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Today the sixth boro and environs face Henri, whose story is yet to be told. August 26, 2011 . . . I was at the Staten Island Ferry terminal, and these Hurricane Irene signs were up. When Irene’s story was told, it had done unusual damage upstate far from salt water; here’s more. Some repairs took until 2016 to complete. From here I took the ferry to Whitehall in Manhattan, and then over I walked to South Street Seaport, where I wanted to see storm preparations. See the story at the end of this post.
In late August 2011, I was documenting a slow decomposition, getting footage of what became a documentary film called Graves of Arthur Kill. Gary Kane was the producer; I was the director, or something. If you’ve not yet seen the documentary, you can order it by clicking on the disintegrating wooden tugboat image along the left aside of this blog page. Some of the vessels in this post are discussed by multiple sources in the documentary. Keep in mind that these photos and the footage in the doc recorded these scenes a decade ago, almost to the day. Hurricanes, freezing and thawing, and just plain daily oxidation have ravaged these already decrepit vessels for another 10 years, so if you were to go to these exact locations, not an easy feat, you’d see a devolution.
I’m not going to re-identify all these boats–already done elsewhere and in the doc–except to say we saw a variety of boats like this tanker above and the WW2 submarine chaser alongside it.
Other WW2 vessels repurposed for post-war civilian purposes are there. More were there but had been scrapped prior to 2011.
See the rust sprouting out from behind WW2 haze gray.
In the past decade, the steam stack on this coastal ferry has collapsed, and the top deck of the ferry to the right has squatted into the ooze below.
Some steel-hulled steam tugboats we never managed to identify much more than maybe attributing a name; they’d been here so long that no one remained alive who worked on them or wanted to talk about them.
We used a rowboat and had permission to film there, but the amount of decomposing metal and wood in the water made it nearly impossible to safely move through here. We never got out of the boat to climb onto any of these wrecks. That would be if not Russian roulette then possibly some other form of tempting fate.
Most emblematic of the boats there might be this boat, USS ATR-89, with its struggling, try-to-get-back-afloat stance. She was built in Manitowoc, WI, a town I’ve since frequently visited.
Wooden hulls, wooden superstructure . . . I’m surprised they’ve lasted as long as they have.
Since taking this photo in August 2011, I’ve learned a lot about this boat and its four sisters, one of whom is now called Day Peckinpaugh.
I’ve spent a lot of hours this month pulling together info on Day Peckinpaugh, launched as Interwaterways Line 101; the sister vessel above and below was launched in July 1921 in Duluth as Interwaterways Line 105. The ghost writing in the photo below says Michigan, the name she carried during the years she ran bulk caustic soda between the Michigan Alkali plant in Wyandotte MI and Jersey City NJ via the Erie Canal. Anyone local have photos of this vessel in the sixth boro or the Hudson River? I have a photo of her taken in 1947 transiting a lock in the NYS Canal system, but I’ll hold off on posting that for a few weeks when the stories come out. What you’re looking at above and below is the remnants of a vessel currently one century and one month old.
The Interwaterways Line boats were designed by Capt. Alexander McDougall, who also designed the whalebacks of the Great Lakes, like Meteor. Here‘s a whole blog devoted to McDougall’s whalebacks.
This ferry used to run between Newburgh and Beacon; on this day in August 2011, we just rowed our boat onto the auto deck.
At the beginning of this post I mentioned Hurricane Irene and going over to South Street Seaport Museum. Two of these vessels here have seen a lot of TLC$ in the past decade. That’s a good ending for now. Helen, with the McAllister stack, is still afloat and waiting.
All photos in August 2011, WVD.
A final sentiment on Graves of Arthur Kill . . . Gary Kane and I set out to document what was actually in this much-discussed boneyard; we wanted to name and show what existed, acknowledge what had existed but was already gone, and dispel some of the legends of this place. We were both very proud of the work and happy with this review in Wired magazine. If you still want to write a review, get in touch. It would be like writing a series review of Gilligan’s Island, but still a worthy exercise.
Last Friday I rubbed my eyes after seeing a “shadow” on a section of the KVK. Results of dredging, I wondered? An issue of oil? Problems in my perception? Some time later, I looked back and the color differentiation of waters
had moved. That recalled this scene back in June . . . a v-shaped force that swung large ships, each in the same direction as it was engulfed.
And back to Friday, here’s how the water streaks evolved. It must be fresh river waters . . . with their silt load, I then concluded. Click here for Vlad’s post commenting on the same phenomenon. And Fred tug44 sent these fotos from Waterford . . . And this pic (by Patrick Dodson) of khaki waters overwhelming Lock 8 in Rotterdam.
So I decided on a gallivant up to see where this water painting the sixth boro came from. Note the Hudson Light in the distance left. (Doubleclick enlarges.) Here’s the marina in Hudson, NY, with mud
stains showing the ramp and half the parking lot had been inundated.
As was the case in Catskill Creek, given debris and docks askew there.
Along the Hudson, here’s a clue to water level along the waterfront in Athens.
All fotos by Will Van Dorp. Alas, clean-up and reconstruction will last longer than the silt coloration in the sixth boro. Click here and here for some of the last fotos I took up in that stretch of the River, almost a year ago.
When I took this foto in 2006, I knew none of the folks depicted; more about this foto at the end.
This Sunday in the sixth boro is the 19th annual tugboat race. If you are free, come down to Pier 84. Will Beth M. McAllister be there? the young Pegasus?
Viking was partly there last year. Might she race this year?
Might Tasman Sea clench her pins and sprint to the finish?
Will Bohemia lope ahead of the field?
Will Lee T Moran show just how misleading the “Gramma” part of her name is?
Will Socrates miraculously spring free from these lines and parade over the finish line first?
Will Brendan Turecamo and all these other occupied Moran vessels churn up the one-nautical-mile race course?
In previous years, the weekend following the tug race in the sixth boro, there was a tug roundup in Waterford, NY. Bad news this year: because of Irene’s reckless bluster and immoderate rain, the 2011 Waterford Tug Roundup has been cancelled. I will miss the puppytugs,
the pushoffs of fiberglass into steel,
the carefully matched performers,
the hometown favorites taking on the outatowners. But I’m not going to miss
the hospitality of Waterford and its fine folks . . . because I’m coming up anyhow. See you on the 9th or 10th.
Thanks to Stray for sending along this link to fotos of Irene devastation upriver. I feel sick. Crow and Wire, #94, 119, and 181, were at the Roundup last year. Black Knight, seen in a tugster post a week ago, shows up in #178.
All fotos by Will Van Dorp.
A lot has happened here in 10 days, although the fotos here reveal none of it. The sixth boro has its way of obscuring change, seasonal or otherwise. I know folks within 10 miles of this waterway who have no power yet and who have tossed to curb-side trash picker-uppers most of their water-befouled furniture, appliances, books, etc.
But along the KVK, Chem Antares (ex-Sichem Unicorn) transfers fluids, while
Torm Sara waits to do the same. [Doubleclick enlarges most fotos.]
Kings Point Liberator inspects other vessels along the KVK. I’d never guessed she had a wooden hull.
Sarah Dann froths eastbound.
My shot is a half second late as splash dissipates from this Ken’s Marine boat.
Note the water color here from Marie J Turecamo and from
Ellen Bouchard.
Anyone identify this crew boat?
To get a sense of scale on ATB Freeport, note the two crew outside the wheelhouse.
So far, Freeport is the only of the US Shipping Partners 12,000 hp ATBs. Some years back, I was fortunate to have caught one of their ITBs–Philadelphia– high and dry, here and here. For an update on Philadelphia‘s current location/status, read Harold’s comment below. Thanks, much . . . Harold.
Skiff in the foreground seems to be capturing flotsam planks for reuse.
Oh, by the way, four days from now will be the sixth boro’s 19th annual tugboat race. See you there?
All fotos today by Will Van Dorp.
Aqua diamonds here means anchored tugs; only Miriam Moran is moving. It’s Sunday morning around 0900.
Now . . 48 hours later the harbor escapes dormancy: blue is passenger vessels, green is cargo vessels, and red is tankers.
Monday by 1100 APL Sardonyx re-enters a fairly deserted port to complete her transactions; she had left port Saturday evening before dark . . . as seen in third map here.
Ditto MV Azuma Phoenix; she was here at GMD Bayonne Friday, went to sea, and returned Monday afternoon. Foto thanks to John Watson.
Celebrity Summit also entered port on Monday morning . . . one or two days later than usual. Did her passengers enjoy a day or two extra as they rode out the storm? I’d love to hear their stories. Will the passengers that loaded on Monday lose time on their cruise?
Tuesday morning Maria J pushes a work barge out the east end of the KVK. Is this the crew repainting the VZ Bridge? That project also needed to be dismantled in the uncertain face of Irene.
All manner of tankers got moved into the docks this morning, like Stealth Haralambos, unusual here that assist is provided by two different companies: Miriam Moran and McAllister’s Resolute.
One blimp (heading for the US Open Tennis?) moves in from an unusual direction overtop Evening Mist, Barney Turecamo, Austin Reinauer and Stephen-Scott Reinauer.
Box ships come and go, like Zim Shanghai and Camellia as well as tugs Maurania III, Elk River, and the ones already named.
And all the Tuesday fotos were taken in about a half hour!
Has anyone seen a description of the rebooting of NYC’s transit system in the other five boros?
All fotos by Will Van Dorp except the one credited to John Watson. and did I miss these, pointed out by Rick Old Salt?
Here was my biggest surprise . . .. details at end.
I know upstate along the Hudson and in Vermont Irene did her devastation; ditto in parts of New Jersey. But this morning along the KVK, scuttlebutt was . . . Irene who? What hurricane? The killside was cleaner at the expense of the water, which carried flotsam out with the ebb. Straw and sticks floated seaward here, whereas upstate small boats attached to docks might be drifting. Traffic on the KVK was noticeably eastbound . . . out of protection, like soon after I stopped by . . . 7:58 am Margaret Moran,
8:10, Liberty IV,
8:15 . . . this ubiquitous private boat counters the trend,
8:24 . . . Tasman Sea and Jane A. Bouchard. Note how sunny, clear, and calm it is less than 24 hours after Irene was expected to be her most frenzied here.
8:35 . . . Oyster Creek and Elk River tangoed.
8:40 . . . the rarely-seen-here Liberty II,
8:41 . . . a Moran trio of Gramma Lee T, Turecamo Girls, and James Turecamo,
8:49 . . .HMS Liberty pushes Chabria Sea westbound toward IMTT,
9:07 . . . Susan E. Witte prepares to take the stern of Energy 6508, pushed by Michigan Service,
9:09 . . NRC Guardian . . . coming out of the protected waters was the trend this morning. Meanwhile, I had another item of business here . . . check on my
favorite livestock, the goats of the Narrows. I hoped Irene’d
not made them seagoats. I breathed easy when I saw them . . . working to keep the Narrows free
of poison ivy and other itchiness.
But the bad news in the sixth boro is . . that R. H. Tugs, one of my favorite eateries, has been sold. SOLD! Gone! What follows? !@!@??
All fotos this morning by Will Van Dorp.
Quickie here, thanks to AIS and John Watson, who manages to stay aloft in his . . . would you believe stealthy hot air balloon? Anyhow, believe that or not, check out this line of vessels between Poughkeepsie southward to West Point . . . as of 0900 hours today. Note that Bremer Johanna–in the sixth boro since late spring–has retreated up to Hyde Park.
As of 1100 h today Sunday, in the eye of the storm, only Miriam Moran (over in Newark Bay) and some of the Sandy Hook pilot boats moved.
Here’s a shot of Elizabeth McAllister at 1130 hholding onto Horizon Discovery (1968) at the GMD Bayonne yard.
By 1530 Sunday, winds had started to kick back up on the backside of Irene as New Jersey Responder–visible on the second AIS map in yesterday’s post–
motored through the whitecaps on her the way to her station near Perth Amboy.
Notice that I mentioned Miriam Moran earlier in this post, she may have headed up to the Manhattan passenger terminal where–believe it or not–Veendam (pronounced “vain dumb”) withstood Irene’s vagaries . .. all of them . . . start to finish. I will try to catch Veendam on her departure tomorrow.
All fotos by John Watson, for whose efforts I am indeed grateful. The sixth boro–writ large–seems to have weathered this overrated storm well. More details–I hope–tomorrow.
If you’re not familiar with AIS, click here. Play with this tracking software. Remember that not all vessels . . . especially smaller ones . . . use AIS.
Here are screen shots I’ve taken today. Doubleclick enlarges. In this snapshot from 11 am Saturday, notice the large passenger and cargo vessels like Explorer of the Seas and APL Sardonyx in port here.
By 530 pm, a line of tugs (and likely barges) had moved up to safer anchorage between the George Washington and the Tappan Zee Bridges. So had New Jersey Responder.
A line of passenger and cargo vessels had headed for sea by 530 pm.
By 10:30 pm, this set of tugs (and barges) and yachts had moved even farther north . . . between Tappan Zee and Poughkeepsie bridges.
Furthermore, Pioneer, Lettie G. Howard, and W. O. Decker (none of which have AIS) had also moved north from the sixth boro to Kingston.
As I was told 21 years ago in the most precarious time of my life, good night and good luck to all the vessels .
the serene before Irene. As of Friday, the USCG Captain of the Port announced the following: “Commercial deep draft vessels greater than 300 gross tons are not authorized to remain in port alongside a pier after 1800 on Saturday, August 27, 2011. All vessels must be out of Bay Ridge, Stapleton, and Gravesend Bay Anchorage Grounds by 1800 on Saturday, August 27, 2011. Only one barge per commercial mooring buoy, with a tug in the vicinity, is authorized after 1800 on Saturday, August 27, 2011…”
NYC officials dictated that 300,000 residents of certain low- lying zones evacuate. Public transportation will cease at noon today, Saturday. From the morning NYTimes, find these other announcements. Doubleclick enlarges most.
Lots of folks I spoke with yesterday remembered Gloria’s visit in 1985. If Irene heads in, our wake could be breadcrumbs for Irene to find the Battery.
Structures that could move yesterday were doing that, like Fox Boys and this construction barge.
Sailboats played nervously in front of the Statue, where hundreds waiting in line . . . but
lots of smaller vessels moved upriver, like Kimberly Poling here pushing barge Edwin A. Poling as
well as Austin Reinauer and RTC 100.
A friend from upriver called last night to say he’d seen at least $300 million worth of luxury yachts heading north, like
the 1958 Black Knight, the Goudy & Stevens yacht featured here three years ago . . . then also running from a storm albeit a thunderstorm that time.
However, some, infirm and not easily moveable,
their lines reinforced,
… is that a terrified face appearing like stigmata on the second porthole from the right, and a grinch-like demon on the one to its left? … will ride it out at the dock. I hope the “custodians” in the SSSM offices know our eyes are on them as those same eyes are on the vessels left at the dock.
And who will be in the harbor . . . I’m guessing these folks and ones like them–police, Coast Guard, mariners working on the big ferries and certain private commercial vessels … For frequent updates, read Hawsepiper, Paul the pirate, a scholar who works on an oil barge. Paul . . . if you could get me keys, I’d move your truck outa Zone A.
Be safe. I’m staying on high ground inland.
Since I posted here a half month ago about WIX-327 USCG cutter barque Eagle, visiting the sixth boro, I’ve read Capt. Gordon McGowan’s The Skipper & the Eagle, which details the months he spent in 1946, post-war Hamburg, refitting Eagle (his orders were that appropriating Eagle and getting her safely to the US should happen at NO EXPENSE to taxpayers in this country). If you need a good read, to end the summer, this is it. McGowan’s success depended on many things, maybe the foremost of which were Eagle‘s seaworthiness and the brotherhood of the sea that bridged the divide between Capt. McGowan of now-christened Eagle and Kapitanleutnant Barthold Schnibbe of ex-Horst Wessel.
A hurricane struck Eagle on the final leg of the journey–between Bermuda and New York. As Irene approaches, consider these excerpts from McGowan’s book, written about the experience of being in an open bridge, exposed to wind, rain, and wash.
“In the rising seas the swells were beginning to overtake us, each crest coming in from a slightly different angle, and delivering a wallop to the underside of our old-fashioned overhanging counter” (195). [McGowan added six additional helmsman to the two then on the three linked wheels.]
“Whitecaps had long disappeared nd been replaced by angry streaks gouged on the breast of the waves by the claws of the wind. Puffs became roaring blasts of wind. The average velocity rose above fifty knots. This brought another change. The streaks on the surface vanished, giving way to clouds of spray as wavetops were sheared off by the wind … The stinging pellets of water fly horizontally downwind” (196).
“The early skirling and piping of the fresh gale through the rigging had risen in volume and in tone to belowing and shreiking. The vast sound seemed to fill the world. Voices of men died away and became inaudible. Lips moving, neck cords and veins standing out recalled the silent movie days. Here were faces transmitting thoughts by expression alone. Here was sound without sound. It pressed upon eardrums and bodies as a solid thing. The singleness of this mighty roar brought about a solitude … The voice of the storm was more than a roar. There was a sharp tearing sound–the ripping of the fabric of the gates of hell … The fore upper and lower tops’ls were the first to go. One moment they were there; a second later they had vanished. It seemed incredible that all that remained of the broad spread of sail were these ragged little ribbons” (200).
“I turned to the idea of heaving to. The ship had begun to dive and wallow like a wounded wild thing. Each time a wave overtook us I looked apprehensively astern. As the stern began to lift on the face of a wave, the bowsprit dipped deeper and deeper until it disappeared from sight. When each crest swept from aft forward, the stern settled deeply upon the back on the wave, and the bowsprit pointed toward the sky” (202).
Sorry . . . you’ll have to read the rest. Then there’s also Drumm’s book, which I haven’t read.
All fotos taken Friday by Will Van Dorp, who might not post tomorrow.
A South Street Seaport update: Pioneer and Lettie G. Howard have departed for Kingston.
It was 2330 (11:30PM) when we were called for the Midwatch. USS Tringa (ASR-16) was enroute Rota, Spain from New London for a regular Med deployment, steaming due East at latitude 32 North on a Standard bell at 13.5 knots. Night watches, unless some particular evolution was taking place, were generally pretty quiet. Frequently, quiet conversations would take place between watch standers, which might not take place during the day. As Navy sailors, our conversation would range from topics touching on our future operating orders, to women, to ports we might visit, to the bars in the ports, back to women and other relevant issues.
I hadn’t yet qualified as OOD yet, so I was standing watches with George, the Tringa’s Warrant Engineering Officer. This watch, the bridge conversation included the legend of the Flying Dutchman. Not long after that, we picked up a visual contact on the horizon. “Combat, Bridge, whaddaya got at about one three zero?” George punched up the Combat Information Center, or CIC on the 21MC squawkbox located at the centerline conning station.
“Bridge, Combat, we got nothin’ Sir. What was that bearing again?” The lilting voice of a sailor from Virginia, and one of our better radar operators, floated back on the 21MC. “Combat, bridge. We got somethin’ at about one three zero degrees. You sure you got nothin’?” George was not typically long on tact, but he was being remarkably good this night.
“Sorry Sir. We don’t have anything.” The radar operator was being honest, and sounded a bit stressed. A quick look at our own radar repeater on the bridge revealed that there wasn’t anything out there. But there was. On the horizon, growing larger by the minute, was a ghostly white visual contact. As it grew larger, it began to take on the look through the binoculars of a T-2 tanker, running without lights. Worse, the bearing was not changing, although the range was clearly decreasing – a recipe for a collision at sea. There was a slight inconsistency, in that the “angle on the bow” was not “dead on,” but no matter. We couldn’t just explain this one away. By the time the tanker’s bridge features were becoming fully distinguishable with the naked eye, George turned to the portholes to the pilot house.
“Captain to the bridge” he said. Whatever it was out there, it didn’t make sense, and doctrine dictated that when the bridge was in trouble the Captain should be called.
“NOW CAPTAIN TO THE BRIDGE! CAPTAIN TO THE BRIDGE!” At 2:30 AM, a 1MC general public address system call for the Captain on the bridge can be a chilling sound. It means that the ship is steaming into trouble, and that the best mind and the greatest experience is required to make sound decisions to avoid disaster.
To our Captain’s credit, he arrived in the pilothouse, in his underwear, in rapid time. Shortly after he arrived, and just as we were about to explain the unusual visual contact we had with no radar return, the moon broke out from behind the cloud formation which had made it look like the bridge of a tanker.
To his further credit, the Captain thanked us for inviting him to watch the moon rise, commented on what a memorable experience it had been and turned in again. Needless to say, bridge conversation for the remainder of that watch was rather absent.
Foto and story credited to Chris Williams, who served as a reserve officer on two ASRs in 1968 – 71. Billets included First Lieutenant / Diving and Salvage Officer and Operations Officer.
Here was Relief Crew 13.
Now . . . about Irene, here’s a link with advice for recreational boaters from Adam of Messing Around in Sailboats . . . .
Anyone have thoughts and reflections as Irene approaches? First priority is staying safe, but if you get any pics of Irene and the water, I’d love to use them.
tugster: a waterblog 
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