❖ UMATILLA on a REGULAR RUN with an IRREGULAR CAPTAIN ❖

UMATILLA
Built 1881
Undated, original photo collected by J. Williamson,
photographer unknown.
From the archives of the S.P.H.S.©

"While hijacking an ocean liner is theoretically more practicable than trying to divert a passenger train from its ordained course, it poses many problems. Several thousand tons of very solid steel make a much less vulnerable target for gun or bomb than does or a thin-skinned airliner, and there is a crew of from fifty to several hundred widely dispersed and horny-fisted seamen and engineers to contend with. For these and other reasons, hijackings were rare on the coastwise sea lanes. The few which were attempted were not successful.
      Some were farcial from beginning to end. Back in 1903 the old Pacific Coast Steamship liner, UMATILLA, set out from Seattle on her regular run to San Francisco. Along the way a passenger, either mentally deranged or overcome by the liberal service of the UMATILLA's bar, became convinced that he was the ship's captain and the only man aboard who could save her from disaster.
      Mounting to the bridge, he began issuing orders to the crew, much to the amazement of Capt. Louis Nopander, the steamer's veteran skipper. Finding the uninvited guest to be harmless, Capt. Nopander decided to humor him. The self-appointed navigator remained on the bridge all the way down the coast, periodically bellowing orders that he felt essential to the safety of the ship. The crew responded politely with "Aye, aye, sirs" and went on about their business.
       At San Francisco the deluded passenger politely turned the bridge back over to Capt. Nopander before being escorted ashore by several men in white coats."
Above text from the Sea Rogues' Gallery. Newell, Gordon. Superior Publishing Co. 1971.
1918, 5 March
One of the best known of the Pacific coastwise fleet and the survivor of many a stranding during her years of service, finally became an apparent total loss in the offshore service of Admiral Oriental Line. The UMATILLA, the old iron steamship, stranded off the coast of Japan this day. All of the 55 persons aboard were removed safely, but the veteran steamship, built in 1881, was considered to be a hopeless wreck and was abandoned. In subsequent months a sandbar gradually built up between the wreck and the shore and the Japanese took advantage of this development to dismantle the UMATILLA plate by plate. They later reassembled the vessel from plans obtained from the original builders, and this remarkable and virtually indestructible craft was subsequently operated for many years as a Japanese steamship.  
The H.W. McCurdy Marine History of the PNW. Newell, Gordon. Seattle. (1966)    

❖ FREIGHT JITNEY going down ❖

JITNEY
ON 167601
Built Tacoma in 1919.
896 G.t. / 896 N.t.
130.9' x 35.2' x 9.3'
Back stamped date of May 1938.
Documented until 1946.

All that was visible of the barge JITNEY of Anacortes, WA after she sank in Elliott Bay, Seattle. She was loaded with 35,000 cases of empty cans, consigned to a floating cannery. She had just undergone repairs at Tacoma.

❖ CHIEF ENGINEER without an engine

Schooner AZALEA
ON 106787
Built 1890, Fairhaven, CA.
344 G.t. 327 N.t. 
150' x 35' x 11'
This photo hung in the office of Rich Exton for many years.
Photo kindly donated by Miles McCoy of Orcas Island.

"About 1914, the AZALEA went into the Bering Sea long line cod fishing. I heard she carried 24 dories for Robinson Fisheries of Anacortes. About 1920, Robinson remodeled her, put a full deck house on and installed a one-line, one-pound, tall-can salmon fish cannery. They didn't make any money.

SCHOONER AZALEA, Seattle
Leaving for the Bering.
Click to enlarge.
A little later than Eber Bruns employment.
Undated, original photo by James A. Turner of Seattle.
 From the archives of S.P.H.S.©

In 1924 I went up on her. That year we all signed on before a shipping commissioner. When he asked the skipper my duties he said 'chief engineer.' So I was chief engineer of a full rigged schooner with no power.

Eber Bruns, the highest in the rigging.
Image shared by his daughter, Ellen.

      My job with the cannery was to try and keep all engines workable, cannery boat, beach seine winches, outboards and any other thing that needed doing. That included running the cannery for about 10 days when the foreman got sick. I went back again in 1925. Long hours when the fish were running good, but fun in lots of ways.
      I was furnished a boat the first year, a 32-ft troller with a 16-HP. The second year, a 44-ft seiner with 40-HP. We used to run her up and down the coastline so I could check the winches the fishermen used on the beach for pulling seine.
      The schooner was anchored out from shore about 1/2-mile in the middle of the long bay. We had to bring water from shore in a scow, out to the cannery. We had a chute fixed up at a creek to fill the scow, then pumped it aboard.
      The AZALEA was towed from Seattle to off Cape Flattery. They sailed across the Gulf. We were met by one of our power boats and towed into Zacher Bay, Kodiak Island, AK."
Above text by Eber Bruns  (1902-1982). Shared with web admin by his daughter Ellen Madan.

1939: SOPHIE CHRISTENSON, AZALEA, and WAWONA made up the Bering Sea codfishing fleet this year, making a combined catch of 863,263 fish.

1946: Robinson Fisheries received WAWONA back from the government, succeeded in refitting her, but the AZALEA was hard-used by the Army as a barge and was not returned to service by Robinsons. AZALEA ended up in Sausalito Harbor where she sunk, stern to the old schooner BEULAH of 1882.

❖ Eber was born on Lopez Island, raised on Blind Bay, Shaw Island and then later moved with his wife, to raise their children on Orcas Island. 
      Bruns worked on the mailboat SAN JUAN II, under ownership of San Juan Transportation Company out of Bellingham, the work boat CALCITE of Roche Harbor, towing scows of lime rock to paper mills down sound, as an engineer on SALMONERO for Henry Cayou of Deer Harbor, as engineer on the ARTHUR FOSS, and on the M.V. FEARLESS, buying fish for Capt. Jones for the Deer Harbor Cannery. 
      After his time as a well-known commercial boatman on Puget Sound, the Orcas Power and Light Company hired Eber as chief engineer and operations superintendent, where he kept things running for almost thirty years.

Cod fishing schooner AZALEA 
Winter moorage tucked in behind
her big friend WAWONA.
Undated photograph by James A. Turner, Seattle. 
Original from the archives of S.P.H.S.©

❖ MAIL ON THE BEACH ❖

S.S. ISLAND MAIL (474-ft)
Adjacent to the Anacortes ferry landing.
No injuries. 
Standing by in this photo, 
the USCG, an unknown tug, 
and the beautiful Seattle yacht THEA FOSS.
Wire photo from the archives of the S.P.H.S.©

"The C-2 motorship ISLAND MAIL of American Mail Line, commanded by Capt. H.D. Smith and in charge of Capt. Dewey Soriano, Puget Sound pilot, struck a submerged object off Smith Island between Port Townsend and Anacortes, 29 May 1961. 
      A 134-ft gash, ten feet in width, was torn in the vessel's hull on the starboard side although the inner hull was only slightly penetrated. Even so, it was necessary to beach her in 25-ft of water off Fidalgo Island to prevent her sinking in deep water. Following temporary repairs, she was towed to the Todd Seattle Yard for dry docking and major repairs. The litigation was lengthy."
Above text from the H.W. McCurdy's Marine History of the PNW. Newell, Gordon. Superior.(1966)
San Juan County mariner, Skip Bold, has memories of viewing this scene on one of his early trips to the family summer house in the islands. Skip and his dad had driven up to park in the car lanes to await a westbound ferry, looked over the hood, and saw this big girl within 200-ft of the shore.

❖ MONDAY'S MARINERS, manning SLO-MO 10 ❖

Merlin Montgomery at the outboard and
Cecil Padfield stood by with pike pole.
Carpenters aboard SLO-MO 10
Seattle Army Terminal.
Click to enlarge.
Original photo back stamped 15 July 1956,
from the archives of S.P.H.S.©

Thousands of hydroplane participants have heard of one SLO-MO but this particular one was only known by a few people in the Seattle Army Terminal.

      It was a craft made up of four old hot-water tanks, about 60-gallon capacity each, planked over with lumber and powered by an outboard motor.

      Horsepower of this SLO-MO: 10.

      Purpose: To transport her crew safely around Elliott Bay, while the men aboard checked the condition of the pilings and the fender logs that took the brunt of the shock when huge transports slid in at the piers.

      Skipper of this informal SLO-MO was Merlin F. Montgomery, carpenter in the engineering division, who had been with the Seattle Army Terminal since 1950.

      "It's nice work," said Montgomery. "Oh, it gets kind of miserable in the winter, but it's all right."

      It must be more than that, because Montgomery knew just how to employ his spare time out of hunting season––he went salt-water fishing.

      Poling about among the pilings with Merlin was his first Mate, Cecil A. Padfield, who had worked as a carpenter at Fort Lawton and the Naval Ammunition Depot.

      The SLO-MO wasn't always as fancy as she was at this time. Her predecessors were mere logs, lashed together and powered by a similar motor.

      When pilings need replacement, Montgomery and Padfield advised their superiors, who called in a contractor.

      When the horizontal fender logs needed replacement, the two men did the work themselves. Those were the logs that took the most punishment from the hulls of the big ships.

      Cedar fender logs lasted about 10 years; fir, five or six.

      Montgomery operated the motor of the SLO-MO as the men went about their daily chores. They towed new fender logs from a nearby pier when needed, drilled 2-inch holes, inserted a ferrule, ran through a 40-ft cable and attached a block of concrete.

      Logs weren't drilled before being placed in the water, or they wouldn't be balanced. About 200 of them were in use at the Seattle Army Terminal.

      The two men had electric drills, bars, wrenches and life jackets.

      Looking for trouble wasn't half as bothersome as finding it. In emergencies, the men went out regardless of weather. Their toughest spots were at the end of piers, where there was the most wind and motion.

      Men of humor, Montgomery and Padfield knew how to salute an exciting sport.

      They called their craft the SLO-MO in affectionate fun, for obvious reasons.

Research from The Seattle Times, 15 July 1956.