SIX BUCKETS: Part Two — Winter 1995
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The Great Lakes… 84% of the continent’s fresh water… a different story in every drop.
Author: Neil Jones
Captain Hochman, ice locked into the pilothouse navigating blind, upbound at night, through smashing waves. Watchman Harald Peterson was crouching in front of the pilothouse behind the wind breaker. There was an open crack above the front window protected by the visor. The captain yelled to Peterson above the wind, asking if there was any way he could get on top of the pilothouse and free the ice locked direction finder antenna.
Peterson had to think about that slowly before answering.
Finally, Harald Peterson yelled, “I’ll try, Cap’n. But I don’t know how. Everything’s ice.”
Captain Hochman yelled back, “Be careful. And watch out for yourself!”
Harald waits a moment in the shelter of the wind breaker as the boat pounds into another wave. The wind whips the wall of spray aft and, as the bow begins to lift onto the next crest, he crawls quickly over the icy deck. In a few seconds he’s behind the pilothouse. There’s good shelter from the wind and waves here. He stands erect in the relative calm and looks up at the vertical ladder to the top of the pilot house. The loop antenna of the direction finder is up there. He’s relieved to see that the ladder hasn’t collected much ice because it’s sheltered. I can make it OK. He starts up the ten rungs with his hands holding tight to the slippery rails.
As his head comes above the level of the top of the pilothouse the driving spray and snow sting his face. He squints toward the direction finder pedestal four feet in front of him and to his right. He sees an ugly sculpture, white and thick with ice.
Captain Hochman considers his options. The radio direction finder is his only navigational aid. If Harald can’t free it we’re not going to know how Manitou bears. The way the wind’s been pushing us to the south we may run right up on the rocks there. I think we’re making headway, but in this sea it’s impossible to tell. He weighs his alternatives. Under the circumstances his best plan is to keep her head up to the wind and lie to until he can get a fix on his position. He turns to wheelsman Little Billy. “Bring her up into the wind a little more, steer three-two-zero.” Reaching for the handle on the Chadburn he rings up “Slow Ahead.”
A few minutes later Little Billy, wrestling with the wheel, yells, “She’s not answering the helm very good, Cap’n. Hard to keep her heading.”
Captain Hochman is aware before he hears Little Billy. He’d noted the bow of the big boat easing off the wind. He’s losing steerageway. In a few minutes the boat will be lying in the trough of those huge seas. If I let her get sideways in the trough she’ll roll her gunnels under. There’s a real possibility she’ll capsize. All that ice that’s collected topside won’t help her any. If she goes over, she’ll go quick.
He reaches for the Chadburn and rings up “Half Ahead”—for more revolutions. The engineer responds quickly. To Billy, “Let ‘er fall off just a little, make her three-one-zero.”
“Three-one-zero.”
Andy goes over to the direction finder and attempts once again to twist the little wheel that moves the antenna. “No luck, Cap. She’s froze.” He looks toward where the captain stands peering ahead into the storm. He can hear Little Billy mumbling.
“What’re you sayin’?”
Little Billy only continues his mumbling as he wrestles the wheel.
Andy moves closer. Now he’s only a step away from where Little Billy stands, feet apart for balance, both hands on the wheel. He hears Billy now. “Hail Mary, full of grace…”
“Can’t hurt,” the mate mumbles and takes two paces back to the chart desk, reaching out to steady himself.
Ed smiles in relief as he watches Harald step off the ladder and approach the bench. What if he’d been washed overboard? Who would’ve known? I’d think he might’ve stayed in the pilothouse for some reason. The mate or the captain would’ve thought he just stayed below. Ed shudders briefly at the thought of his friend being swept unseen into the icy water in the howling turmoil. I sure hope he won’t have to make any more trips up there.
When Harald is close enough to be able to yell over the shriek of the storm he says, “We got us a tough problem, Eddy.” He explained the situation.
“You got any ideas?” Ed asks as Harald sits down on the bench.
“We’re not gonna be able to chip that ice away. It’s too thick and it’ll just freeze again soon as a bunch of spray hits it. Besides, we couldn’t stay up there long enough to do it without gettin’ washed or blown overboard.” His eyes narrow in concentration as he stares unblinking toward Ed. Although he’s staring at Ed, he’s really not seeing him.
As if he’d already worked out a plan on his way down the ladders and reconfirmed it as he sat on the bench, Harald says, “We only got one chance and it won’t be easy. We get enough hot water on her she’ll free up. Once she’s freed up, I’ll stay on the ladder just below the top of the pilothouse. Every couple of minutes I’ll crawl over and turn it so it doesn’t freeze up again. You’ll relieve me every little bit. It’s cold and miserable up there, even behind the pilothouse.”
“There’s no hot water up there.”
“Lots of hot water in the windlass room. We get us a bucket apiece, fill ‘er up in the windlass room and carry it up to behind the pilot house. We get us maybe a half dozen buckets up there, I’ll climb up the ladder to the top, you hand me the buckets, I’ll douse the base of the antenna and duck down quick and hang on when I see a wave comin’. We gotta be real careful. Everything up there is thick ice and that wind up that high is…” He shakes his head.
The pilothouse looks like a big frozen wedding cake and all decks and ladders have at least a couple inches of ice.
Ed is fearful. “Harald, I hope you know what you’re doin’. If you say go, then okay, I’ll go. Let’s get movin’.” Eddy rises with fake enthusiasm as he follows Harald into the windlass room.
By the time each of them has carried his first bucket up the ladders and deposited them on the deck behind the pilothouse they’d spilled half the contents.
Harald looks at the half empty buckets, “This is not working.”
He ponders for a moment, then looks at Eddy, “Tell you what—I’ll stay here. You go below; get a heaving line and get one end up to me. You can toss it up from behind the mate’s cabin where you’ll be outta the wind. You get maybe a half dozen buckets of really hot water up behind the mate’s cabin then, when you’re ready, tie ’em on the line one at a time an’ I’ll heave ’em up. When you get the last bucket tied on, then get back up here. Soon as you get here, I’ll climb up on top of the pilothouse; you hand ’em up to me. We’ll douse the pedestal where the antenna shaft goes in an’ see if that’ll loosen her up.”
“That means you’ve gotta be up there for a couple minutes at least, Harald. That’s gonna be risky!”
“I know. I’ll watch it. Just hope that water stays hot. We gotta be quick.”
A few minutes later he and Ed have a half dozen buckets of hot water on the deck behind the pilothouse. Harald climbs the ladder to the top of the pilothouse. Once on top he gets down on his hands and knees, and reaches for the first bucket as Ed hands it up. He grabs it, quickly stands up, hunches over against the wind, and takes two steps across the icy footing to the antenna. He crouches over with his back to the wind to keep the water from blowing away as it comes out of the bucket. Ed watches intently as Harald sloshes the water on the antenna joint as carefully as he can so as not to waste any. He drops to his hands and knees and quickly crawls back to hand the empty bucket to Ed. Ed reaches for it, puts it down on the deck, grabs a full one, climbs three rungs up the ladder, and hands it up.
After the fourth bucket Harald is grinning as he peers down at Ed to grab the next one. “She’s meltin’! A few more buckets’ll do her,” he yells.
“We only got two left!” Ed hands up the fifth bucket.
As he hands up the sixth and last bucket, Ed yells, “Last one! This one’s gotta do it!” He continues to stand on the ladder, his head just over the top of the pilothouse, squinting against the wind driven snow and spray that stings his face like hundreds of needles. He watches Harald make his way carefully to the antenna with the last bucket, fervently hoping it will be enough. The work had allowed him some distraction from the danger. Now, with the last bucket in Harald’s hand, and nothing further for Ed to do, the danger of Harald’s exposed position jolts him. He watches.
Harald crouches and sloshes the water onto the antenna joint. Eddy can see that some of the ice surrounding the critical joint has melted away. Harald crawls back to the ladder, hands the empty to Eddy. “We almost got ‘er!” he shouts, then crawls quickly back to the antenna. Still on his knees, Harald reaches for the knife in the sheath hanging from his belt. Ed sees his gloved hand grip the big knife by its blade. He uses the heavy handle as a hammer as he pounds a half dozen times on the now thin coating of ice.
Looks like she cracked! Maybe if I just give her a little twist the rest of the ice’ll crack off. Harald puts the knife back into its sheath. Need some leverage if I’m gonna twist it. Have to stand and put both hands on the loop. In his enthusiasm he momentarily forgets about the peril and focuses all of his attention on freeing the antenna. He stands, almost erect now, the wind pushing at his back, forcing him to spread his legs awkwardly for support, as he grasps the loop with both hands. He tries to twist it, first gently so as not to damage the antenna, then using increasing force. It doesn’t take much pressure before he feels the last thin coat of ice yield. The antenna moves.
Ed has dropped the last empty bucket on the deck where it clatters against the aft rail. He’s still peering over toward Harald from his perch on the ladder.
As the antenna comes free, Harald, still standing, squints over at Ed through the blowing spray and snow, his face lit with victory as he twists the now functioning antenna back and forth. To get the attention of someone in the pilothouse he stomps.
The towering white crest of another enormous wave comes roaring out of the blowing snow and darkness ahead.
“Cap’n! He did it! The antenna’s movin’!” Andy yells.
“By God, you’re right!” The captain turns from the window watching the bearing wheel turn back and forth. Magic. “Get us a bearing!”
Andy is already at the direction finder, earphones on, and listening for Manitou Island.
The boat crashes headlong into the monstrous onrushing wave at the moment Harald drops to his knees for the crawl back to the ladder. In the instant before ducking his head down below the deck level to escape the onslaught of stinging spray Ed sees Harald engulfed in a wall of seething, icy spume. In less than a second the spray is whipped aft. Ed raises his head and peers out over the top of the pilothouse.
Harald is not there!
“Oh my God!” Ed scrambles down the remaining steps of the ladder to the Texas. Stepping off the last rung he looks to his right. Harald’s body is lying inert against the aft railing, face down in the ice. Thank God!
Ed drops to his knees and crawls over to Peterson. He grabs the coat collar and drags him across the ice to the shelter behind the pilot house. There he rolls Harald over onto his back. The eyes are closed; he does not move. Is he breathing? In the tumult it’s impossible to know.
In less than a minute the mate has a good null—and a bearing on the beacon. “Looks good!”
“So?”
“Bearing’s definitely left, Cap’n. She bears three points off the port bow!” Their last course alteration to allow for the drift must have been enough. But, how far away is the beacon? No one knows. Is it a mile? Is it less? Or more? In the roaring darkness it is impossible to see.
“Thanks, Andy.” Captain Hochman continues in his calm voice, “Just keep that antenna moving so she doesn’t freeze up again. Get me a bearing every couple minutes. See if you can get a good null on the Eagle Harbor beacon.”
“I’ve got it now, Cap’n. Doesn’t come in very good. Tried earlier and it didn’t come in good then either. Somethin’s messin’ up the signal. Could be we’re close inshore and we’re gettin’ a lot of distortion from all that land between us and Eagle Harbor. Can’t get ‘er within maybe a half a point. Doesn’t do us much good considering she’s ahead of us. Bearings show we’re on the rocks already, or five or six miles offshore, or somewhere in between.”
“Keep tryin’.”
After a moment the captain turns to Andy and Little Billy, “I don’t know how the hell he did it. Peterson can sail with me forever.”
The captain turns his back to continue peering ahead out of the narrow gap in the pilothouse window, looking anxiously left. Will he be able to see the flashing light at Manitou? He’s hoping he won’t. If he does see it in this weather, he’ll be on top of it.
Ed yells, “Harald! You okay?”
My God! What can I do? He can be dead! Sullivan shakes Peterson by the shoulders. Maybe try to get him below? No. Never get him down those iced ladders. Sullivan is beginning to shiver. Is it from the cold, or fear? God! I’ve got to do something! Minutes pass. He continues staring at Harald hoping for some sign. He’ll have to do something soon. I can leave him and go pound on Big Dave’s door on the fo’c’sle deck below. He can help me move him. God! Don’t let him be dead!
He grabs a handful of the icy snow. With his face no more than six inches from Harald’s, he rubs the snow gently over Harald’s face, yelling: “Harald, you okay? Are you okay?”
Snow covered eyelashes flutter. His eyes open wide, staring vacantly. Ed smiles. “I thought you might be dead! Can you move?”
Harald lies motionless for moments. Then he moves his shoulders slowly back and forth a couple of times. Then he carefully bends one knee, then the other.
“If you’re hurt, I’ll go get Big Dave and we can get you below.”
“I don’t feel like I’m hurt real bad anyplace. Lemme try to stand up.”
Eddy helps him up. In a moment he’s standing on his own, leaning on the rail, shaking his head slowly back and forth, either in wonderment, or to clear cobwebs.
“Can you make it below with help?”
“Just let me stand here awhile. I might be OK.” He turns his head and looks up over his shoulder at the top of the pilothouse. “Did we do it?”
“Well I don’t know if she’s still loose, but I saw you turnin’ it just before you disappeared.”
“Can you get up the ladder and check on it?”
Ed grabs the rung of the ladder, and starts up. He returned very soon. “I didn’t have to go up on top. I could see it movin’. Somebody must be takin’ a bearing.”
Harald’s wide mouth spreads in a grin.
“Still driftin’ left, Cap’n. Bearings movin’ aft. She’s well past our port beam now. Can you see anything?”
“Visibility’s better, but can’t see anything out there.”
The big boat continues to crash her blunt bow into the huge seas. Little Billy is quiet as he manages the rudder to keep her heading. Except for the mate reporting the bearing of the radio beacon every few minutes, there’s no conversation. The thunder of the big seas bursting against the lurching hull and the shriek of the wind continue an awful Wagnerian symphony.
Captain Hochman is still at his post, arms braced against the sill and feet wide. He searches vainly for the foam of breakers slamming into the rocks on the shore of the Island, or a light, or the lights of another vessel. They are alone in this tumultuous world.
There it is! But then: did he really see it? Two quick flashes about two points forward of the port beam—as far to his left as he can see before the structure of the pilothouse blocks his view of anything further aft! He presses his face into the opening in the window, allows his eyes to relax, and anxiously waits for confirmation. He counts silently to himself—one thousand, two thousand, as he measures the passing seconds. Yes! Five seconds later—two more quick flashes. The West Gull Rock light! By God, they were passing Manitou! Gull Rock light guards the rocky ledge that extends west of Manitou. With the Manitou beacon now abaft their beam and Gull Rock almost abeam they must be steaming clear of this peril!
“Andy! Quick! Get me a bearing on Manitou!” Captain Hochman hurries to the chart table and switches on its light.
With his estimate of his sighting of the Gull Rock light at about twenty degrees forward of their port beam the captain pencils in a line on the chart extending out on the reciprocal from the West Gull Rock light. He adds two more lines extending from the light to allow for error in his estimate of the bearing.
“Almost astern now, Cap! I make ‘er six points abaft the beam!” Andy has stepped over and is leaning on the chart desk. He watches the captain draw in the intersecting line from the Manitou beacon.
“Well, I’ll be damned! I think we’re gonna be okay, Cap’n!” They look at each other in the dim light over the chart table.
“First time I’ve eyeballed a bearing like that, but she’s the best we can do under the circumstances.” Captain Hochman puts the dividers back down on the chart table, switches the light off, turns and walks back to his station at the forward window. “That was awful damn close! I’d say we’re passing maybe two, maybe three, miles off the Island. The important thing is we’re clearing it.” Standing once more at the window, he turns to Andy and cautions, “We’re okay for Manitou, but we’re still too close in. We’ve got the Keweenaw just ahead, and that wind hasn’t let up much.”
“I know, Cap’n. But the snow quit. If we haul her around to the north a little more, and still make headway, we should be okay.”
Captain Hochman responds with a grunt. He steps over to the window next to his chair and reaches for the pack of Chesterfields. As he lights up, he turns and looks over his shoulder at the wheelsman. The captain’s expression and weariness are unseen in the darkness. “Little Billy, you can relax a little. Bring her around ten degrees right. Three-two-zero.”
Little Billy looks up from the glow of the small light in the compass. “Make her three-two-zero. Aye, aye, Cap!” He puts a half turn on the big wheel.
As the rudder digs in, the boat answers. The bow of the Steamer Jay C. Morse points further out into the blackness of the storm lashed Lake, and relative safety.
Harald has one hand on the rail and the other on Ed’s shoulder to steady himself as they clump slowly down the ladder to the main deck. Their relief, Bruce Carlson, the watchman, and Charlie Rasmussen, his helper, are huddled on the bench looking like a couple of North Pole explorers in their heavy clothes. They watch inquisitively as Harald and Eddy struggle off the ladder, Harald limping, his left hand grabbing Eddy’s shoulder.
Carlson asks, “Where the hell you guys been? We looked everywhere. Thought you might’ve washed overboard!”
Harald looks at Ed and winks. “Me and Eddy just went topside for a breath of fresh air.”
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