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From the air you can see the traffic . . . the sinuous lines it scribes into the legendary river.
From the bank, you can see sometimes three tugs abreast (l. to r. Bobby Jones-1966, David G. Sehrt-1965, and Born Again-1974) pushing more than a dozen barges slipping around the turn between Algiers and the 9th Ward. And when I say slipping, I mean even big vessels seem to slide through this crescent. That erosion in the foreground bespeaks higher water.
Uh . . . a variation on seasnake?
Close-up of McLean.
I’m back at work in environs of the sixth boro, and this is the last set about Nola strictly defined. Tomorrow I hope to put up some fotos from a jaunt-within-a-gallivant southwest from the Crescent City, a truly magical place to which I really must return soon because there’s much I’ve yet to understand . . . like why
And is it true there’s a nun driving a tugboat somewhere on the Lower Mississippi? Here’s a ghost story, and if you have a chance to find it, listen to Austin Lounge Lizard’s “Boudreaux was a Nutcase.”
All fotos by Will Van Dorp, who also has tons of fotos from Panama to put up.
I’m deep in the “fog of travel,” a phrase I learned from David Hindin. So only the facts, here:
If you didn’t see it yesterday, check out bowsprite’s nola.
Muddy water fast and wide separates St. Louis Cathedral from
Tugboat New Orleans assists Power Steel make
Capt. Jimmy T. Moran, developed for the Panama Canal but never used there, heads downriver for an assist while
It would be easy to stay here longer, but . . .
Many more Louisiana fotos to come though.
If that wheel is working, then it can’t be anything in the sixth boro. These fotos of the steamer Natchez come from Capt. Justin Zizes.
who took them here in the proximity of the Greater New Orleans Bridge. Natchez the hull is a half century newer than her engine and machinery.
Tug in the foreground is Angus R. Cooper. I’m not sure what the pusher tug with barge is.
And a thousand miles to the northeast and fully accessible by water . . . a foto from Detroit, thanks to Ken of MichiganExposures, showing Wisconsin-built, New Jersey-powered Canadian-flagged bulk carrier Saginaw. Meeting Saginaw is mailboat J. W. Westcott.
Navigator? Sea Shuttle? Anyhow, bound from Rhode Island to Virginia.
These fotos compliments of Allen Baker, whose fotos ran previously here and here … and other places. Elsbeth II (featured in a New Yorker story by Burkhard Bilger in April 19, 2010) tows dead ship Horizon Crusader to be scrapped At Southern Recycling. Elsbeth II is a triple-screw boat built by Smith Maritime‘s owner, Latham Smith.
Of the two Crescent vessels, Point Clear minds the stern and another tug escorts on port. Tug alongside on starboard . . . identified with Harold Tartell’s help … is Angus R. Cooper (1965, ex-Paragon, Anthony St. Philip).
Crusader‘s older sib–Challenger–seems to languish in Bayonne. Anyone know what’s happening with Challenger? It did make at least one trip south recently, but now it seems idled again. [[Thanks to Jeff Schurr: Said Bayonne vessel is NOT Challenger but rather Discovery, which explains why I thought she (Challenger) had quickly deteriorated into her former condition. ]] Jeff, thanks for the correction.
Also, down along the big river recently was Paul T. Moran, 1975, ex-Ocean Venture, S/R Golden State, Exxon Golden State, and Eliska. Paul T. appeared here light back more than two years ago.
Also along the big river, from left to right: Bluefin (2009), Susan W (1982, ex-General Lee), Gladys B (1937), and Capt. Albert 1931, ex-Miss Sarah) .
Many thanks to Allen and Harold.
A quick post before headed out roadstering. Moran tugs Edward J and Diane await.
I don’t know the company here, but from right to left: Ponca (in dry dock), John Parrish, and Sara Kaitlin.
Closeup of drydock near the end of shift on New Year’s Eve.
All fotos by Will Van Dorp. More as soon as the roads, wi-fi hot spots, and all other factors allow.
I’ll never claim to know all the sixth boro stories although I’ve chosen as a goal to hear more of them. Savannah has a great waterfront story. See if you can figure it out from this set of fotos; I will explain at the end of post. Call this . . . what’s Flo Mar’s tale? Call her Florence Martus, if you want, and click here for the spoiler if you wish, but indulge me and see the fotos first. She did get a Liberty ship named for her. Be a sport, and follow the fotos.
She waves at Hoechst Express, whose crew wave back, as do
crew on YM Los Angeles, once they see what they’re seeking.
So is it the friendly waterfront, the large hotel windows convenient for … er … flashing, accidental or intentional, something else? But anyhow, crews seemed vigilant
binoculars at the ready to find waving folk,
waving girls maybe,
and then they wave back with exuberance no matter the ship.
Crew of Morning Chorus not only waved but also shouted audible new year’s greetings to lubbers reveling alongshore.
So Savannah’s hospitality has gotten enshrined. So the story of Flo Mar, as reported in Savannah & the Georgia Coast by Jim Morekis goes like this:
“Beginning at age 19, Flo Mar–who actually lived a few miles downriver on Elba Island–took to greeting every passing ship with a wave of a handkerchief by day and a lantern at night, without fail for the next 40 (plus) years. Ship captains would often return the greeting with a salute of their own on the ship’s whistle, and word spread all over the world of the beguiling woman who waited on the balcony of that lonely house.
Was she looking for a sign of a long lost love who went to sea and never returned? Was she trying to get a handsome sea captain to sweep her off her feet and take her off that little island? No one knows for sure.”
Now I began by denying expertise about New York stories, and harbor folk surrounding the sixth boro may very well have characters as compelling as Flo Mar. I just don’t know them. Anyone throw out some names? Of course, New York does have a very impressive waving girl of its own aka Lady Liberty, as I wrote about here.
One of my favorite New York City novels begins to enlarge the intriguing truth of a failed writer named Herman Melville working out his last days as a night (the insignificant shift) customs inspector in the harbor. Melville actually held this post for 19 years starting around 1866. The novel, The Night Inspector by Frederick Busch, is a great read if you’re trying to see the sixth boro of another era.