Marooned

It has been said by my wife that when I was sailing full time that I knew the location of every pay phone within a half mile of any given water front on the eastern seaboard. Speaking with all modesty, I would say that she is, in all probability, right. Finding a phone wasn't a problem; sometimes the problem started after one got inside the booth. Like the one on Mulgrave wharf.

We had left Dalhousie, NB, headed for St.John, with the dredge "Crane Master"plus three mud scows, and after towing down the northeast coast of New Brunswick and through Northumberland Strait, we arrived at the north entrance of Canso Locks, with a howling gale from the nor'west behind us.

I was second engineer on the "Irving Birch"with my good buddy Dan Cumby as chief. Cecil Kilfoy from Marystown, NL, was skipper. As second I was standing the twelve to six watch, and Dan the six to twelve. We arrived at the lock at supper time and Cecil told me that he intended to  pend the night in Mulgrave, and that I could take a run home if I wanted. Dan, as usual, relieved me at five thirty, so I could eat without the cook growling that he had to work overtime.

I finished supper and went to my cabin and laid down on the bunk. We were still on the north wall outside the lock. It wasn't my intention, but I drifted off to sleep, and was awakened by the Birch bumping the dock at Mulgrave.

With my phone booth homing instinct up and running, I jumped out of the bunk, and grabbing some change off my desk ( it turned out to be not enough) out the door, out on deck, taking no stock of what was going down, and made for the phone booth, it's austere utility drawing me toward it as a junky is drawn toward his next fix.

Fishing around in my meagre change I found a quarter and dialled home. Carol answered on the second ring. "Come get me, I said, "I'm in Mulgrave" "There's no gas in the car," she replied, "And Warren is closed" 

After a five minute lecture on the virtues of keeping the tank full in the 455 CI Rocket, I happened to glance over my shoulder, only to see the Birch's stern light disappearing around the point.

It was the 3rd of December, the snow from the sporadic flurries was swirling around on the wharf in the glare of the mercury vapour floodlights. Down the face of the wharf were two herring seiners; tied up, the crews gone home to Grand Manan or Campobello, or wherever, and one of the mud scows from our tow.

When one sails in a salvage tug, one fact stands clear. Salvage is paramount above any other tow job. When I saw the stern disappear around the point, my first thought was, "Oh, oh, salvage call"! Here I was in a phone booth, in early December, dressed only in work shirt and trousers in the pockets of which was the grand total of forty one cents. "Listen," I said to my wife, "Call Canso Traffic and find out from the operator where the Birch is headed and have them hold her at the lock until I can get there provided I can find a taxi, and tell him/her
to tell the Birch that the second engineer is on Mulgrave wharf!" "Then call me back at this number." The pay phone # was missing one digit, which looked as if it had been deleted by some type of diabolical prankster. She finally called back, getting the pay phone. by trial and error.

By now I was in the early stages of hypothermia. She said the Birch is coming back to Mulgrave; so don't worry. She had good news too; Twila ( my niece ) was headed down to pick me up. Looked out the door of the booth and sure 'nuff, here come the tug with another piece of the tow. Cecil split it up to make for better handling at the lock.

When I left home early next morning it was blowing so hard that, as the old timers round home used to say, "A gull couldn't fly to win'dard!" The nor'west wind had veered to the west and it had every indication of a prolonged blow.

Cecil asked what it was doing outside,( meaning off the shore home) "I figgered that" he said. "I guess we'll stay put" It was virtually calm in the strait.

Someone said in the mess room that we only had a day to go before crew change.... the next day our month would be punched in. Cecil was a bit reticent about calling St. John about this matter, so the old Lunenburger mate, Gibby Mossman, said "I'll call dem, you!"He did and they agreed to crew change early next morning. I got to go home again that night. The late fall gale had intensified, and looking out between the islands, one could see low lying black clouds racing along the horizon; the bay was a white smother and to coin a Seal Harbour meteorological phrase, it looked like it was "Going to bail the sound
dry!!"

At breakfast we discussed the weather and Gibby said to no one in particular, "I bet you he takes her out as soon as he gets his gang aboard" This was a reference to the on-coming skipper, who lived in West Arichat, as did most of his crew. Actually he had visited the day previous, and wanted to know "Why are you not steamin' for St.John?" We had handed over to the oncoming crew and were on our way about 1030 am., I arrived home around noon to find the westerly still raging but gradually decreased 'going down with the sun' as it were. About 800pm I was talking to my sister, Ardie, on Green Island and
she mentioned that there was a lot of lights down outside Hew Harbour Ledge, and I thought, "Here comes Elias with the tow; he must of had a great day of it!"

In another forty minutes I could see the tow out between the islands and it was clear that 'lias was planning to make a lee in the bay, but to my surprise he kept on going up to the wharf, so of course, I flashed up the 455 and Carol and I went up to see what had transpired.

It was bad. Elias had as Gibby has opined, got underway immediately and when he reached Charlie Alpha, the Racon buoy that marks the south limits of Canso Strait he wished fervently that the tow was still at Mulgrave wharf. He kept on slugging to the west'ard and sou'west of Andrew Island he parted the tow. The hind most scow broke away, and Elias decided he would try and pick it up, even tho' he was burdened by the dredge and the two remaining scows. Bad move! By the time he had made three failed attempts, the errant scow was in Dover Bay with very little sea room left, he figured it was now or never, so he came
alongside it inside of Horne Shoal, and in the chaos breaking seas from the prolonged westerly the scow, or one corner of it, came through the tugs hull on the starboard side, opening a gash about four by six feet in the crews mess room.  

The moral here is "Sail in haste; weld in leisure."


Don.

Lost in the Chic Chocs

 We put the tug alongside the wall in Gaspe town and proceeded to clean her up, for it was crew change day. George Vallis, skipper, Rudy Crowell, mate, me as chief engineer and stuttering Mike McManus as my second, plus three deckhands, my oiler, and last, but not least. Phil Bonin, our cook, who hailed  from  Arichat;  what you might call a Motley Cru. We scrubbed and polished, ate dinner; scrubbed and polished some more and had finished supper by the time the relief crew arrived in  a huge Dodge van from St. John. ( Capitaine Bruno Verrault et ses Chevaliers de Mer.) All from La belle provence. *

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*Well, after the handover we got our gear on the dock and into the van. George announced that he would have to drive, because; “ Dis van is only insured for me, b’y “ So that being settled with no argument, we took off through Gaspe town at a rate of knots that made the local speed demons turn green with envy.*

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*It was a beautiful fall evening as we motored happily along the north shore of the Baie de Chaluer; everybody happy, filled with anticipatory thoughts of being home tomorrow. Until Skipper Vallis made a wrong turn, and we found ourselves in tall timber. Flogging the van along at an excellent speed we rounded a sharp turn and there straddling the yellow line was a bull moose that would make the Bone and Crockett record book.*

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*George didn’t appear to be overly devout, but when in a serious crisis, afloat he would always ask for devine guidance. He did now, somewhere south of Muidochville. Looking at the visor he shouted, “ What’ll I do, God. ?” The answer must have been instaneous, because he gave the wheel a slat and the fourteen passenger Dodge heeled over to port clearing the moose by a hair’s breadth. Rudy, who was siting in the jump seat looked back at me and said in his Cape Island accent, “ I wonder how long it will take him to grow da hair back on his hocks.*

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*We drove endlessly on through the night. About eleven of the clock George’s son-in0law, Barry Yow, had the temerity to ask George if he knew where he was. ‘ Yes, ‘by, I always knows where I is.”*

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*We finally camr to a sign that said we were sixteen miles from Ste. Ann de Mont. We had driven through to the St. Lawrence side of the peninsula.*

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*To shorten this tale of woe; four o’clock in the morning found us in New Richmond with the hand on number two fuel tank on the empty mark. We came to a taxi stand. George blew the horn and the dispatcher came out. George said to Phil; “ Ask him lf there’s a gas station open in town. “ So Phil parle voused the guy and the word was that down the street two blocks and turn left.*

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*We followed the direction and came to a Shell station. “ Dis is no good, ‘ by, I can’t use Mr. H’irving credit card here, he wouldn/t like dat, sure ! “ We had been on the road ten hours at this point and was still only within hailing distance of the tug; I with the rest of the crowd was thoroughly pissed off with Georgie, so I said, “ George, if you feel that Arthur Irving will be hurt if you use an Irving card here at this Shell station, you’re nuts. ! “ Pull into the damn pumps and
I’ll fill it with my card.!! “ George bent, and used the company card  and when both tanks were full we continued on westward along the north shore toward Paspebiac, through New Carlisle, finally crossing the Restigouche River to breakfast in Campbellton.*

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*On the road again and George fell asleep, and near lost the van and it’s occupants over a steep bank. There was an on the spot mutiny, and George conceded to our terms and let Allan Johnson drive. By now, I had missed my morning flight to Halifax, and I wasn’t a happy camper *

*About eleven o’clock we pulled up in front of the dispatch office on Broad Street wharf and threw our luggage out. Bob MacDonald, the crewing coordinator was there and he said to me, “ Don, drive the van up to
Hertz, will you, ? I’ll follow you and run you out to the airport. I said, “ George told us the van was insured for his use only, so he should be driving it up to Hertz.” Bob gave a snort and replied that the van could be driven by any Atlantic Towing employee, regardless of gender, just so long as they had a valid license, Go figure. !!*

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*June 29, 2008,*

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*Sydney, NS*