THOUSAND-FOOTER

THOUSAND-FOOTER
The Stewart J. Cort unloading taconite pellets at Burns Harbor docks.
Photo courtesy of Charlie Boles, former first mate, Stewart J. Cort.
A 1,500-mile iron ore run
aboard the 1,000-foot
Stewart J. Cort
By Past Com. James L. Ramsey, GPYC
and Larry W. Stephenson, MD
ISMA Lodge #7 Members
1
F
or the past three and a half hours, Dr. Stephenson and I have been hurtling west along the
darkness of Interstate 94 in the leathery confines of my old Cadillac, headed for the gritty
industrial towns of Michigan City, Gary and Burns Harbor that dot the southern end of Lake
Michigan. We exit the freeway shortly after crossing the Indiana border and are soon picking our
way along dimly lit Highway 12, which skirts the shoreline. We arrive at Burns Harbor at midnight where
we meet up with our genial host, freighter captain Tom McMullen, and after clearing the
imposing security gate of the Arcelor Mittal Steel Company (formerly Bethlehem Steel), we are
confronted by the even more intimidating vision of a steelyard covered in blackness.
Arcelor Mittal Steel mill and yards at Burns Harbor, Ind., with machines the size of office buildings.
It is one eerie sight: ominous dark
silhouettes of machines the size
of office buildings, surrounded by
imposing hills of coal, slag and iron
ore. Protruding into the night sky
are towering chimneys animated
by strobe lights, one of which emits
a jet of blue flame at least 30 feet
high. Probing this otherworldly
landscape are unmarked dirt roads
skirting the unforgiving water of
the harbor, vaguely illuminated by
lampposts that give off just enough
light to keep us from veering off the
edge. Maybe it’s late and perhaps
we’re a bit road-weary, but the final
drive leading to the 1,000-foot ore
carrier Stewart J. Cort is a vivid, even
daunting experience — a seemingly ideal habitat for fire-belching
dragons and mechanical monsters.
Rounding one last pile of slag, we
confront the Cort’s huge, reddishbrown stern , flooded in harsh light
and emitting an industrial roar as
she pours tons of iron ore from
her innards onto a dockside
conveyor belt. We make the
amazingly long drive from the Cort’s
stern to her bow where the pilothouse and crew quarters are
located. We will board here to
begin our 1,500-mile adventure.
Dr. Stephenson and I are
not exactly strangers to 1,000-foot
Great Lakes freighters. Two and a
half years ago, we were given a
comprehensive tour of a ship of
the same fleet, the Paul R. Tregurtha,
Note: All photos are courtesy of the
authors unless otherwise noted.
2
as she was unloading coal at East
China, Mich. One year later, we
were invited aboard another
Interlake Steamship Company
1,000-footer, the James R. Barker,
for a six-day, 1,000-mile coal run
from Marquette, Mich., to Duluth,
Minn., and ending at a power
station near Detroit. Since then,
we have enjoyed retelling our
experiences to our envious
pleasure boater friends, all of
whom appear to have the same
streak of Walter Mitty or George
Plimpton in them that we do. This
time, when the invitation came to
make another trip, we jumped at
the opportunity.
Capt. Tom McMullen, the
pleasant, even-keeled former U.S. Navy submariner
and Great Lakes veteran who
has commanded three other
1,000-foot freighters in addition
to the Cort, shows us our quarters
and does a brief reconnoiter of
where things are on board. He
apologizes up front for not being able to offer more luxurious
accommodations. The Cort, as the
first and oldest of the 1,000-footers, was commissioned nearly
40 years ago, in 1972. She was
designed as a pure working boat
with comfortable enough billeting for the crew, but no extra
frills, no V.I.P. staterooms and no
designated passenger quarters.
If extra workmen are temporarily assigned as passengers, the
captain usually has to find a place
for them to bunk. Typically, however, each regular crewmember
has his or her own stateroom with
one or two beds and a couch or
recliner chair, plus a desk with
drawers, a locker for clothes, a
closet and head with a toilet,
sink and shower. There is also a
television set in each room, and
the ship itself has satellite TV
connectivity. By contrast, the 1,013foot Paul R. Tregurtha, the newest and
largest of the Interlake 1,000-footers, and widely known as the
“Queen of the Great Lakes,” has
impressive guest quarters featuring
three staterooms plus an adjacent
recreation/observation room with
leather-bound sofa and chairs,
even a china and crystal cabinet.
Back on the Cort, my cabin is a
bit on the Spartan side, having
been previously occupied by two
ship’s porters. Job-wise, a ship’s
porter is apparently just above
galley slave on the freighter chain
of command. Ah, but who cares
about accommodations? This is
an adventure.
On the positive side, I will
be bunking just a few doors down
from the ship’s galley, which,
like the other freighter kitchens
we have visited, is large and
welcoming, open for snacks 24
hours a day with breakfast, lunch
and dinner served for one hour at
0715, 1115 and 1600 hours,
respectively. Dr. Stephenson will
reside one deck above me and the
captain one deck above him, just
below the ship’s towering wheelhouse, which in the case of the
Cort is located at the bow of the
boat as opposed to the stern,
where it is found on the dozen
other 1,000-footers that ply the
Great Lakes. In fact, the story
of the Stewart J. Cort’s concept,
design and execution is a story
unto itself. We will deal with
that separately.
The captain estimates that we will
be departing the harbor between
4:00 and 5:00 this morning, and it
is nigh time to hit the hay.
Day One: Departure
Experience teaches that if there
is one thing predictable about
the shipping business, it is that it
is not a very predictable business.
Almost anything can cause
a delay in schedule, and this
morning is no exception. Our
early wake-up call that will allow
us to watch the boat depart the
dock never comes. At 6:00 a.m., I
rise, throw on clothes and make
the climb to the bridge. It is
deserted and dark, except for the
muted lights of the myriad
navigational instruments and
controls that are located there.
Outside, the continuing roar
of conveyors signals that the
unloading process is not yet
complete. Nothing to do but go
back to my den, shower, shave
and head for the galley where hot
coffee is sure to be found.
Two hours later, we are ready
for departure. The sun has risen
over Lake Michigan, revealing an
ethereal view of the Chicago
skyline stretched out to the northwest against a backdrop of gray
autumnal clouds. The tops of the
tallest buildings are ablaze in the
glow, towering like fluorescent
mountains above the misty landscape. At this moment I wish I
could remember stanzas of poet
Carl Sandburg’s immortal tribute
to the Windy City, but all I can
come up with is “hog butcher for
the world” and “painted women
under gas lights luring the farm
boys in.”
After a deft departing maneuver
that takes us away from the dock
stern-first, Capt. McMullen and
wheelsman Mike Reed back the
Cort out into the U-shaped
harbor. There is little room to
3
spare for the gargantuan hull;
and none whatsoever for
mistakes. The Cort’s four bow and
stern thrusters do their job, and
by 8:38 a.m. we have cleared the
Burns Harbor breakwater and
are headed for the open waters of
the lake. And even though Lake
Superior gets top billing as the
most potentially ferocious of the
Great Lakes, Lake Michigan,
as the second largest, has a
menacing side, too, as mariners
will attest. But this day winds are
forecast out of the northeast at 15
to 25 mph. It should be a decent
day to run the lake, which in
earlier times was alternately
called Grand Lac, Lac des Puans and
Lac des Illinois by French explorers.
The Ojibways, however, dubbed
it Michi Gami, or great water. That
A
was good enough for the famed
explorer/missionary duo of Louis
Joliet and Father Jacques Marquette, who named it Lac des Michigan, which stuck.
By coincidence, several miles to
the west and slightly ahead of us we
see another 1,000-foot Great Lakes
freighter, the Edgar B. Speer, that has
just departed the harbor at nearby
Gary, Indiana. The Speer is from
steel hauling competitor Great
Lakes Fleet and she, like us, is
headed for the Soo Locks on a
parallel course. Whichever ship
gets there first will not only have the
honor of going through the Poe
Lock first, but the losing ship
typically loses an hour or more
waiting while the victor locks
through. We have the Speer’s speed
at 14.3 mph. We increase ours to
14.4. The race is on.
Ludicrous as it might seem for
two lumbering behemoths such as
these to be racing each other at
speeds that would barely pull
water skis, it does happen. In fact,
first mate John Brian relates an
incident in which two Great Lakes
freighters became so engrossed in
beating each other to the Soo,
neither would give way when they
reached the entrance to the St.
Marys River and their hulls got so
close, they sideswiped each other
with an industrial-strength crunch.
The names of the competitors are
withheld here to protect the guilty
parties. But try explaining that one
to your boss back at the shipping
company: “Heh-heh, just a little
fender-bender, sir. A couple of
million, a little paint, and she’ll be
good as new.”
B
C
A. A more current photograph of the Stewart J. Cort, docked
at Burns Harbor. Courtesy of Michael R. Sipper.
B. Forward main deck of the Stewart J. Cort.
C. Wheelhouse: (left to right) veteran helmsman Mike Reed;
Captain Tom McMullen; co-author James Ramsey
inspecting the ECPINS display screen; third mate
Richard Jenulis.
4
The great race continues all day,
the two ships at first running up
the middle of the lake, then
angling slightly east toward the
Michigan shore. Steadily northward we sail, up past the towns of
South Haven, Saugatuck and
Grand Haven, past Sleeping Bear
Dunes and then the Manitou
Islands. Our course takes us over
the deepest spot in the lake, over
900 feet below. From time to time,
the Speer can be seen altering
course and speed slightly, as if to
frustrate our own intended path,
like a game of cat and mouse
between a 30,000-ton feline and a
30,000-ton rodent. As daylight
recedes, the Speer is still within
sight, the gap between us remaining constant at about three miles.
Night descends, and Capt.
McMullen points to the moon
rising out of the water, orange and
bright as a Shell gasoline sign. All
five of us in the wheelhouse are
transfixed by the sight, and it is
clear that one of the priceless
perks of going to sea for a living is
the constant array of breathtaking
views that nature bestows on the
ship and its crew. No two sightings
are exactly alike, either, because
the complex relationship of water,
temperature, atmosphere, wind
and time of day are in endless
juxtaposition. At 10:30, it is time
to turn in. The Speer’s lights are
directly ahead of us. To the north,
about 100 miles or so, lie the
Straits of Mackinac. The seas are
running an acceptable three to
five feet and the air temperature is
44 degrees. By satellite TV, we
learn the Minnesota Vikings have
once again defeated the thenhapless Detroit Lions. Even out
here, some things never change.
The story of the Stewart J. Cort,
previously known as “Stubby.”
Looking at the massive
1,000-foot Stewart J. Cort
today, it is difficult to
imagine that it once sailed
as a mere shadow of itself,
one-fifth its present length,
under the nickname
“Stubby.” But it did. That
is because when the Cort
first took shape on
drawing boards in the
‘Stubby’, the bow and stern sections of the
mid-1960s, the idea of a
Stewart J. Cort, enroute from Mississippi to
Erie Marine. Courtesy Roger LaLievre and
Great Lakes freighter that
Boatnerd.com.
was 1,000 feet long, or
one-third longer than the
longest freighters of the day, was unprecedented. After much deliberation, it was decided that the ship would be built in different parts by
utilizing the expertise of two shipbuilders at opposite ends of the
country. Ingalls Shipbuilding Corp., of Pascagoula, Miss., was given the
task of building the working ends, the bow and stern quarters. Erie
Marine, in Erie, Pa., would build the lengthy midsection where the
payload would go. When Ingalls completed the bow and stern sections,
the two were welded together to form what is arguably one of the
strangest looking ships ever to sail in modern times.
“Stubby,” as it was affectionately nicknamed, was 182 feet long,
launched in 1969, and sailed under its own power across the Gulf of
Mexico, up the East Coast and into the St. Lawrence River, arriving at
Erie in June 1970. In the meantime, the Erie shipyard had been at work
completing the 800-plus-foot midbody of the freighter. Following a
dotted line that had been painted in Pascagoula around Stubby’s
mid-section with the jocular inscription, “Cut here,” the Erie builders
proceeded to separate the truncated ship back into two pieces, widened
them from 75 feet (to clear locks in the St. Lawrence River and Welland
Canal) to 105 (the desired beam) and finally, in January 1971, attached
them as bow and stern at either end of the 818-foot midbody, thus
creating the world’s first 1,000-foot lake freighter. The entire procedure
may sound complicated, but it proved to be both practical and costefficient. The completed Stewart J. Cort was launched in 1971, went into
service in the spring of 1972 and has been a mainstay ore carrier ever
since. The numeral “1” is displayed in several prominent places around
the Stewart J. Cort. The number is of course a reminder of her senior
status among the fleet of 1,000-foot Great Lakes freighters. But when
you talk to the Cort’s proud crew, some of whom have been with her
more than 30 years, you realize it means a lot more than that.
❖❖❖
5
A navigational note here:
Charts of Lake Michigan have
markings prescribed by the Lake
Carriers Association (LCA) that
indicate various north- and southbound routes for freighters. Some
favor the northeast end of
the lake, while others offer a
course slightly to the west. The
advantage to the routes that run
northeast — that is, between the
Manitou Islands and up through
Gray’s Reef Passage — is that
they provide a shorter, faster trip
to the Straits of Mackinac. And
of course in the shipping
business, time means money and
this is not a pleasure cruise. The
northeasterly passages also offer
greater protection, a place to layto if necessary, should storm
situations develop out of the west,
which is where the prevailing
winds on Lake Michigan come
from. Historically, the east side of
the Manitous, and particularly
South Manitou Island, have been
regarded as a safe place to anchor
in a bad storm. Unfortunately,
over 50 shipwrecks in the area
attest that not all vessels make it
to safety. Nowadays, if there is a
big blow out of the west or northwest, even “light,” or unloaded
ships will keep to the far west side
of the lake to take advantage of
the lee shore.
The downside of the aforementioned northeasterly route is
that Gray’s Reef Passage is
narrow and shallow, so the large
freighters can only use this
course when they are “light.”
The longer, slower route, which
offers the luxury of deeper water
west of Beaver Island, is chosen
when ships are loaded and
headed south.
6
We are now two-thirds of the
way up the lake, headed toward
the Michigan shore near Sleeping
Bear Dunes. From here our
course reaches between the
Manitou Islands and the mainland, and is known as the
Manitou Passage. It is nearly two
miles wide and has plenty of deep
water for big ships. At the north
end of the passage and off to
port, at midnight, we pass North
Manitou Island and the 79-foothigh North Manitou Shoals
Light. There we haul to a course
of 37 degrees true and arrive at
Gray’s Reef Passage about four
hours later.
As pleasure boaters who ply
these waters know, the southern
entrance to Gray’s Reef Passage
is obstructed on its west side by
Middle Shoal, which has a depth
of just 17 feet, while the narrow
Reef Passage itself provides 24
1/2 feet. Gray’s Reef Light,
which stands 82 feet above the
water, is on Middle Shoal at the
edge of the passage. Although 17
feet of water is more than
adequate for private watercraft, it
is anathema to a ship of our size.
In fact, 24 1/2 feet is barely
tolerable. And so, at 4:00 a.m.,
with the Reef not far ahead, the
Cort’s speed is checked down and
orders are given to pump out
ballast that will allow the ship to
clear the passage with a scant few
feet of water under her hull. The
crew on the bridge keeps close
watch on the lighted buoys that
mark the passage ahead, as well
as on the fathometer (depth
gauge), the GPS (Global Positioning System) and the radar screen.
Again, there is simply no margin
for error. As a final visual check
on our position, the crew uses the
Cort’s spotlight to confirm the
numbers of the buoys as we pass
them. Before long, we have the
welcoming beacon of White Shoal
Light and the Straits several miles
to the north.
We exit Gray’s Reef Passage,
but the ballast water we jettisoned
is not pumped back into the Cort’s
hull to restore her operating trim
until we reach “9 Mile” in the St.
Marys River. We learn that
despite the considerable tonnage
that regularly travels this waterway, there are shallow spots that
must be cleared before that
location is reached. One of the
crew recalls the story of a freighter that was about to traverse the
same passage not that long ago.
Orders to reduce ballast were
misinterpreted, and instead of
pumping water out, the engine
room pumped water into the ship.
The water-laden freighter hit
bottom in the passage, slicing a
sizeable hole in her bottom which
cost millions to repair and still
more in lost revenue while the
ship was laid up.
Day Two: The Soo
At 6:00 a.m., we are past the
festive red- and white-striped
White Shoal Light that looks like
a 125-foot barber pole and
signals the western entrance to
the Straits. “Big Mac,” the mighty
Mackinac Bridge, is clearly in
view to the east. For reasons that
aren’t clear, the Speer has gained
on us during the night and is now
already under the big bridge and
hauling for Bois Blanc Island. We
are mildly disappointed that we
have fallen behind in our little
(Top, Left to right) co-author James R. Ramsey, Captain Tom McMullen,
co-author Larry W. Stephenson, M.D. standing behind pilot house with
Mackinac Island in the background. Courtesy of helmsman Michael Reed.
(Left) Sunrise over the Mackinac Bridge.
contest. But it is a beautiful day
on the water and the sunrise is
brilliant in our faces as we glide
past “The Turtle,” which is what
the native people called Mackinac
Island because of its domelike
shape resembling the dorsal side
of a rather large turtle. In the sunlight, the Grand Hotel and Fort
Mackinac shine like snow off our
port side, and the breeze has subsided to light and variable, with
waves running about a foot. To
hell with the Speer. It’s a great day
for a boat ride.
After a day at sea aboard the
Stewart J. Cort and with memories of
our earlier experience aboard the
James R. Barker fresh in mind, it’s
time to observe a major difference
between the two boats. The Cort is
what NASCAR parlance might
describe as a “front-steer,” meaning
that her pilothouse is located at the
front, or bow of the ship, as
opposed to the “rear-steer” Barker,
which has her bridge and pilothouse located astern. The reason
for this is largely cost-efficiency:
Based on experience building the
Cort, subsequent designers realized
there were substantial savings to be
gained from consolidating most of
the freighter’s inner workings at
one end of the hull; and since the
engine and driveline were aft
already, the stern was the logical
place to relocate the pilothouse,
galley and crew quarters. Besides,
the setup was already in practice
on oceangoing vessels. At the same
time, advances in navigational
equipment, including radar,
Loran, and later GPS, pretty
much eliminated the need to have
the eyes of the helmsman located
up front. There was also an
important secondary advantage to
the new configuration in that the
aft-mounted bridge would be less
vulnerable to the ravages of stormdriven waves that can completely
submerge a forward-located wheelhouse. Consequently, all 12 of the
1,000-foot Great Lakes freighters
that followed the Cort have their
helms located astern.
Even so, under tranquil sea
conditions Dr. Stephenson and I
agree that the forward pilothouse
of the Cort makes for fine travel.
First, being about 100 feet wide
with windows all the way around,
it provides an absolutely panoramic view of the seascape.
Second, because the engines and
driveline are located some 800 feet
to the stern, the wheelhouse is
notably free of vibration and
noise. The going is so smooth, in
fact, it is easy to forget we have
some 900 feet of ship immediately
behind us. There is, however, one
facet of the newer Barker that is
a definite improvement over the
older Cort: the Barker has an
elevator that runs from the engine
room to just below the bridge. On
the Cort, we must huff and puff
our way up six flights of stairs after
meals. Not that the exercise won’t
do us good.
About two-thirds of the way to
the mouth of the St. Marys River,
we make the required call to “Soo
Traffic,” officially known as VTC
or Vessel Traffic Control — St. Marys
River, advising them we are one
hour out. As their name suggests,
VTC is in place to control ship
7
traffic along the 75-mile length of
the sometimes winding and
narrow river. We will call them
again when we reach the mouth
of the St. Marys, then three times
more before we get to the Soo
Locks, then once again when we
leave the locks and once more for
good measure when we reach Gros
Cap Light at the junction of the St.
Marys River and Whitefish Bay
where the river system ends. Soo
Traffic, which is operated by the
U.S. Coast Guard, is obviously a
strong proponent of communication, as well they should be. While
most sections of the St. Marys
have adequate room for ships to
maneuver and even anchor during
periods of low visibility, there are
several areas that can be extremely
treacherous in heavy fog or snow.
Under those conditions, it is
customary for Soo Traffic to close
the entire river.
By 10:45 a.m., we have the
De Tour Reef Light which marks
the entrance to the St. Marys
River directly abeam. The Speer is
nowhere in sight; the race victory
is hers. To continue the race on
DeTour Reef Light at the mouth of the St. Marys River.
the river would be unthinkable.
Speed limits there are strictly
enforced and with some no passing zones. While authorities might
allow a captain a 1/2 mile over,
the fines come in 1,000-dollar increments after that.
About six miles up the St. Marys
River, Squaw Island comes into
view, with two bald eagles perched
regally atop a tree, their white
hoods glowing brilliantly in the
sunshine. And off to starboard,
along the Canadian shore, lies St.
Joseph Island , the tip of which is
home to the stone ruins of Fort St.
Joseph, an old British fortress. The
Union Jack is still flown there.
A few miles later, up past Sand
Island, the river where it widens is
named Lake Munuscong. The
crew and Soo Traffic call it Mud
Lake for short. We make a hard
starboard haul and enter the
northbound freighter channel,
which leads us to the tightest turn
on the river for a 1,000-footer, the
turn at Johnson Point. In anticipation of the Cort and other
1,000-footers going into service,
the turn was dredged and
widened by the U.S. Army Corps
of Engineers in 1971. Even so, it
is a pretty tight squeeze.
(Top) The 1,000-foot ore freighter Edwin H. Gott,
downbound on the St. Marys River. She is the sister
ship to the Edgar B. Speer.
(Left) Johnson Point as viewed from the bridge of
another 1,000-foot ore freighter. The Point is the tightest
turn in the St. Marys River for 1,000-footers. Courtesy
of first mate John Brian.
8
(Above) The Edgar B. Speer in the Poe Lock as viewed
through a window on the bridge of the Stewart J. Cort.
(Right) The ore freighter John G. Munson leaving the
Soo Locks.
We approach the Soo Locks at
3:30 in the afternoon, and there,
just ahead of us, is our old friend,
the Speer, blocking our way into
the Poe Lock. Snide references to
the sound of its name aside, the
Poe Lock is the only lock in the
Soo large enough to accommodate 1,000-foot freighters. Since
the Speer is here first, she will
precede us. She takes her own
sweet time about it, too, apparently gloating over the fact she
has beaten us to the mark.
Finally the Speer creeps into
the lock, the gates close and
water surges into the cavity. As
the lock fills, the Speer begins to
rise slowly until she is 20 feet
higher than when she entered.
Twenty minutes later, the gate at
the other end opens and she
moves on. In the meantime, however, the downbound 768-footer,
John G. Munson, has slipped in the
lock from the west, and we are
told by the Corps of Engineers,
who operate the Locks, that we
must queue up again.
While we wait, more bad news.
The captain gets a message from
our destination in Silver Bay,
Minn., saying they have an equipment failure, that boats are
backed up ahead of us and it may
be three days or more before they
can load our ship.
At last we move into the Poe
Lock, and Capt. Tom displays his
boathandling finesse. There is
only two and a half feet of clearance on either side of the ship and
the walls of the lock are concrete,
protected by protruding ribs of
steel; yet we slide confidently
through with nary a scrape. At
6:00 p.m., we clear the lock, two
and a half hours after we arrived.
We head for Whitefish Bay and
from there out onto the largest
body of fresh water in North
America, mighty Lake Superior.
Destination: Silver Bay, Minn.,
some 300 miles to the northwest.
Immediately to starboard, on the
Canadian side of Sault Ste. Marie,
we count scores of wind-driven
electrical generators rising high
above the forest-covered hills, peaking today in fall color, that overlook
the bay and the lake. The World
War II bomber-like propellers of
the generators are at rest because
of the calm breezes, but the sight
of so many of these costly,
unnatural-looking whirligigs doing
nothing makes us wonder if this is
what the rest of the world is going
to look like 20 years from now.
Even so, calm breezes mean calm
seas, and on Lake Superior, the
resting place of over 350 shipwrecks, “light and variable” is
always a welcome forecast.
An older photo of the Stewart J. Cort
entering the Poe Lock, showing how
the Cort almost completely fills the lock.
Courtesy of Roger LaLievre and Boatnerd.com.
9
A
B
hurry because the docks at Silver
Bay can’t accommodate us anyway. Reaffirming that there is
always something worth seeing
from the wheelhouse of a ship on
the Great Lakes, we are treated to
an absolutely spectacular sunrise
off our stern quarter, set against a
backdrop of dark, autumn-gray
cloud cover, with the seas off our
beam building to four and five
C
feet. Five-foot seas can be of
concern to the skipper of a
pleasure boat, but the Cort is so
massive she treats them like
ripples. Even so, the breeze is
Photos A, B and C show a crew member
sufficient for the watch to add six
about to be lowered on a bosun’s chair
degrees of correction at the helm,
onto the walkway along the Poe Lock.
C shows the steel cable dropped over the
from 286 degrees up to 292, in
yellow-painted bollard, which will help
order to maintain our desired
keep the boat from moving horizontally
while at the lock.
heading. Like all really big ships,
the Cort presents so much square
footage to the wind, the mass of
her hull tends to act like a sail, and
We miss dinner this evening Powers have been up preparing frequently does.
because there is so much to see breakfast for well over an hour
Several hours later, we have the
topside, and at 8:00 p.m. finally now, and the product of their once-mighty mining town of
sit down to cold Salisbury steaks culinary labor fills the air with the Copper Harbor three miles off
and mashed potatoes. Capt. pleasant smell of freshly cooked our beam, and it is time to haul
McMullen joins us several bacon and sausage, eggs to order, for Eagle Harbor, another Upper
minutes later, jovially pointing pancakes, toast, sweet rolls, and of Peninsula boom town that
out that there is a microwave in course pitchers of hot coffee. supplied much of the country’s
the galley for such occasions, but Interlake Steamship Company, copper during the 19th century.
Dr. Larry and I have already apparently subscribing to the Since digging copper in a subsabotaged our digestive tracts. Napoleonic axiom that an army Arctic climate wasn’t exactly
Nevertheless, sleep comes easily travels on its stomach, has pleasant duty, both towns offered
about 10:00 p.m., as it frequently concluded that a ship’s crew does up a wide variety of saloons for
does for landlubbers at sea.
the same.
entertainment. Together, they
We climb to the bridge and find boasted nearly three dozen places
First Mate John Brian and wheels- for miners to wet their whistles.
Day Three: Change in Plans
man Leandro Adriano guiding the
Weather
permitting,
the
Awake at 6:00 a.m., once again ship at reduced speed — 11 1/2 captain likes to hug the northernahead of the alarm, and suddenly mph — on just two of the Cort’s most portion of the Keeweenaw
realize why. It’s the aroma coming four engines. Our course will shore, passing it within three
from the galley just down the hall. carry us past the Keeweenaw miles, which allows for about
Chef Don Cook (yes, that’s his Peninsula which juts like a giant three hours of Internet and cell
real last name) and his faithful thumb some 60 miles into Lake phone usage that benefits both
Irish assistant Timothy Michael Superior, but there is no reason to the business of the ship and its
10
A spectacular sunrise over Lake Superior off the Cort’s stern quarter, set against a backdrop of dark autumn gray cloud cover.
crew. The watch changes and we
are joined by second mate Rebecca
Hancock and helmsman Bob
Larson. Officer Hancock hands
Dr. Larry a pair of binoculars
and points to a spot along the
tree-lined shore a couple of miles
to the east of Eagle Harbor . “Do
you see those golden domes?” she
asks. “They’re part of a Ukrainian
Catholic monastery called ‘The
Holy Transformation Monastery.’” She tells us that the monks
support themselves by operating
a nearby bakery and store called
The Jampot, which sells dozens
of excellent handmade jellies,
jams and baked goods. Officer
Hancock’s personal favorite is the
rhubarb and cabernet sauvignon
grape “combo.”
In the meantime, the captain
has received some potentially
good news from Silver Bay that
the delay may not be as long as
originally thought and they may
be able to load us sooner than was
forecast. We will know more as
the day progresses.
Special note: When the time for
the haul off Copper Harbor
arrives, third mate Richard
Jenulis invites this co-author to
take the helm. Interestingly, the
wheel that steers the Cort is no
larger than one found on a
go-kart. It turns easily as I give
the ship some left rudder to take
us from our present course of 291
degrees down to the desired 269.
“Two-six-nine,” I respond to the
order and gently turn the wheel
counterclockwise.
The Cort responds slowly at first,
but once it starts to swing, it’s easy
to over-correct. Veteran helmsman
Mike Reed suggests a mid-turn
pause at 275 degrees, which slows
the turn, gives the ship a chance to
catch up, and enables me to
successfully make the final adjustment to 269. Once there, officer
Jenulis orders “Rudders Midship”
on the helm and I turn the wheel
clockwise several degrees until the
digital gauge that monitors rudder
angle reads “OO.”
“Midship,” I confirm to the
officer. The haul is complete. For
my part, I am happy to relinquish
the helm and turn the driving of
the ship back to people who
actually know what they are doing.
During the afternoon, the
captain informs us that the good
news out of Silver Bay was
premature, prompted more by
wishful thinking than reality. The
window of opportunity there that
could put us back on schedule has
closed again, as more ships
waiting to get into the loading
dock are backed up ahead of us.
The present estimate is that it will
take another 30 hours before we
can get in the harbor, then
another half-day to load us.
With the delay at Silver Bay
a certainty, Captain McMullen
initiates a new float plan. Instead
of heading directly from Eagle
Harbor across the lake to Silver
Bay, we will continue to follow
Lake Superior’s south shore until
we reach the Apostle Islands,
which are only a couple of hours
11
sail from our destination. At the
Apostles we will drop anchor in
accommodating shallow water
until our number is called. A look
at the chart reveals why. The
waters along the north shore of
Lake Superior around Silver Bay
are hundreds of feet deep.
Anchoring there would be next to
impossible. On the other hand,
the area just southwest of Sand
Island in the Apostles has a
protective
elliptical
shape
surrounded by gentle depths that
make it a natural anchorage. We
will proceed there immediately.
On our way, off to the north, we
catch sight of an eastbound
1,000-footer, the Burns Harbor,
which was scheduled ahead of us
at Silver Bay. She is already loaded
and headed eastward for the Soo,
which is an encouraging sign.
Perhaps the traffic jam at the ore
dock is clearing faster than anticipated. Next comes radio chatter
from the Canadian freighter,
Richelieu, which is immediately
ahead of us in the queue. She is
being advised to move into
position at the dock so she can
begin taking on her load of iron
ore. Once that is completed and
she departs the harbor, we are
free to enter. Dinner this evening
is a personal favorite: barbecued
short ribs topped with Chef Don’s
own special sauce. With this kind
of cuisine a common occurrence,
we marvel that everyone on the
Cort’s crew doesn’t weigh 300
pounds. In truth, most are pretty
trim — testimony, no doubt, to
the energy they put forth working
the ship.
We pass just north of the
Apostle Islands as darkness sets
in. From our position we can see
12
Outer Island Light, located at the
northeast end of the Apostles,
which we assume would number
12 for obvious reasons; but in
actuality there are more like 18 of
them. To the west and further
north is Devils Island Light,
followed by the York Shoal Light
and finally Sand Island, where we
will lay-to. The ship makes a
southwest turn and proceeds
some 10 miles to where 100-foot
depths are favorable for dropping
the hook. Since the captain and
crew have never been in this area
by ship, we check down our speed
and keep a close eye on every
navigational aid in our possession
— paper charts, depth gauge,
GPS, spotlight and radar.
To bed and immediately asleep
at 10:45 p.m., only to be jolted
awake by the clatter of the Cort’s
massive anchor chain being paid
out. With links larger than footballs, each weighing 70 pounds
or more, the chain makes a noise
that reverberates through the
entire hull. The hook finds home,
and the desired amount of scope
— a.k.a. slack — is meted out.
When the anchor is set, the
captain places an electronic circle
around the ship on the ECPINS
display screen (Electronic Chart
Precision Integrated Navigation
System) and tells the mate on
watch if the ship’s image touches
the edge of the circle, he is to
be notified immediately. It will
mean the anchor is not holding
and scramble time is upon us.
With that, the captain and doctor
retire to their quarters and the
ship returns to quiet.
Day Four: On to
Silver Bay at Last
Awake, shower, shave and
ascend to the bridge as the sun
rises over the Apostles. We sit
sipping steaming cups of the
captain’s premium coffee in the
growing light and mark the start
of a balmy Indian Summer day
outside. Life is good here in
Siskwit Bay. Just over two miles to
the south, small boats begin to
emerge from the fishing village of
The fishing village of Cornucopia, amid bright fall foliage.
Cornucopia, lured, as it were, by
the prospect of one more good
day on the water before the
ravages of winter set in. A scan
with the binoculars also reveals
that the Cornucopia harbor, tiny
as it is, is home to perhaps 20 sailboats, the masts of which are
glinting above the breakwater. It’s
a pleasant sight, a sign that people
like their recreation, no matter
how remote the setting.
As the day goes on, our itinerary
is confirmed. We will spend the
next 12 hours here, then slip our
anchorage late this evening and
make for Silver Bay, which is
directly across the lake about two
hours away, with an approximate
ETA of 2:00 a.m. If everything
goes well during loading, we
should be able to depart Silver
Bay perhaps 12 hours later and
head for the Soo.
In the meantime, Capt.
McMullen uses the break to
conduct a fire and lifeboat drill
among the crew. Such exercises
are required periodically by the
U.S. Coast Guard, and most of
the crewmembers have gone
through the motions hundreds of
times, but they still pay close
attention because the prospect of
fire at sea and the need to abandon ship are a sailor’s worst fear.
As a further incentive, the captain
has added a raffle once a month
at the safety meeting which
follows immediately afterward.
The winner gets 50 bucks.
Despite the summery conditions, a change in weather is
headed our way. The wind is
clocking around from the south to
the west, bringing with it rain and
a sea change definitely not for the
better. The captain is uneasy with
the forecast because 1.) a ship at
anchor is always vulnerable; and
2.) a westerly breeze will make the
entrance to Silver Bay Harbor,
which opens to west, all the more
dicey. It has been several years
since Capt. McMullen has docked
there, and the Cort herself has
never been in Silver Bay before.
Our ship was purpose-built to
run primarily between Burns
Harbor and the ore docks at
Superior, Wis., but economydriven shortages in taconite from
the processors that normally
supply the favored Wisconsin port
have made Silver Bay our alternate port of call. Compared to
the massive Duluth/Superior
harbor complex which stretches
for miles, Silver Bay is going to be
a tight fit. It promises to be a tense
experience for everyone on board.
After lunch, featuring Chef
Don’s beef enchiladas el grande,
Dr. Larry and I waddle along
behind Chief Engineer Drew
Leonardi as he leads us on the
900-foot trip to the stern section,
where the Cort’s engine room
resides. The two of us met
Leonardi previously when we
were aboard the James R. Barker
and really admired his ability
to explain a ship’s complex
propulsion system in layman’s
terms. Now, with the main
engines at rest, it will be a lot
easier to hear him explain what
makes the Cort go.
It turns out that the Cort
is something of a tribute to railroading, since she uses four
General Motors-built EMD
(Electro Motive Division) 20cylinder locomotive engines —
yes, GM used to be in that
business, too — each making
A
B
C
A. The ship’s galley with assistant cook,
Timothy Michael Powers.
B. The crew’s dining area.
C. The officers dining area.
3,600 horsepower. In best railroad tradition , the 14,400-horsepower combo drives four huge
electric motors connected to two
reduction gears that eventually
turn the wheels, or in this case
two four-bladed propellers, each
of which is 18 feet in diameter.
Drew explains that the four V-20
engines can also be diverted from
13
insulated from the din. In the end,
almost everything on the ship that
runs depends on the engineers’
diligence, and they are proud of
that. For as surely as they know
what makes the ship go, they also
know who makes it go.
By the time we leave the engine
room and go on deck, the weather
Ship’s chief engineer, Andrew Leonardi,
has definitely taken a downward
on the bridge speaking to another crew
turn. The serenity of the bay is
member by telephone.
broken by angry whitecaps and a
hard rain pelts us as we make our
their primary task to run auxiliary way forward to the shelter of the
appliances such as the bow and bow. From the bridge, Captain
stern thrusters, cargo conveyors McMullen expresses concern that
the strong winds may cause our
or emergency generators.
The chief engineer and his four anchor to lose its grip, allowing the
AEs (Assistant Engineers) reside in ship to drift into the shallow water
a murky, hammering world of heat, near shore. Once again, he tells
noise and grease, surrounded by an the mate to keep a close eye on the
unforgiving array of whirring electronic circle around the Cort to
belts, spinning chains and meshing determine if we are slipping. The
gears that can gobble up an un- good news is that the wind is
wary hand faster than a crocodile. holding mainly out of the south/
It’s an environment that would southwest, which is favorable to
have most of us desk jockeys our float plan.
The remainder of the afterbegging for quiet and fresh air
inside an hour, but the engineers noon is spent at anchor with the
handle it casually. Their only skies clearing and the wind
reprieve is an air-conditioned dropping, but still no word, no
control room which is fairly well two-hour signal from the Richelieu,
which she has promised to give us
when she is certain of her
departure from Silver Bay.
Potroast for supper tonight,
which is a comfort all by itself.
And then, from the bridge, we
are entertained by yet another
spectacular sunset. On land, I
hardly notice the coming and
going of the day, but out here it is
a ritual to be eagerly anticipated
and appreciated. Life at sea may
not be everyone’s cup of tea, but
it certainly does put one in touch
with the basics.
At 7:00 p.m. the call comes from
the Richelieu. A soft FrenchCanadian voice from the ship’s
female captain tells us they will
depart on schedule. It is time for us
to go. Suddenly the bridge is alive
in readiness. The captain
signals the first mate, who in turn
calls the engine room to start and
warm the engines. Meanwhile, a
crew is sent to the windlass, the
mighty winch that controls the
chain, preparing to weigh anchor.
We are in 110 feet of water and we
have 330 feet of chain to retrieve.
At the captain’s order, there is a
whirring, clanking sound from the
Another spectacular sunset, this time while the Stewart J. Cort is anchored near the Apostle Islands.
14
port bow as the windlass begins to
take in chain. It turns slowly,
steadily, taking back one massive
link at a time until the chain is
straight up and down, parallel
with the side of the ship. Next the
captain puts the boat in gear to
ease the strain on the mechanism;
but the anchor, weighing five tons,
remains wedded to the bottom.
Easy does it now. Into neutral.
Hard left rudder. Back in gear.
Gently now. Finally the anchor is
free. Back in neutral. Don’t rush
things. Let the windlass finish the
job. Third officer Jenulis reports
the anchor is in sight. Hose it off,
crank it up tight and lock it down.
Back in gear. We are underway.
The run to Silver Bay is a
relative quickie, about 30 miles.
We approach the harbor after
dark, just as the Richelieu is leaving
the dock. Since this will be the
Stewart J. Cort’s first appearance in
the harbor, docking her will have a
touch of the unknown about it.
On cue, an electrical storm of epic
voltage that has been brewing the
past two hours hits us just as we
get within five miles of the harbor.
It unleashes a fierce rain squall
that limits visibility and makes life
on deck difficult.
Even under fair conditions a
ship this size maneuvering in
limited confines means there is
simply no margin for error. And
Silver Bay is not a freighter-friendly
harbor. It is guarded on one side
by a huge block of granite that
looks in the darkness like an abandoned fortress. On the other side
of the harbor entrance is a spit of
land called Beaver Island that
serves as a natural breakwater, but
can also ground a ship that is the
least bit off-course as it attempts to
line up with the dock. McMullen
must keep the Cort between the
North Shore Mining dock and an
unlit buoy that warns of the shoal.
Imagine one of Chicago’s tallest
buildings lying on its side. Your job
is to drive it backward up State
Street without touching anything.
To add to the fun, the harbor
itself is narrow and L-shaped.
Before entering, the captain must
swing the boat 180 degrees,
proceed stern-in, then execute a
second, 45-degree turn as he
backs the ship toward the dock. It
is here we recognize the advantage
of having the pilothouse in the
stern like the other 1,000-footers.
In the case of the Cort, the
captain’s ability to see what is
happening “up front” when he
reverses the ship is limited. Believe
us, 900 feet of hull can be a
definite impediment to visibility.
But it’s all pretty much routine
for the Cort’s crew. Covered in foul
weather gear and equipped with
handheld radios, all three of the
ship’s mates and a handful of
crew are deployed fore and aft
along the deck to call out visual
sightings of the ship’s position
relative to the buoys, the shoal
and the dock. Seven-tenths of a
mile out, the ship is slowed to
“bare steerage speed,” meaning
as slow as it can go and still maintain effective steerage at the
rudders, while the captain studies
the buoys that mark the approach
to the harbor. Then both bow
and stern thrusters are activated
and the ship begins a slow
counter-clockwise pivot around
the green buoy that is closest to the
bow. The ship’s powerful searchlight is focused on that buoy during the entire procedure. (The
captain says later that he thinks of
this pirouette-like maneuver as a
well-choreographed dance routine
where constant interaction is required between the engines,
thrusters and rudders in order to
achieve a successful outcome.)
The rotation continues until the
stern is pointed toward the harbor
entrance. Now reverse is engaged,
and with the mates calling out the
clearances to the bridge (“Fifty
feet... forty-five feet... forty feet!”) ,
the Cort begins inching her way
stern-first into Silver Bay Harbor.
All goes as planned. Within an
hour the Cort is parallel with the
dock and moving sideways six
inches at a time until she is just off
the wooden sideboards of the
North Shore Mining Company
seawall. Then crew members are
lowered to the dock in a bosun’s
chair and heaving lines are tossed
to them from the ship’s deck. The
lines are attached to steel cables
which are paid out from winches
on the ship, and the cables are
dropped over the bollards or
around the spiles along the dock.
Then the cables are heaved-on, or
tightened, and the Cort is safely
docked. It is 2:00 a.m. Time for
the good doctor and me to have a
celebratory docking drink before
lights out.
Day Five: Taking on Ore
With the dawn of day and the
sun streaming down, Silver Bay
looks a lot less intimidating than it
did last night. The loaders disgorging taconite pellets (a.k.a. iron
ore) have been at work filling the
hold for several hours now, and we
learn with considerable pleasure
that the loading process won’t take
15
nearly as long as anticipated . It
means that we will probably be
loaded and ready to leave by late
afternoon, which moves our ETA
back at Burns Harbor ahead by
nearly a day. That is good news. It
appears that Dr. Larry and I won’t
have to jump ship in order to meet
commitments back in the Detroit
area. Instead of having to hitch a
three-hour ride into Duluth, then
catch a plane to Minneapolis or
Chicago, then bum another ride to
Burns Harbor to retrieve our automobile, we can stay aboard and
complete the voyage with the crew.
Meanwhile, the 844-foot ATB
— aka articulated tug/barge —
the Great Lakes Trader, has pulled
into view just outside the harbor
and proceeds to do a daylight
version of the docking maneuver
we did early this morning. And
although the ATB pilot has been
able to approach the harbor from
a more favorable direction — from
the east versus the south, as we did
— he must thread an even tighter
needle because he must back his
barge around us to get to his
assigned spot at the other end of
the dock. Fortunately the tug’s
The Cort docked at Silver Bay’s North
Shore Mining ore loading facility.
16
The tug Joyce L. Van Enkevort connected by cables to a notched section of the stern of
the barge Great Lakes Trader. The method used to join them makes them an ATB or
Articulated Tug Barge. The ATB is docked immediately behind the Cort waiting its turn
to move forward to the ore loading dock.
considerable engines and bowthrusters are up to the task, and
the Great Lakes Trader slides neatly
by, as if on rails.
Later, at mid-day, Capt.
McMullen and the authors catch
a ride with wisecracking Norm,
North Shore Mining’s irrepressible shuttle driver, in his iron orecolored Jeep, and pay a visit to the
town of Silver Bay proper. Silver
Bay is a pretty small town even
by small-town measurements,
although it still manages to offer
the essentials of life. There is a
grocery store, a hardware store,
bar and liquor store (with a
surprisingly good wine selection),
a Dairy Queen/pizzeria, gas
station and dental clinic.
Having done the town, we head
back to the ship, stopping along
the way to pay respects to “Rocky
Taconite,” a 10-foot tall character
sculpted from a single block of
taconite. Incidentally, if you care
to know how taconite is processed, there is a free brochure in
the Silver Bay Welcome Center
that will teach you. It seems there
are 10 steps in the process, the
first nine of which involve the
word “crusher.” You start with a
big boulder of ore typically
containing about 30 percent of
the desired iron, put it in a crusher, then another crusher, then
another crusher, until it is
reduced to the texture of pea
gravel, then finally powder. Next,
magnets are introduced to pull
the iron from the powder, and the
iron extract is spun and baked
into little black balls the size of
marbles that can be easily
mistaken for deer droppings.
Scatological references aside, that
is how taconite pellets, so essential
Taconite Pellet Factoid:
A
Statue honoring “Rocky Taconite.”
to the making of steel, are created.
We reach the Cort just in time to
say goodbye to third mate Jenulis,
who is taking a brief shore leave
to get married . He departs with
sincere best wishes from us, his
pals on the crew and the captain.
The Cort departs Silver Bay bowfirst at 5:45 p.m., with 56,000 tons
of taconite in its holds. Out on
the open lake, we catch sight of
two more 1,000-footers: our previous ride, the James R. Barker, and
the Presque Isle. They are about
three miles apart on a parallel
course for the Soo. Of course we
all know what that means. Is
another race shaping up here?
We’ll have to wait and see.
Day Six: Headed East
Up on the bridge at first light
and see by the ECPINS display
screen that the battle, at 14 mph,
between the Barker and the Presque
Isle is in full tilt and that the
former appears to be closing on
the latter. Then again, we have
hundreds of miles to go before
the imaginary checkered flag is
waved at the east end of Whitefish Bay where the St. Marys
River begins.
Lake freighters transport
iron ore in the form of
taconite pellets from harbors
near taconite mines and
processing plants where the
pellets are produced. Taconite is predominantly mined
at the western end of Lake
Superior in the Mesabi Range
of Minnesota, the Marquette
Range of Michigan and
B
nearby mines in northern
Wisconsin. The freighters
haul the taconite to steelproducing mills in Canada
and American mills on Lakes
Michigan and Erie and the
Detroit River.
Taconite rock typically
contains about 20 to 30
percent iron ore, which is
A. Taconite pellets being delivered by
extracted through a series
conveyor belts to the Cort’s cargo
of crushings and chemical
hold at Silver Bay.
and magnetic processes,
B. The Stewart J. Cort being loaded
with taconite pellets at the
followed by baking, which
Burlington Northern ore dock in
yields marble-sized pellets
Superior, Wis., where it normally
containing about 65 percent
takes on iron ore. Note the multiple
conveyors simultaneously pouring
iron. Other ingredients are
pellets into the ship’s hull, in
added during the pelletcontrast to the loading system
at Silver Bay, where only two
making process, although
conveyors load the Cort, resulting in
the exact mix varies dependa much longer loading time. Courtesy
ing on the type of blast
of Michael R. Sipper.
furnace to be used and the
kind of iron or steel to be
made. The word “taconite” was invented in the 1890s by a
Minnesota state geologist who thought that the stone at the
Mesabi looked like that of the Taconic Mountains in New York
State. Although similar in appearance, taconic rock is not the
same. The word “taconic” is believed to be derived from the
language of the Native Americans living near the mountains in
New York State and is thought to have originaklly meant “tree”
or “forest-covered.”
❖❖❖
17
Out on deck, the crew is taking
advantage of the calm seas to
give the ship a thorough washdown to get rid of the iron ore
residue that has covered us stem
to stern during our stay at Silver
Bay. To assist the run-off of wash
water, third mate Jean-Francois
Panneton, who is Jenulis’ replacement, orders additional ballast
pumped in on the port side of the
ship, causing a slight list in that
direction. Gravity does the rest.
The wash water streams off to
port, and our ship is once again
squeaky clean, with a blow-dry
for good measure.
Exactly 24 hours after leaving
Silver Bay, we enter Whitefish
Bay which leads to the Soo.
Approaching the locks, we see the
James R. Barker has apparently won
her contest with the Presque Isle, and
she triumphantly occupies the Poe
Lock while the Isle has to lay up
along the service dock to the west.
Silent reminders of the
Edmund Fitzgerald tragedy:
Life rings and lifeboats
On our approach to Whitefish Bay, the Cort passes near the watery
grave of the Edmund Fitzgerald some 500 feet below. Helmsman Robert
Larson casually mentions that this is about the spot where he retrieved
one of the life rings from the Fitz’ following her tragic sinking on November 10, 1975. He recalls that the Cort had left Superior, Wis., about 12
hours after the Fitzgerald, but the epic storm that claimed the Fitz’ had
already passed by them. When the Cort reached the vicinity where the
Fitzgerald was last seen, the Coast Guard asked them and all other
vessels passing through the area to look for survivors. The Cort slowed
and extra crew were stationed on deck to look for anything that might be
floating on the lake. Bob Larson was one of those hands. He spotted one
of the Fitzgerald’s life rings and retrieved it with a pike pole. Shortly
afterward, another crewmember spotted a second ring and brought it
aboard. Both life rings were coated with grease or oil.
About a week after our Cort voyage, the authors made a trip by car to
Sault Ste. Marie and visited the Valley Camp, an old retired lake freighter
that has been converted to a maritime museum. Two of the Edmund
Fitzgerald’s 50-man lifeboats that were recovered after the sinking are on
display there. Both are severely damaged, one torn completely in two.
The two boats were located in the stern section of the Fitzgerald above
the crew quarters. One theory is that they may have broken loose after
the bow section of the Fitzgerald crashed into the lake bottom, causing
the stern section to break away and roll over.
A photo in the museum shows another of the Fitz’s recovered life rings
that is also covered in oil. It was discovered on a cliff 40 feet above the
water. The condition of the rings and the lifeboats is silent but grim
testimony to the awful violence that occurred that fateful day 35 years
ago when the waters of Lake Superior became a raging maelstrom.
❖❖❖
18
Perhaps it is frustration with
finishing second, but when it
comes time for the Isle to move towards the lock, she continues to
sit where she is, blocking our way
and giving us no place to wait,
except in mid-stream. Our
captain has a few choice words
for Presque Isle management, but
there’s really nothing we can do
about it except keep inching our
way toward her stern and hope
she gets the message. At last, the
Presque Isle gets her act in gear,
and one hour later we take our
place in the Poe Lock and begin
the 20-minute, 20-foot descent to
the lower portion of the river.
Once through the Poe, and
having informed Soo Traffic that
we have left the locks, we are
visited by the supply boat
Ojibway. The Ojibway is an oddlooking purpose-built craft whose
sole role in life is depositing and
removing goods and material to
and from the moving freighters
before or after they leave the
locks. As we proceed, lines are
passed between the two vessels
binding them together until the
exchange of materials is complete.
There is a sizeable crane on the
Ojibway’s aft deck which is used to
load everything from groceries to
machine parts and in turn remove
items like broken components and
empty acetylene tanks.
It is a night without stars and
pitch black on the river by now,
but the captain guides the Cort
down the twisty channel and
neatly past oncoming ships with
a familiarity that bespeaks his
years on these waters. About two
miles below the Soo, we make a
haul to starboard near the northwest end of Sugar Island. Now
A
B
C
A. Interlake Steamship Company’s 1,000-foot ore boat James R. Barker, downbound, about
to enter the Poe Lock at Sault Ste. Marie.
B. The Stewart J. Cort downbound and looking towards the stern, waiting its turn to enter
the Poe Lock.
C. The supply boat Ojibway which is painted blue and white (left) and a USCC vessel
(right) deposits and removes goods and materials to and from moving freighters before
or after they leave the Soo Locks.
we are looking straight ahead at
two miles of bewildering red and
green blinking buoy lights,
followed by a slight haul to port
and two more miles of lights.
The channel splits after that, and
we haul gently to starboard to
enter the downbound side. For
the next few miles we are
absorbed in the darkness of the
pilothouse, listening to radio
chatter between the ships and
Soo Traffic as several brightly lit
upbound freighters pass to port.
At Nine Mile Point, we make the
obligatory call to Soo Traffic
announcing our position.
Within an hour, we are at Rock
Cut, a two-mile-long, 300-footwide trench that was cut through
the rock by the Corps of
Engineers at a depth of approximately 28 feet. That figure, however, changes by the hour. The
captain is given the real-time
depth by Soo Traffic at the locks
and again at Nine Mile. (It is also
available online.) If the depth of
the water in the river is insufficient, a ship must wait until conditions change, or run the risk of
having the hull sliced open by the
rocky bottom.
Safely through Rock Cut, our
captain points out a window to a
place where, years before, a freighter went aground. The worst part
about the grounding was that there
were three very senior mates
aboard with the captain, all of
whom had served as captain at one
time or another. Asked how this
could possibly happen, the captain
responds that it was in the days
before GPS; the buoys were obliterated by ice and snow. Darkness and
blizzard conditions might also have
been factors.
Now we see the red and green
buoys that will guide us downbound across Mud Lake. Also in
view is the upbound portion of the
divided channel that splits off
about halfway across. From there
we call Soo Traffic to let them know
we are at “Mud Lake Junction.”
About that time we see the 858-foot
Roger Blough on the ECPINS screen,
ready to enter the lake from the
other end. Soon her lights are
visible, and as the two ships close,
she obligingly moves to her side of
the channel, allowing us a sigh of
relief. The Blough has a beam of
105 feet just like us, and when the
two confront each other in the
channel, there isn’t a whole lot of
room left for attitude.
The two ships pass like, well —
ships in the night — and off in
the distance we can see the big
radio towers with the flashing red
lights near De Tour. Next, Drummond Island passes to port. Soon
afterward, we reach Lake Huron,
with the De Tour Reef Light
abeam. We make one last call to
Soo Traffic and haul for the
Straits of Mackinac. It is 3:00
a.m. Time for the captain and
authors to get some shuteye.
19
Day Seven: Home Stretch
Awake at 6:20 a.m. and sneak a
peek out the cabin window at the
Cort’s massive deck with her neat
rows of cargo hatches all clearly
defined in the faint light of dawn.
Above and just off our stern, the
lighted arc of the Mackinac Bridge
is receding in the west, with the
sunrise just beginning to define her
graceful arc. Brian and Adriano
are completing their watch after a
quiet passage from De Tour. The
flash from the big light at White
Shoal is soon clearly visible, but
instead of using it to mark a turn
south toward Gray’s Reef Passage
as we do on our own boat, the Cort
passes the shoal to the north and
continues her westerly course until
a cluster of islands — Hog,
Garden, High and better-known
Beaver Island — are off our port
beam, with the Lansing Shoals
Light just to the north and west.
Despite the fact we are in a remote
water wilderness miles from land
in northern Lake Michigan, the
depths are remarkably shallow
here, with just 40 to 50 feet of
water under our keel. The captain
notes that under certain light
conditions, the rocks on the bottom
can be seen from the surface. Not a
comforting sight, for sure.
We haul at Lansing Shoals
Light and set course for a position
of 241 degrees, 46 minutes/85
degrees, 56 minutes. There we
will haul again and proceed 300
miles south to our final destination at Burns Harbor. The sun is
up, winds are out of the north
and waves are running four to
five feet. All is well, although the
seas are expected to build to six or
seven feet this afternoon. Even so,
we expect to have the wind off
20
our stern, which minimizes the
bumpiness. It appears that Dr.
Larry and I have dodged the
legendary fury of the northern
Great Lakes in autumn.
About 45 degrees to starboard
we sight the Seul Choix Peninsula,
which juts three miles out into the
lake and is marked by a lighthouse. The French voyageurs
gave it its name, meaning “only
choice,” because its natural
harbor was indeed the only choice
mariners had when a storm blew
up in that region of the lake. The
name is ominous but accurate.
During bad storms, the waves
rolling by the tip of the peninsula
look like freight cars passing.
By noon, we have made our
final haul for home, heading 194
degrees south, amid white-capped
seas running six feet out of the
north. The Cort is pushing happily
along at 15 mph, and our ETA
in Burns Harbor is expected to
be 8:00 in the morning. The
featured lunch this day is chili,
prepared by wheelsman Mike
Reed, which is very flavorful,
although he and I, both chili
aficionados, have a gentlemanly
disagreement about the presence
of beans in this heavenly staple.
He likes them. I do not. But I will
forgive his transgression this time
because he is such a nice guy. Also
his chili is quite good.
At 1:30 p.m., under brilliant
shafts of light shooting through
salt-and-pepper gray clouds, we
pass the west side of North and
South Manitou Islands. Both
islands have elevations rising
1,000 feet above the lake with
large sand dunes covering their
western shores. As we pass, the
Coast Guard comes on the radio
to announce that a 42-foot sailboat
is apparently in trouble on Lake
Michigan, with only her EPIRB, or
Emergency Position Indicating
Radio Beam, transmitting. But that
is all they tell us. Come on, guys,
Lake Michigan occupies over
22,000 square miles. Could you be
a little more specific?
The seas continue to build, to
eight feet now, and intermittent
rain pelts the pilothouse. As we
surf along, we catch sight of the
Badger, the 410-foot car ferry that
runs east and west between
Ludington, Mich., and Manitowoc,
Wis. She is on a course that will intersect ours. Clearly, as we watch
her rocking and rolling, with eightfoot waves crashing off her beam,
the Badger is not having the same
pleasant ride we are. The first officer calls her on the radio and asks if
she would like to cross in front of or
behind us.
“We’ll cross your stern,” comes
the terse reply, followed by, “Is
Tom McMullen there?”
“No, but we can get him.”
Within a minute, Capt. McMullen is on the bridge talking to
the Badger. Turns out the two
captains know each other quite
well. The Badger captain concedes
that he is not having a good day.
“I’ve got a boatload of unhappy
customers today,” he says.
“Many seasick.”
McMullen asks when the Badger
goes out of service for the season.
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow’s our
last run. Can’t come soon enough
for me.”
Indeed, the sight of the giant car
ferry plunging along with angry
waves breaking over her superstructure, makes us on the Cort
glad we are where we are.
A
C
B
A. The 410-foot car ferry Badger at its
home port in Ludington, Michigan.
Courtesy of James Dorian.
B. The Badger taking a pounding in
beaming eght-foot seas.
C. The Badger in the distance as she
passes the Cort’s stern.
The two ships cross and we are
once again alone on the lake.
Late in the afternoon, with seas
running at eight to 10 feet or more,
the captain expresses some reservation about being able to enter
Burns Harbor if the wind continues this strong out of the north.
The problem is getting the ship
slowed and turned so she can enter
the east-facing harbor entrance.
“We may have to stay out and
run back and forth until the winds
drop,” he says. “Burns Harbor can
be a tough approach in a north
wind.” He explains that the Cort’s
bow and stern thrusters are ineffective in winds over 35 knots and
iffy at best in winds of 30 knots.
Also, when he lines the ship up
parallel with the harbor, the north
winds will be pushing the Cort sideways and southward toward the
harbor breakwater; but then, as
the ship gets close enough to pass
through the harbor entrance, the
undercurrent from the waves
bouncing off the breakwater will
actually push the boat in the
opposite direction, threatening a
collision with the north side of
the harbor entrance as the boat
passes through. In any event, our
projected arrival time of 8:00
a.m. is in serious doubt. Nothing
to do but watch some football on
satellite TV, sip a nightcap of
wine and turn in at 10:15.
Day Eight: Difficult Arrival
Up at 6:20 a.m. without the
benefit of the alarm or chef
Don’s aromatic fried bacon. The
Cort’s hull isn’t moving as much
underfoot as it was when we
turned in, which suggests calmer
seas. That is indeed the case as
the day brightens, and by 8:00
a.m. we have the coastline and
Burns Harbor in clear view. The
waves, however, which have had
the entire 300-mile length of
Lake Michigan to build, are
giving the breakwaters there a
real pounding.
The good news is that the wind
has clocked around and is now
coming out of the east, and the
captain has made the decision to
make for the harbor. His strategy,
because nothing is left to chance
when it comes to docking
thousands of tons of freighter, is
to position the Cort to the east of
the Burns Harbor opening, then
turn the ship 90 degrees so she is
parallel with the shore and use
the wind at our stern to help push
her into the harbor.
The plan is right. At 8:19 a.m.,
the Cort slides smoothly into Burns
Harbor with the breakwater safely
off our starboard beam and Capt.
McMullen calmly giving orders to
wheelsman Reed that will slow our
speed and enable us to make an
orderly approach to the Arcelor
Mittal dock — the same dock we
departed one week ago, almost to
the hour. What a ride. What an
experience it has been.
Even as we dock, time is of the
essence. With the stern of the Cort
21
still a hundred feet from the seawall, the shuttle is extended from
the port side of the hull and
minutes later the conveyor belts
roar into action. First, the 10-footwide conveyor belt that runs nearly
the length of the ship at the
bottom of the hull is activated.
The feed gates located above the
conveyor are opened and the
taconite pellets begin to pour onto
the belt which transports them
toward the stern of the ship.
There the pellets meet a huge
rotary elevator wheel 10 feet wide
and 60 feet in diameter that is
unique to the Cort and resembles
a giant water wheel. The wheel
carries the ore upward and dumps
it into a hopper that deposits it
onto the shuttle boom conveyor,
which in turn exits the pellets
from the ship to the land. Once
her holds are empty, the Stewart J.
Cort and her crew will be ready to
sail again for Lake Superior.
It will all happen in less than 24
hours. Which is the way it is when
you go to sea for a living.
❖❖❖
A
B
C
Acknowledgement:
The authors wish to
thank Captain Tom
McMullen, first mate
John Brian and second
mate Rebecca Hancock
for their critical review of
the manuscript and their
helpful suggestions.
22
A. The Cort approaching the Burns Harbor breakwater.
B. The Cort’s bow about to pass through the entrance to the breakwater. Notice
the steering pole projecting outward and upward from the bow of the boat.
C. The Cort has now made a turn to port and is nearing the steel mill docks.
Stewart J. Cort
Factoids:
• Named after a vice president
of Bethlehem Steel.
• Operated by the Interlake
Steamship Company, Cleveland, Ohio
• Maiden voyage: May 1972
as part of the Bethlehem
Steel fleet
• Length: 1,000 feet
• Beam: 105 feet
• Depth (keel to main deck):
49 feet
• Draft (fully loaded):
27.5 feet
• Cargo capacity:
58,000 tons
• Propulsion: four diesel-electric engines, 3,600 hp each,
with two 18-footdiameter, controllable-pitch,
four-blade propellers
• Cruising speed: 14-16 mph.
(Knots are not
used to measure lake freighter speed.)
• Crew members: 23
• Officers include captain, first,
second and third mates, plus
chief engineer and four
assistant engineers. Also chef,
assistant chef, plus 12 ablebodied and ordinary seamen.
(At least three of the “ABS’s”
are qualified wheelsmen.)
❖❖❖
(Top) With the stern of the Cort still 100 feet from the sea wall, the shuttle boom conveyor
is extended from the portside of the hull and minutes later will begin to unload the
taconite or pellets.
(Middle) Captain McMullen on the port side of the bridge, with the side window open
and his hand on the controls, docking the Cort.
(Bottom) The Stewart J. Cort viewed from the stern at Burns Harbor, with the shuttle boom
conveyor extended on the port side, unloading taconite pellets. Courtesy of Michael R. Sipper.
23