by captrmetz » December 27, 2014, 10:53 am
I was all finished with my tour of duty for the 1996 season and was planning on spending Christmas at home with my family. Then the office called to ask if I would come back up for one last trip, since the Oakglen’s regular captain was hospitalized in Owen Sound with heart troubles.
Well, I could not refuse, because I knew the crew also wanted to make it home for Christmas. I agreed to fly back up to join the ship in Owen Sound. After all, it was only December 20th. The trip to Thunder Bay and back to Owen Sound would only take a few days, and we could all celebrate Christmas at home.
When I got aboard Oakglen, the chief had the engine all warmed up and ready to go. We turned in the harbor and headed out through the breakwall into Georgian Bay. We had a nice run up to the Soo and across Lake Superior.
“Piece of cake,” I thought as we tied up to Pool #1 in Thunder Bay. I figured we would be loaded and out later that night and back to Owen Sound in plenty of time to make it home for the holidays.
Then I received the afternoon Mafor, and southwest gales were up for all of Lake Superior. We finished loading and departed Thunder Bay for the last time that year.
My plan was to run down past Rock of Ages Light far enough for me to get the wind somewhat on my stern. Meanwhile, the wind increased to storm, so I decided to wait it out behind Pie Island where we dropped the hook.
Winter storms do not diminish as quickly as summer storms on the big lake. They can blow for several days before dying down. Just because we wanted to get home, I knew it would be one of those long storms. There went our Christmas at home. We would spend it aboard ship.
At the same time, Captain Richard Samson of Mapleglen was upbound for his layup load to be taken on at Thunder Bay. Because of the storm, he went to anchor in Bete Grise Bay. Both ships lay at anchor at opposide sides of the lake waiting for weather. We conversed with each other and checked on the wind conditions by VHF marine radio.
I left word on the bridge to watch the smoke coming out of a large power plant stack in Thunder Bay. When the smoke started to blow from the west, we would try to make the crossing to Copper Harbor. A west wind would be on our stern and afford a comfortable ride across the lake.
Finally the wind began blowing from the west. We waited a few more hours in order to give the lake time to die down before crossing.
That evening, I decided to give it a try, so up came the hook and we departed for the Rock. Abeam of Rock of Ages Light, I hauled her around for a course that would bring us off Copper Harbor. When we came to our course, it seemed that she was going to ride pretty good.
As luck would have it, though, a strong southwest sea was still left over from the storm, and we were rolling pretty good. So I turned around and went back to anchor behind Pie Island.
The wind was still out of the west the next day, so I tried it again. This time the sea had died down enough to make a good ride out of it.
As the cold wind blew down from the north and over the warmer Lake Superior waters, sea smoke started to form in swirling columns of thick fog over the water. It was an eerie sight, like something from another planet.
I called the Mapleglen and told Richard, “We’re underway, and she’s riding good.”
“We’re underway, too, and riding good,” he said.
I figured we would meet each other at mid-lake, so I left word to call me when Mapleglen was picked up on radar, and I went below.
I got the call when the Mapleglen was close. Because of the Arctic sea smoke, we passed about a half-mile apart without seeing one another.
I called Mapleglen and third mate Norman McKay answered. “Merry Christmas to you, the captain, and the crew, from Oakglen,” I said.
“Yah, okay, Cap,” was Norm’s answer.
It was December 25, 1999. The crews of both boats were down in the dumps because they did not make it home in time for Christmas.
The galley department, however, prepared the Oakglen’s crew a wonderful Christmas dinner of roast duck, prime rib, and all the goodies that go along with it. I posted a note on the board that any man who wished to call his family to wish them a Merry Christmas could use my phone to make the call and talk for as long as he liked. Every man called home, and the atmosphere aboard the Oakglen improved on that Christmas Day
- Attachments
-
- The Mighty Oak
I was all finished with my tour of duty for the 1996 season and was planning on spending Christmas at home with my family. Then the office called to ask if I would come back up for one last trip, since the Oakglen’s regular captain was hospitalized in Owen Sound with heart troubles.
Well, I could not refuse, because I knew the crew also wanted to make it home for Christmas. I agreed to fly back up to join the ship in Owen Sound. After all, it was only December 20th. The trip to Thunder Bay and back to Owen Sound would only take a few days, and we could all celebrate Christmas at home.
When I got aboard Oakglen, the chief had the engine all warmed up and ready to go. We turned in the harbor and headed out through the breakwall into Georgian Bay. We had a nice run up to the Soo and across Lake Superior.
“Piece of cake,” I thought as we tied up to Pool #1 in Thunder Bay. I figured we would be loaded and out later that night and back to Owen Sound in plenty of time to make it home for the holidays.
Then I received the afternoon Mafor, and southwest gales were up for all of Lake Superior. We finished loading and departed Thunder Bay for the last time that year.
My plan was to run down past Rock of Ages Light far enough for me to get the wind somewhat on my stern. Meanwhile, the wind increased to storm, so I decided to wait it out behind Pie Island where we dropped the hook.
Winter storms do not diminish as quickly as summer storms on the big lake. They can blow for several days before dying down. Just because we wanted to get home, I knew it would be one of those long storms. There went our Christmas at home. We would spend it aboard ship.
At the same time, Captain Richard Samson of Mapleglen was upbound for his layup load to be taken on at Thunder Bay. Because of the storm, he went to anchor in Bete Grise Bay. Both ships lay at anchor at opposide sides of the lake waiting for weather. We conversed with each other and checked on the wind conditions by VHF marine radio.
I left word on the bridge to watch the smoke coming out of a large power plant stack in Thunder Bay. When the smoke started to blow from the west, we would try to make the crossing to Copper Harbor. A west wind would be on our stern and afford a comfortable ride across the lake.
Finally the wind began blowing from the west. We waited a few more hours in order to give the lake time to die down before crossing.
That evening, I decided to give it a try, so up came the hook and we departed for the Rock. Abeam of Rock of Ages Light, I hauled her around for a course that would bring us off Copper Harbor. When we came to our course, it seemed that she was going to ride pretty good.
As luck would have it, though, a strong southwest sea was still left over from the storm, and we were rolling pretty good. So I turned around and went back to anchor behind Pie Island.
The wind was still out of the west the next day, so I tried it again. This time the sea had died down enough to make a good ride out of it.
As the cold wind blew down from the north and over the warmer Lake Superior waters, sea smoke started to form in swirling columns of thick fog over the water. It was an eerie sight, like something from another planet.
I called the Mapleglen and told Richard, “We’re underway, and she’s riding good.”
“We’re underway, too, and riding good,” he said.
I figured we would meet each other at mid-lake, so I left word to call me when Mapleglen was picked up on radar, and I went below.
I got the call when the Mapleglen was close. Because of the Arctic sea smoke, we passed about a half-mile apart without seeing one another.
I called Mapleglen and third mate Norman McKay answered. “Merry Christmas to you, the captain, and the crew, from Oakglen,” I said.
“Yah, okay, Cap,” was Norm’s answer.
It was December 25, 1999. The crews of both boats were down in the dumps because they did not make it home in time for Christmas.
The galley department, however, prepared the Oakglen’s crew a wonderful Christmas dinner of roast duck, prime rib, and all the goodies that go along with it. I posted a note on the board that any man who wished to call his family to wish them a Merry Christmas could use my phone to make the call and talk for as long as he liked. Every man called home, and the atmosphere aboard the Oakglen improved on that Christmas Day