_BJ4aF_rpCU8iuFhcE4aSMMcG2Oh79B5HDwlM1-9lbC/w400-h395/Resorts%20on%20Orcas%20July%201951.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>The Orcas Islander</i> newspaper<br />26 July 1951</span><br />Always a front page source of information <br />about the many resorts on Orcas Island, <br />the guests, and the reports of the <br />salmon being landed.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">By mid-summer, much of the produce came from local growers. Other groceries bought in bulk, came from the mainland by ferry or from the local grocery store. The boys often made grocery runs to the ferry or the store. As a kitchen helper, I remember shelling peas, washing lettuce, and strawberries, or helping with salads. On days when the kitchen was hot, it was good to step into the large walk-in refrigerator and rearrange things. As a waitress or cabin worker, you got to keep your tip money, therefore you tried to do your best to serve your people well.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">On Saturday nights we rushed to get our work done because there was always the Island dance to attend. The dances were alternately held at the Eastsound Grange Hall or Deer Harbor on the other side of the island. The dances were attended by vacationers, visiting people from their yachts, the young men who worked at Camp Orkila, and many island residents. At about 11 P.M. food would be offered; it was usually a generous and welcome spread. The band played music from the 40s and 50s with some polkas and schottisches included. What fun we had as did most anyone there. When the dance at Eastsound ended we girls walked home amid giggles, teasing, and singing. Without street lights, the road was very dark and a bit scarey. As a postcard from Orcas Island claimed, "there was never a place as dark at night as Eastshoud on Orcas Island.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">One memory stands out for me. In August of 1955 six of us girls were invited to be the guest of Mr. Donald Rheem at his Rosario estate. He and his wife purchased the estate in 1938 from the original owner Mr. Robert Moran. Rheem made extensive improvements to the estate property as well as building dock moorings for some of his well-known friends from California. John Wayne regularly visited each summer as did other celebrities. We (6 Madrona girls) were photographed for the Seattle Times as Rheem showed us the property. The photographer was the well-known Joseph Scaylea. It was a spectacular mansion on a wonderful site. Later, after it was sold, additions and other amenities were added to make it into an upscale resort; it lost some of its uniqueness and character.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Guest use of the Madrona Inn started to close down after Labor Day. Coed workers headed back to college of jobs; the cook, Mrs. Tharp went back to cook for the "Figi" fraternity at the U of W. Mr. and Mrs. Twedt continued as resident caretakers of the property and handled the off-season use of the property.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I think of the time spent there with fondness. At times I am reminded of the fresh air smell of the warm fir boughs. I hear the rustle of fallen leaves on the trails to the cabins. The boulders held the sun's summer warmth long after sundown. The night darkness, the brilliant stars, and at times the Aurora Borealis, are not forgotten.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Madrona Inn was a place where one could renew and refresh themselves––let the breezes wipe worries and care away. Guests came to write, paint, read, and reconnect with nature. With its comfortable and rustic setting, it provided a haven of rest for the patrons. It was a wonderful place for a college student to earn a wage, and find adventure while getting ready for the year ahead. There were so many things to do in the natural surroundings of the island––hiking, swimming, boating, fishing, and a visit to a local pottery shop or the store in Eastsound. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The views of Mt. Baker, Mt. Rainier, the Cascades, all the islands of Puget Sound, Vancouver Island, and so much more were and are always spectacular unless surrounded by fog. After hiking the trails we often stopped for a refreshing swim in Lake Moran at Moran State Park. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">On one of my days off, my father met me at Buckhorn Lodge on the north side of the island and drove us in his 16-ft boat to Lummi Island where we had a cabin. In the middle of the Straits, I heard a swishing noise and all of a sudden about 20 Orcas came under and around our boat. As the boat rocked, I was filled with fear. Dad kept his cool and as quick as they came, the Orca pod continued on its way to hunt for food. What an experience to be so close to nature. I will not forget how much they need their freedom </span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">in the sea just as we need ours on land." </span><br /><span style="color: #9fc5e8;">Above words by Kathy Parker, September 2010.</span></p><p><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The author of this letter mentions Dr. Agnes Harrison of Madrona Inn. There is more posted about this amazing woman</span> <a href="https://saltwaterpeoplehistoricalsociety.blogspot.com/2015/03/agnes-harrison.html">here on this site.</a></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Notices in the <i>San Juan Islander </i>newspaper promoting summer resorts and camping on Orcas Island in the 19th century:</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #76a5af;">2 August </span><span style="color: #76a5af;">1894</span></span><div><span style="font-size: medium;">"Camping sites set up by Smith Stowers and other citizens. Platforms for tents and bathhouses near the beach improve natural facilities and make it the most popular resort on the sound. Civil rights and property must be respected, good order and decent behavior maintained!"<br /></span><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #76a5af;">13 September </span><span style="color: #76a5af;">1894</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">"Orcas is overrun with campers from all over the Sound. This island has become an attractive summer resort and accommodations will be made for people who desire to spend the summer here." <br /><br /></span><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div></div></div>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2329306411423823444.post-16813869705300748402022-07-22T21:37:00.002-07:002022-07-23T12:54:12.696-07:00AT WOODMEN HALL AND AROUND LOPEZ ISLAND with June ::: May 1930<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrA2xy4b9b5CEUIImM0cQqVbn9GQBbVSj3Y6I3YVljSdltf8zGlcycA8ilWzGl_XOGqXn9drOWqif6Fg8IfLo1EW-7_4HWcExPMzqWr47vsXegHPT6xalrevyqxAGzoRrofrdhuBRtDU5grEy58DUddr9v8IE0wh8tntDQL1mQXDff9THPxVN9KOa/s761/for%20Lopez%20Page%20of%201930%20:Map%20of%20Islands%201930%20.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="761" data-original-width="717" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrA2xy4b9b5CEUIImM0cQqVbn9GQBbVSj3Y6I3YVljSdltf8zGlcycA8ilWzGl_XOGqXn9drOWqif6Fg8IfLo1EW-7_4HWcExPMzqWr47vsXegHPT6xalrevyqxAGzoRrofrdhuBRtDU5grEy58DUddr9v8IE0wh8tntDQL1mQXDff9THPxVN9KOa/w376-h400/for%20Lopez%20Page%20of%201930%20:Map%20of%20Islands%201930%20.jpg" width="376" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Lopez Island, <br />San Juan Archipelago, WA.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">"We didn't arrive at the big Woodmen hall, standing alone in the middle of the woods, until along about 9:30 p.m.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was exactly like going to meeting in the South. The meetinghouse was a lodge hall and we were going to play five hundred instead of sing and pray. But the feeling was the same. The same quiet assembling of buggies, one after the other coming in out of the night, finding their places between the trees. Except that they were all automobiles instead of buggies. The same leisurely goings and comings to and out of the meetinghouse. The same low talking. And when we get inside, the meeting had started so that we felt a little embarrassed at being late, exactly as if the friendly preacher was about to scold us!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was a delightful evening and I almost learned how to play five hundred. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Esther is coming to drive me over the island. What a prosperous, beautiful island it is! The New England farms look no mellower, no healthier than these big Lopez farms reclaimed in the last seventy-odd years ago. they look like generations of people, of cattle, of crops had grown up here.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Grassy pastures and orchards in blossom on the Strafford farm. Berries and cattle, green fields, and a tractor plowing on the neat Erb place. Rolling green slopes and dozens of gorgeous apple trees in fragrant bloom on the Kilpatrick farm.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Down the road along the backbone of the island, beautiful farms fell away into pleasant valleys on both sides. Sheep in the pastures, chickens cackling from modern hen-houses. Loganberries on Joe Ender's place. The McCloud house, low and brown, nestled on a big rock.Strait of Juan de Fuca. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">A very tiny loghouse with a very big ivy cluster nearly hiding it, a cloud of pear blossoms hovering over it. Somebody lived in that diminutive picturesque house once and enjoyed its charm, enjoyed the sweep of pastoral beauty on the slopes below it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Pheasants and mountain quail in gardens. the McCauley farm is lush and lovely on both sides of the road. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Down the dim cathedral woods to McKay harbor. Hemlock, white fir, and cedar. Long, curving beach washed by gentle surf. Crows on a fence. The pretty white Tralness house above the beach and a lavender-pink mass of starry flowers on the edge of the road. Out in the harbor, a gray slick rock tipped with seagulls.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In Barlow's Bay a great flower-covered rock. Lacy yellow blooms. Sedum is about to burst into fragrant blossoms. Dark blue verbena-like flowers, bell-like flowers. Crane's bill. A creamy white bell-like flower––how tantalizing not to know the names of these sweets! You would not live here so long without knowing all the flowers by their real and common names, would you? Well, I knew them once. And I shall know them again!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We climb up into the woods and around the outer bluff of the island to find Washington's profile. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-9fdCqYBwzLGPifrtOFNeGFCrXmrwfLWb1D57AsT3jEIfw0Bi1Kit1DHGut2NGMhMm7pu8XUcQt1KJulplAxT-wCHlKAr8HqLokJniAXC5HZ0L_Mw3hek_LuD0GeUyHdB-LoVro3V9QyrEwtPUSa5svuYxSCsmKFKLxC_fX_g5J-l86BGuDaJXTj/s1568/Washington%20Head~~rppc:Lopez.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1568" data-original-width="992" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-9fdCqYBwzLGPifrtOFNeGFCrXmrwfLWb1D57AsT3jEIfw0Bi1Kit1DHGut2NGMhMm7pu8XUcQt1KJulplAxT-wCHlKAr8HqLokJniAXC5HZ0L_Mw3hek_LuD0GeUyHdB-LoVro3V9QyrEwtPUSa5svuYxSCsmKFKLxC_fX_g5J-l86BGuDaJXTj/w253-h400/Washington%20Head~~rppc:Lopez.JPG" width="253" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="color: #6fa8dc;">Washington's profile<br />A rock formation on Lopez Island<br />that went by several names.<br />June Burn mentions the<br />landmark in this essay.<br />Click image to enlarge.</span><br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>We find the bluff where the face used to be, but something seems to have happened to the nose, or else we have not come to the right place.</p><p>But we find dark blue camas in bloom. And against an old abandoned house a gorgeous lilac heavy with purple flowers. The woods are full of wildflowers. Lady slippers, Oregon grape, starflower. Soapalalee will be along presently. From these berries, the Natives make a bitter foam which some call Native ice cream.</p><p>Across the island, is John Thompson's big lonely house where the white-headed old mariner lives alone. He promises to take us with him to Smith's island next Monday. </p><p>The Mud Bay schoolhouse and Eaton's pretty home. On up and around to the Vogt loghouse built a half-century ago of alder logs mind you. Inside, an old square piano, hooked rugs in original designs, and handsome ship models made by the son while tending fishtraps. Outside, flowers and blossoming fruit trees and green meadows and the forest not a hundred yards away. A lovely place.</p><p>Well, you needn't think I can go all over the whole island in one letter! See you tomorrow. June"</p><p>June Burn. Puget Soundings May 1930</p><p><br /></p>Saltwater People Historical Societyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16694276140985783007noreply@blogger.com0