Tranquility in the Storm

by Sandra Dinsmore

The Penobscot Narrows Bridge at Prospect Ferry to Verona, August 8, 2014. See more photographs and bridge information here.

John Gardner and a couple of friends who had grown up together in Castine had decided, in their early forties, to buy a boat and drag for scallops, then plentiful in Penobscot Bay in the 1970s. The three had bought a World War II net-tender that had been an open boat. After the war, it was decked over, a house added, and it was rigged for swordfishing. John’s partners had it re-rigged as a scallop dragger and brought it up the coast from Chatham, on Cape Cod, to Scituate, on Boston’s South Shore, where John, with his years of sea-going experience, took over as captain.

The weather was so terrible that, in retrospect, he should have waited for better conditions. At one point he was afraid he and his crew would lose the vessel and their lives, and as he described the waves, freezing spray, and wind battering the small fishing boat, from time to time he would stop and throw in an admiring, “She was a competent vessel.”

When I reminded him of this, ten years later, he said, “The boat was very forgiving. For all the mistakes you would make, the boat would compensate because she was such an able sea boat. What made her so able was that she was deep and very full—almost like a lightship. This fullness didn’t give you any speed, but it gave you seaworthiness in any kind of weather; it not only gave you a stable fishing platform, but it also brought you home.”

Then, as we stood in his kitchen waiting for water to boil for tea, while his wife, Elaine, talked with another friend and jazz played in the background, John re-created that harrowing trip.

“Off Gloucester we started to ice up. It was blowing pretty hard, and we were heading into it. We noticed she was getting pretty logy. One of the crew went down below and found the boat was filling up with water. She was sinking.

“She had two bilge pumps on board: one was geared to the engine, and the other was an automatic bilge pump, but they couldn’t take the volume of water that was coming in.

“I don’t know what made me do it, but before the trip I went out and bought a brand-new Briggs & Stratton pump, the kind you put in the cellar, with a two-inch throat and a gasoline engine. I had tried the pump and knew it worked. We stuck it down there and it kept the water out.

“What had happened was that the two friends who brought it to Scituate, where I boarded it, had run aground on a sandy bottom off Martha’s Vineyard. The sand, because of its abrasive nature, tore some caulking out of the bow. We made it to Gloucester because of the extra pump and were able to rectify the damage by re-caulking the damaged seams.

“We took off again, and it was still blowing hard. We were off Portland at night, near where there used to be a lightship, when we developed problems with air getting in the fuel line and stopping the diesel engine cold, so five miles south of the Portland lightship we dropped the drag—it’s called an old-fashioned anchor—we didn’t have enough anchor cable to drop the anchor. It was very deep, four hundred feet of water and very rough that night—blacker’n hell. We had enough juice left in our batteries to call the lightship about one o’clock in the morning to tell them we were in trouble and that we needed a tow into Portland Harbor.

“It must have been blowing fifty miles an hour, which made for rough seas, but the boat was like a duck. There are larger boats that could never handle what she went through.

“The Coast Guard patrol boat came out to pick us up. The waves were so high that one minute the guys were there, the next minute they were gone.

“They threw about fifteen heaving lines at us and couldn’t get us—it was a howling gale out there—so I yelled, ‘Come closer next time! Come right in next to her!’ They came in closer, threw the heaving line, and one of our guys caught it. The jerks didn’t have an eye or a bowline tied on the end of the hawser, so when we got the hawser we had to put the eye in it to get it over the bow cleat. They should have tied a bowline knot to make an eye so I could take that eye and drop it over a cleat and get towed. I mean, this was a rescue attempt. They were way above my head and I was way down below. You don’t stand there in the middle of the goddamn night in a storm with the deck going up and down and whip out a big bowline while they’re pulling the line away from you. I mean, it’s just not done that way.

“The guy who caught it made an eye, and was about to drop it over the cleat when the Coast Guard guys pulled it out of his hand and took off. They thought they had us at the end of the hawser, but they didn’t. Their line had let go, and they were gone for, like, fifteen or twenty minutes. This whole thing was a comedy of errors! We had just enough juice to call the lightship as the radio faded out, to tell them that we weren’t in tow; that the patrol boat had gone.

“The Coast Guard got the message and came back and got us, but we had no power to pull that four hundred feet of drag wire back on deck. We were so frozen—the wind chill factor had to have been phenomenal—we were heaving in exhaustion from trying to pull that wire up. A shallow spot was coming up—a ledge that could probably take our drag anchor and rip out the stern of the boat. I had an axe standing by so, in case it did fetch up, I could cut it free. We went back out, hauled a lot of the wire up, and made it fast. No sooner than we done that than it did fetch up. I used the axe.

“By the time we got into the harbor, we were in trouble again. This time the patrol boat broke down because of lack of fuel. They radioed us: We’re broken down and can’t tow you anymore. By then we had gotten our engine going, so we radioed, ‘We’ll come around and tow you.’ So we ended up by towing the Coast Guard boat back to its berth.

“The next morning it was cold—twenty below zero early in the morning. It was hard to get the engine running. Portland was just covered with ice. I shouldn’t have left, but the weather built up as we got out and we had to deal with it.

“We took off up the coast to Boothbay, and had just passed Halfway Rock Light, which is about halfway between Portland and the Cockles. The tides that come out of the Kennebec River are strong, and I remember looking back and seeing that we were being set out to sea. I had to compensate by steering a little bit more towards shore in this dense sea smoke. When it’s that cold, you get a lot of sea smoke and you can’t really see through it. The colder it gets, the sea smoke gets thicker and higher. There is clear blue sky up above, but you’re looking through white fog.

“At twenty below zero and with no heat on the boat, it was like Shackleton! Talk about wind chill factors; it was right off the scale! Unbelievable! You just couldn’t go outside. I went out briefly once during the passage to free the scuppers—the drain holes on deck—because the water was freezing on board, making her heavy as a sonofagun. (Too much topside weight will turn you over.) Jesus, what a sea boat! I went out there … I had lifelines rigged around … Forget it!

“The next spot we had to make was Seguin Light. There are a lot of rocks around Seguin, and right next to it is an island or a rock called Ellingwood Rock. It’s also an area of severe magnetic disturbance, which gives you a false reading on your compass, so that any course you’re making will be off unless you compensate for it.

“It was so dark in the wheelhouse that I had to open the window a little bit to get some air in there, but when I did, the water would come in and freeze. Ice covered the charts, so I couldn’t see them clearly. I never saw the area of magnetic disturbance. In retrospect, I probably should have headed into Cundys Harbor instead of heading for Seguin, but I didn’t know the way; I knew there were some rocks or reefs you had to watch going in there and I wanted to have sea room.

“Now it was night and blacker’n hell. We knew Seguin was coming up any time, but because of the sea smoke we couldn’t see it. All of a sudden, I saw waves break over rocks or shoals right off to port where there weren’t supposed to be any. I looked up and saw Seguin Light—I’m not exaggerating—right above us. That meant that Seguin Island was right there. We were on top of the island. It was scary! Then I saw more breakers. I was right in amongst the rock pile!

“Next thing I knew I saw a lot of breakers to port again. I held the course and slowed down—I was going dead slow anyway—and went between Seguin and the Rock in an alleyway—like going through a doorway. We cleared it, by the grace of God.

“We continued on past the Black Rocks between Seguin and the Cuckolds Light at the mouth of Boothbay Harbor. I’m not familiar with the sea-lanes, currents, and dangerous rocks there the way I am with Penobscot Bay. As you head into Boothbay Harbor, there’s a sector light on an island. If you’re out of your sector—if you’re off course—it will change color. If you’re on course—on the beam—it stays the same color. I didn’t notice it on the chart because by then the chart was just a rag held together by ice. I kept wiping it off, but that did away with the sector lines.

“As we got in the harbor, I noticed the light was changing. One of the guys said, ‘Gee, they must not have paid their light bill.’ We went to the right when we should have gone to the left, and went toward the light. All of a sudden we saw a beanpole, and one of the guys yelled, ‘We’re in somebody’s garden!’ We were about to hit a goddam beanpole in the middle of the night! I yelled, ‘We’re fouled up. This isn’t making sense.’ We turned around, headed back around the alley, and finally got into Boothbay.

“The next morning it was another twenty below. It was cold, but it wasn’t blowing, so we left.

“The brother of one of the crew members, meanwhile, had come down to Boothbay to see if we had arrived and if so, to tell us not to go on because the weather was so bad. (He had called the Coast Guard, asking about us. They had told him that we were probably lost, shouldn’t be out there, and they couldn’t send out help anyway because of the weather.) He was on the dock, yelling, as we were pulling out, but we were too far out and couldn’t see or hear him. The forecast hadn’t been that bad, but when we got between Boothbay and Monhegan the weather became incredible.

“We got off Allen Island, and it was unbelievably rough. The boat was just coated with ice. We were afraid the boat could become top-heavy, and roll over, so in order to stop making ice we decided to run before the wind six miles to Monhegan rather than head into the wind, which we would have had to do to run up Penobscot Bay.

“Right next to Monhegan is Manana Island, with a gully between them where all the fishing boats are moored. One of the crew spotted some sheep as we were going by the Northern tip of the island and yelled, ‘Christ! We’re in the Hebrides!’ There’s a rock called Casket Rock where the water turns light green. It was high tide, and I knew we had to duck to get around Monhegan. I didn’t want the sea to catch us on our beam; it could catch us and roll us over. I mean these were combers—thirty-foot seas! We had to just brush Manana and not let her broach.

“As we made our turn, I could see the spreader on the mast clipping the wave as the wave came from under us. She was right on her beam-ends! The sea caught her and she rolled. I was standing sideways—one foot on the wall and one foot on deck, trying to keep my balance! I’m talking about bad seas!

“We got in to Monhegan that afternoon. There’s a stone dock at the end, and the fishermen came down in their rain gear, each tied to the next man, to help us. They were yelling, ‘You’re crazy to be here! You’re out of your mind! What are you doing here?’

“And I’m yelling, ‘We gotta tie up!’

“‘Yeah, okay, okay. Come on.’

“The boat banged up against the dock a couple of times. Even inside the harbor, it was blowing pretty hard.

“A guy called, ‘You see that mooring over there? You can put her on that mooring.’

“I yelled, ‘I can’t go out there! I can’t get through those boats with this wind blowing.’ (The news reported gusts of ninety miles an hour.) ‘I can’t put her out there!’

“He called, ‘Yeah, you can do it; just back her down in this cove and head for it.’

“I yelled, ‘Let the son of a bitch sink right here; I could give a goddamn less! Let her go!’

‘You can’t make that boat secure at the dock.’

‘Godammit! Let her sink!’ (I wanted to get off. I was here!)

“So someone said, ‘Oh hell, let him tie up.’

Just then the wind caught the bow, and kind of headed her in the right direction, so I had no choice but to go for it.

“One of the crew yelled, ‘Put her in the corner,’ because you need plenty of speed to maneuver from a dead stop.

“We backed in this little cove next to the stone dock, got it full ahead, and I worked my way through those boats that were tied up, dusting a few of them as I went by—I had to have speed to maneuver. When I turned to go into the buoy, I was flying.“One of our guys had the boat hook. He had to go on deck, and, I’m telling you, it was very slippery—it was like a skating rink. He lost the boat hook overboard. We ran over the mooring buoy, ran over this five-eighths chain, the engine cut out, and she was moored stern to the wind for two days.

The fishermen on Monhegan were very nice to us; they were dynamite. We would have had a hard time without their help. The second day they came out and helped us unwrap the turns I’d put around the wheel. Then we headed back to Castine, chipping ice all the way.

“I remember when we got to the bell buoy at the mouth of Castine Harbor, I was so happy I said to one of the guys, ‘Let’s go one turn around the bell-buoy.’

‘God damn you, John! I want to go home!’

“We were blowing the whistle all the way from Resolution Island, we were so happy to be alive!

“One of the wives came running down to the dock when we came in. She couldn’t believe it; that dark green and black boat was as white as a refrigerator.”

Read more facts and see photos from the Penobscot Narrows Observatory here.