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December 1, 1999 Issue
December 15, 1999 Issue
December 1, 1999 Issue
There She Sat!
By Jane Clark (as told by George Savadaboat Clark)Anchored in the sand by the fact that a tree was growing through her bow.
She had been deemed a derelict for several years, and it was past time to get her off the shoreline or her fate was to be sealed by a large bonfire.
Over the years, a few severe storms succeeded in affixing her in a seemingly impossible position for salvage, but something in her once graceful lines appealed to the wooden-boat-lover named George, and he set about to save her from her impending doom.
Getting her free of the tree was easy, but getting her off two iron posts that once held a dock and now penetrated what was left of her bottom, took some doing. Enlisting the aid of excursion boat owner, Captain Sam, and his wife, Olga, George scavenged as many empty barrels as he could and proceeded to cable them to the frame. The idea was to raise the hulk as high as possible and let her float free. No one but the Captain and George thought it would work, so they ignored the snickers and out-and-out insulting remarks regarding their sanity.
After several weekends, a few rainstorms, and hours of wallowing in the water, the time was ripe to test their plan.
During this time, their activity caught the attention of people up and down the shoreline, and all bets were unfavorable as to whether the boat could indeed be saved. Sixteen barrels were in place, seven wired to each side with two in the stern. Captain Sam's excursion boat was standing by, a large cable attached to what was left of the hull, and ail seemed ready.
In spite of a gray morning, a small crowd had gathered and seemed to be happy to make a party out of "Operation Savadaboat," which is what Captain Sam called it. Both sides of the lake had little groups of people clustered along the shore, who were either anxious for the success of the operation or happy to jeer, "I told you so!"
Captain Sam's excursion boat slowly started forward, the water churned wildly, Olga shouted orders to the Captain, nothing moved. The Captain pushed his boat harder, the crowd held their breath, suddenly the cable broke and there was a groan from the spectators. "Don't do a thing until I get back!" shouted the Captain and took off.
The shoreline became alive with people, all waiting for the return of Captain Sam.
The mood had definitely swung for "Operation Savadaboat " to succeed. Someone brought a picnic basket and a six-pack was passed around. Some even offered to help any way they could. George was feeling more positive when the Captain reappeared with a huge cable, which was quickly attached to the bow of the boat and the operation began for the second time.
Again the excursion boat started forward, the boards in the derelict boat groaned, Olga was shouting rapid-fire orders to her husband and, miracle of miracles, the derelict began floating and was being towed as planned.
A roar from the shore became louder and louder as the two boats passed each group. Several times, when Captain Sam's boat gathered steam and moved too fast, the derelict would do a nose dive and become almost sub-merged, at which point the cheers from the crowd on shore quickly turned to groans. But each time, after slowing down, she would pop back up and almost looked majestic bobbing along after her rescuer. It was a glorious afternoon, one that some old boat lovers still talk about.
George took the boat home, and for several years she stood in the driveway slowly being restored. She became known as Clark's Ark.
The neighbors were diligent in checking the progress of the restoration. One in particular would stroll over and just watch, always leaving with an encouraging word like, "good job, George," or "she's looking good. "At this point his little boy would stick around and, after Daddy left, would invariably say "my dad thinks you're crazy!"
Clark's Ark was sold to another wooden boat ]over who sent us photos of her, as proud fathers do of their children, after she was completely restored. She is floating, I'm sure majestically, somewhere in the waters of New York state.
December 15, 1999
Dream Boats -- The Ubiquitous Coaster
By Richard CarsenIt was a major disservice to American boatmen that a ruling requiring a full-complement crew on seagoing ships was made applicable to small coasters. This ruling for large seagoing vessels certainly killed the trade for 350 to 500 ton coasters, as they could not survive, paying such a large crew' In northwest Europe this problem of proper licensing was solved differently, by allowing more than one license to be earned by a crewman on such small tonnage, so that a man could be both a first mate and a first engineer, or a third mate and a wireless operator. This made it possible for these little craft to carry a reduced crew, and make them economically feasible. They became a haven for any seaman with an independent and entrepreneurial spirit.
Five or six men would get together and form a cooperative venture, actually owning and operating one of these small ships. That this was a lucrative business can be shown by the fact that most craft were paid off in two years; yet the men took home a very decent pay. Small coaster trade was so successful that the British, who used much larger vessels in their coastal trade (3000 to 5000 tons) were forced to introduce a law that would prohibit foreign ships from trading between British harbors.
Everywhere you looked prior to WWII you could find these busy little ships, up and down the coasts of Europe. During WW II I even found one in equatorial Africa, in Freetown, Sierra Leone. Its skipper seemed to be making a living, or at least adding to his income, by piloting big vessels upriver to the rickety pier of the oildock. It was here that the convoys coming from England were disbanded, and others going north were assembled.
Had Hitler not invaded us in May, 1940, this might well have been my trade. Shortly before finals at the Amsterdam Maritime College, I had been approached by such a group, but Hitler's war blew my dreams, and those of millions of other young men, to smithereens, changing the entire future for all of us.
They were cheap then, those small coasters, 20,000 Dutch florins (then about $8000), when many ordinary houses cost less than that. They earned handsome returns, in contrast to many large ships which had difficulty making it. Real biggies, like Queen Mary or a Rex, never made a profit. The big bulk-carriers were the exception.
Having left the field of shipping in 1952, 1 do not know how it is now. And not having been back to Holland since 1956, 1 do not know whether the coasters survived in the postwar economy, but they certainly enjoyed a good trade while it lasted.
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