A Sailer's Yarns or Waterfront Memories...

[Dave Fleming]

We,at least us old fahts, hijacked Brian M's thread on Old Wood in Misc Boat Related which he was a very good sport about and, at David N's suggestion I am taking the bold step of moving the off thread parts over here.

Cont'd.
When last we looked in on the other thread, the subject was the Bay Area and who was sailing what and when...take it away gang.

[ 02-07-2003, 02:45 PM: Message edited by: Dave Fleming ]

[David N.]

Do you still eat pasta , and remember when ??

sorry I posted and dont know how ( or if it can be transfered over to this thread ) but I am on board .

[Dave Fleming]

David N, apologize for 'jumping the gun' so to speak.
I believe if you do a copy all and save and then delete the other thread using edit and then post the copied item here it should work but I dunno about Ian's contribution. I think he may have to do his own switching but ask DonnW. our resident guru and sometime floor replacer <insert big grin here>, about it.

[Dave Fleming]

Here is a Waterfront Tale for ye.

Caution not for the squeamish, if ya folla?

A Pair of Shoes

As mentioned a time or two in these Forums, I worked as a Marine Carpenter aka Cargo Shorer during the middle 1960's. SWIMPAL had just given birth to twin sons and a meager shipwrights wages were too thin to feed, clothe and house the 5 of us. Wife, 3 sons ( now) and moi, it was to say the least very tight. I went to a Union evening meeting over in San Francisco,now the only shipwrights Hall left in the Bay Area. We had two in the heydays, one in Oakland near Jack London Square and the San Francisco one just up the street from Beth Steel's yard and around the corner from the old Geo.Kneass boatshop.
I chatted with the Business Rep., nice fellow Ted Knudsen bye name, and in the course of conversation I mentioned the tight finances now with 3 young sons at home. He asked me if I was just interested in boatyard work or 'marine carpentry'? I had not heard about this before, I had assumed that anything dealing with cargo on ships was Longshoreman's territory. He assured me that it was within the jurisdiction of the Shipwrights and that the pay was pretty good compared to the yards. I arranged to meet with him first thing in the morning.
We met as arrainged and Ted called a company or two and found an opening for me with Stan Flowers Inc.. Flowers had the Military contracts for Oakland Army Terminal and the Naval Supply Center in the Bay Area was well as the big Supply Center up at Stockton on the Sacramento River. I accepted and then drove down to Anderson and Christofani and spoke with Al Christofani about my dilemma and decision. He understood and said I was welcome back any time.
Next day I reported to the Oakland Army Terminal right adjacent to the Toll Plaza of the Oakland Bay Bridge, the other Bay Bridge.
I worked steady and the pay was good. Time was clocked portal to portal and overtime was aplenty at time and a half and double time plus meal times!
One shift we were working a ship over on the San Francisco waterfront along the Embarcadaro. The ship was a charter for the military loading for RVN and much was heavy lift items. The vessel a relic from WW II, owned bye the Waterman Steamship Co. and, steam it was. Ayup, all systems were steam powered including the hatch derricks/winches!
For a heavy lift at times like this a technique for using both winches over a particular hatch in tandem was used. It was called a 'Frisco Rig'. No idea where that name came from.
We were loading a big naval cannon barrel and it was in the 7 to 10 ton weight range. Very tricky operation the coordination of two winches and two operators handling a heavy load from wharfside up over the bulwarks and over the hatch coaming and then down into the hatch.
A supervisor is needed to do the conducting of this little duo and he needs to be very savvy at it too! The lift was going well and we shorers were standing in the passagway on the offside watching and keeping out of the way, when something happened.. Whether it was a wire cable or a brake slipping or a misjudgement on whomevers part doesn't matter. The cannon barrel, out of control swept across the deck and knocked the supervisor right over the side into the water of the Bay between the ship side and the pier. It was at night and he just dissappeared without a sound. All hell broke loose. People running here and there, life rings thrown over the side, flashlights shone on the oily waters, police and Coast Guard called but no sign of that man was to be found. All of a sudden it got very quiet on deck. A group of people were standing near where that supervisor had stood and were looking at the deck. All sorts of expressions were on their faces, from amazement to horror.
For there on the deck, as neat as you please were the shoes that moments before had been on the feet of that poor lost man.....

Whenever there is a death or serious accident the shift is cancelled and all are sent home with pay. I can tell you this lad was very pensive driving home to my little family that night. I did not speak of the particulars of the incident to SWIMPAL for some time. She happened to see a paper over at her parents a few days later and brought it home. She put it on the table and looked at me and asked, 'is this what happened the other night?'. I nodded and could not speak, all I could see was those shoes on the cold steel deck.

[Cosmo Lengro]

One Word for that story. Gulp!

[David N.]

Not pretty , I guess it was over before you could blink .
One of my uncles worked over at Judson steel ( for a 30 yr stint ) , way before the epa , he saw a guy walk in and jump in a vat , gone in a poof .
My dad worked heavy construction ( Alta Building Material's ) and was on the dock's over in " frisco " in the 40's . He had a few war stories .

[David N.]

Dave F , sure hope you dont have any more stories like that !! . But I guess that is all part of it , **** happens and it doesnt take long either . Did you happen to know a Dave Herrick at the Port of Oakland ?? .

Bayboat , when you were down at Silvas did you happen to run the old railway's , I thought it was a REO , but now that I think of it , I belive it was a Durant/Star truck they used , they were both made in Oakland I think . When I was there , you needed all the tools handy and a hose in the radiator , more than once you would get a boat half way hauled out , and the engine would die , it was hard on repeat customer's . Ton's of character . Did you know any of the people from the " Linoleum " YC ?? .

Well it is a weekend off , first day off in 6 weeks , so I think I will work on my stuff !! .

[Dave Fleming]

David N. got another one about a cannon barrel loading over at the Naval Depot in Oakland.
Im' thinkin' one of those is one too many, if ya folla?

Marine Railway Story or Quick Thinking bye the Boss.

Over at Anderson and Christofani, the marine railway was powered bye a steam boiler. Low pressure steam but it took some time to build up the needed pressure to work the winch.
A&C is down near the now defunct Hunters Point Naval Drydock. There are mud flats and tidal marshes all around the yard. We kept a channel open to the railways, bye using the yard workboat's propeller to flush out the meager channel. It was so bad that only on a high tide could we haul any vessel of even moderate draft,
say more than 4 feet or so.
This meant that Dabber* and Wesley would have to work the tides when hauling or launching. 1:30 in the morning or 1:30 in the afternoon didn't matter that is what it took to get a vessel in or out of the yard.
One day, during regular work hours, it was time to slip an Alioto fishing boat back into the Bay.
The boiler was fired up and steam pressure slowly built in the boiler. At just the moment when Al Christofani manned the winch controls and several of us were on the wing catwalks to work the bilge block chains the underground steam line burst!
There was a bit of running to and fro trying a quick fix but it was no good. Al suddenly yelled for Cary to start the big Diesel powered air compressor and hook a line from it to the winch.
The tide of course is not waiting on such things and Dabber out in the channel with a line to the vessel is hopping from one foot to another. He sees yet another night time launch taking him away from his family and nice warm home and since it would be a night launch he has to stay "dry" till he returns home. A terrible thought for a man with a thirst, for sure.
Cary gets the air line hooked up to the winch and, the compressor a LeRoi if memory serves, is thrown on line with Cary monitoring the pressure to make sure the line doesn't blow. With some cheers from us on the wing walks the vessel was slid back in the water without further fuss.
Now all that is left of A&C are the rails leading out into the mud flats. Nothing else marks the spot of one of the oldest boat yards in the San Franciso Bay Area just those four rusting rails slipping into the mud.
* Dabber is featured in one of my Tales.

[ 02-10-2003, 06:26 PM: Message edited by: Dave Fleming ]

[David N.]

If I heard this story once , I must of heard it 10,000 times . My dad was a straight shooter , no bs kind of guy , just an old Montana boy , they even called him " the bull of the boulevard " .
One day after spending all day digging out his cement truck , he was leaning against the front fender having a smoke , when from behind a voice said , what are you doing ? , ( now dad would give you the shirt off his back or if you thought you wanted a little piece of him , well now is as good as time as any , John Wayne had nothing on pop ) without looking pop say's what the **** does it look like I'am doing , then he turn's around and see's who it is . It is none other than Harry S. Truman , so pop was eating some big time crow , and Harry S. tell's him , that's ok we need more men like you .
Someone was talking about unions in another post , dad liked Hoffa , he used to say sure he is a crook , but he alway's leaves something for the little guy . Having grown up in a union house , when it was time for the Teamesters to take care of my dad , check's were there every month and all the major hosptial bills were paid with out question , and the last 2 yr's of his life there were some big time bills .
He used to come home some time's real late , and we kid's would ask what he had been doing , he would just say Ive been walking the line over in Frisco , little did we know .

[Bayboat]

David N: Yeah, I remember that old ways winch at Al Silva's yard. I never ran it, but I watched Al do it several times. Watching him jump around at the controls was something else. He really needed two extra hands, which would have given him three. I knew some folks at Aeolian YC, but don't remember any names. It's been forty years since I left the Bay Area. I do remember that Aeolian gave great parties the night before their race.

The winch at Richmond Boat Works had an electric motor shafted to an automobile gearcase
which in turn was shafted to the drum. We usually put it in neutral and let the rig down with a foot on the brake. But the boss liked to let it down with the gearcase in reverse; he thought that was safer. One time he didn't get her in gear soon enough, and the ways, with a heavy boat aboard, took control and gathered speed downslope. As the boat neared the water, he came down hard on the brake, and the boat flew the last few feet to splashdown. No damage beyond a few scuff marks and a distinct reddish hue on the boss's phiz.

One time at Richmond Boat Works we had a big boat on the ways. Next door was a pile-driving outfit called Duncanson-Harrelson. They were loading a new boiler onto their steam rig. Something let go and the boiler came down on the barge with a horrendous THUMP. One of our guys was working at the stern of the boat on the ways, about 10 feet up from the walkway leading to our dock. When he heard the thump, his china-blue eyes went wide as saucers, and he started running off the stern, hit the walkway without losing a beat, ran all the way to the end of the dock and dove into the water. What he thought was happening was beknownst only to him, but whatever it was he was not about to stick around to find out.

[Bob Aberton]

Here's a good one (technically a fish story, but I find it kinda funny...)

I have a cousin-once-removed, we'll call him "Bobby." Now, Bobby has a little skiff, some fishing rods, and a fanatical love of fishing.

One day, he takes me out around 3 AM to do some early morning fishing. The fish are really jumping, and he happens to be using a lure with two hooks on it (bass lure perhaps, I'm not too familiar with the terminology...). So he's casting for a while, and suddenly he shouts out for me "get the net! I've got one!"

So, he's reeling his fish in. When they come closer to the boat, we can see that it's actually two fish . Two bluefish. As he starts hoisting them into the boat, they finish chewing through the line, and they get away, leaving Bobby to grumble over the loss of a "f****** seven dollar f****** lure."

End of story? Not quite.

Fifteen minutes later, we hear a rattling noise (the lure was the kind that rattles as its being reeled in, y'see.). We look over, and a pair of fish jump out of the water. They are joined together by, you guessed it, the "f****** seven dollar lure!" One had one hook, and the other had the other hook.

We never were able to recover the f****** seven dollar lure. But at least it gave me a good yarn to tell. I like to think that somewhere in Greenwich Bay, a pair of bluefish is swimming, still joined at the jaw with a f****** seven dollar lure.

[Bob Aberton]

Oops...this is supposed to be 'Frisco stories?

Sorry about the slight thread hijack, guys...

[Dave Fleming]

Nah, all waterbased stories are welcome.

[Peter Malcolm Jardine]

Well here's one from me... told to me in person, and I have more than one from the same guy.

Lyall Dougan ran the pilot boat service out of Kingston from 1937 until about 1970. He had the job of going out beyond nine mile point, the outermost point of Wolfe Island, basically into the open lake, to put pilots aboard the freighters. The pilots guided the freighters down through the thousand islands, and then through the seaway to Montreal. He also did salvage work, and had a variety of boats and barges.
He was a master, and worked the freighters before he married and settled in Kingston.

One boat he had was a 1925 John Hacker utility launch of 29 feet. It was built originally for John Labatt of the beer family Labatt's and then it was sold to Clarence Philips, the local Labatt representative. It ran booze during prohibition, when they could get the old duesenberg engine to run smooth. Lyall bought it in the fifties, and put an early 318 wedge in it with twin exhaust and a big holley four barrel. The ******* thing would go like hell, and through just about anything, since it was double planked on the bottom. The repower seemed to bring its bow up some, and it would just slice through heavy chop like nothing. Lyall added a dog house to it, and it had a couple of old aircraft seats in it salvaged from the local airbase. They ran right up until the ice came in, which most years was about Dec 10th or so.

Lyall had a fella work for him named Ken Olson. Ken was a short guy that was about as wide as he was tall, but not fat, just strong. He had black framed glasses, and always wore a black seaman's toque. He helped Lyall with most everything from running the boats to welding steel. More often than not Kenny did the night work, since Lyall had a wife and two kids at home. Lyall's house was right down on the water, next to the old Locomotive works, and Canada dredge and drydock, and Pyke Salvage, which are all gone now. The "Lyn D" (the launch was named for his daughter) was parked right beside the house. In the evenings it was more likely that someone needed to go to Wolfe Island, and couldn't or wouldn't wait for the ferry.

Anyway, One night Kenny set out from the dock in a real dense fog for the St Mary's dock on Wolfe Island. There was a floor mounted binnacle in the launch, so Kenny would just steer a compass course across the harbour. Well, a hour or so goes by, and no Kenny. another half hour and no Kenny, and by this time someone's called from the island to say, don't bother we found another way, you're too damn slow. So Lyall gets out and hops in a big steel skiff with a 25 horse outboard on it that he had by the house and goes out looking for the Lynn D.

About an hour later he found her. Ken had been running a compass course all right, but it had been real rough the week before, and it had bounced the needle right out of the cup, and left it sittin up on the edge of it. The launch's throttle never knew anything more than one position which was about 500 rpm less than full throttle, so much so that Lyall always had a spare engine with sodium valves for heat ready to swap in all the time. At about 45 miles an hour Ken was looking through the windshield as Cedar island came into view. The launch hit the granite shoreline and tore the first six feet of the bottom up to the sheer before it stopped, and then sank to the waterline. Lyall came over in the outboard calling, and there was Ken, sitting on the rocks with his glasses and toque on, blood streaming down the side of his face, smoking a cigarette. They rebuilt the boat, and framed her in steel over the oak, just in case Lyall said.

I have a column I wrote for the local paper about Lyall Scott Dougan, I'll dig it out for you fella's sometime. He was a great guy. ;)

[Mrleft8]

When I was a kid, I used to spend my summers in, and on the water. I had all sorts of things to do that were much more important than mowing the lawn, or weeding the garden. I used to hang out at a local "Yacht club", which was really just a self agrandised rock, with a big old shell of a "Clubhouse" on it, and some floats. The "Steward"(more often than not a drug addicted Yale student, whose parents refused to have him at home that summer)was usually my best friend by June 15. I'd ride out to the boats in the harbor on the launch, grab the rail of whichever boat was honking irritably at us to pick them up, and either hold steady (if the people looked nice) or make sure that the people had to calculate, and jump (if they were obnoxious dweebs).
In slow times, I'd fish, or practice my knots.
One day I was practising knots by tying one end off to the forward port bench, and the other to my leg. I had finally mastered some terrific knot, guaranteed never to slip, or come loose. Just then wouldn't you know, someone honked 3 times, and off down the harbor we went. About 50 feet from the dock the old evinrude outboard exploded. The transom tilted back and the boat started going down with me tied tightly to the forward port bench. Usually this 8 year old kid had a pocket knife with him... But for some reason (I'd probably dropped it overboard, or it was in my tacklebox...) I didn't that day.
As the water rose to my knees I was getting frantic. The steward was swimming for shore, and the motor was on fire. Just when I was sure I was a gonner, the motor exploded again, and a piece of the aluminum engine cover flew straight at me (you know how car accidents seem to happen in slow motion, and you see everything? This was the same way, I remember seeing the thing turning over in its flight path...). It smashed the leg of the forward port bench just above my knot. I slid the knot over the shattered end, and dove overboard. I was treading water when I got picked up by someone in a power boat. They asked what the hell I had a rope dangling from my leg for....
I've never tied myself to a boat again....

[Hughman]

I'll call this one "Learning to pay attention, part II"

I went as Bo'sun in a Dutch 156' steel schooner built in 1930, which needed a lot of work. On a nice sunny day in the Azores, a Portuguese shipyard rigger and myself were splicing new wire lifelines at the on-deck workbench, just aft the foremast, when a chunck of metal hit the deck 18 inches behind me with a loud bang. We turned around to find a 1-1/4" x 8" sheave pin from the peak halyard tackle embedded in the teak deck. On looking up, we saw the 2nd and 3rd mates looking at us from their perch on the fore crosstrees with the block parts all dissassembled for service. The shipyard worker looked at me for a long minute and without a word gathered his tools and walked off the ship. The shape of that pin in the teak deck was so clear you could count the threads in the wood. I always check to see what is going on above me in the rigging.

[ 02-12-2003, 10:59 AM: Message edited by: Hughman ]

[TomRobb]

'Scuse me while I turn my back to the stove and warm it a bit. Th' snow's blowing in drifts and ya can hear the hawk.
Yarn on gentlemen :cool:

[David N.]

A Duck's Tail ,

( but first a disclaimer , in no way could I of made this up , nor would I under any circumstance stray from the fact's , even if it is a yarn !! )

Duck's just know when to listen to nature's call , as it so happen's Shannon ( the Irish setter ) know's when it's nap time , after a rough morning of fishing . Now his favorite place to sleep is by the back door's , looking out on the estuary , watching for fish or bird's . Sometimes they will even try and come in the " shed " , at which times Shannon goes into his shaking and slobbering mode .
More than once he has chased them out , I have yet to see him catch one , but it is close . These two started to head in the back door's and see the dog , they turn and walk down the drive way , I did not think anything of it , shannie laid back down so I dismissed it , about 2-3 minutes later shannie get's up and goes to the front door , " there's duck's " , shaking and more slobbering , I watch the duck's walk pass the front door and continue down the drive way , now shannie is crouching and doing the stalk thing . I give him a little call and he slowly turns his head looks right passed me and slowly turn's his head back to business , next it is the slow forward movement , ok what do you have shannie , by this time the duck's can only see each other , and kind of walk passed the neighbor's stair's , on the landing there is a 8-10 week old kitten that has been watching the duck's also , as they walk passed , he ( her ) jumps right on the back of one of the duck's , now the duck is in a s**t and get mode , the kitten is not sure what to do , as both duck's look alot bigger real close with their wing's flaping and they are quacking and screaming . About this time it is time for " the charge " , off goes shannie flat out , now the duck's had about a 50' headstart , but one had a kitten on it's back , by this time the kitten is yaeolling , the duck's are squacking and shannie is barking up a storm . One duck is airborne and both are still sqaucking , then the other one lift's off and it is airborne , now the cat is really laying it on down , the drop off is coming up , the driveway has about a 10' - 12' drop off , the duck is about 6-8' high and only a short way to go before the drop off . The cat's jump's off , shannie chases the duck's just to make sure , the kitten run's back to the porch , still howling till momma let's him ( her ) in , and I never see the cat come out of the house again.

Just another day at the Shed .

[Mrleft8]

LOL!
Speaking of ducks...(And sorry, this has nothing to do with boats, water, or sailing...)
Last year I had a small chimney fire. Usually a small chimney fire clears out the creosote, and the woodstove draws better until it clogs up again. This time it still didn't draw better. I finally called the chimney cleaner service, because I had one of those 10 year colds. Couldn't get out of bed except to stoke the stove or pee..... So the chimney cleaner guy goes up on the roof.... Stomps around a bit, tosses something off the roof, brushes the chimney clean, and comes down. He cleans out the chimney clean out thingy in the basement and dumps the dross in his van. A few minutes later he's at the door with a bill in one hand, and a charred duck in the other....
Seems a duck must have roosted on my chimney one night, and fallen inside the chimney hole and got stuck there, causing a jam up which caused the creosote to form which caused the fire......

[Bayboat]

Speaking of things falling from above: The most frightening sound one can hear while sailing at night is the tinkle of something very small hitting the deck. You look around with your flashlight, and after a diligent search you find ...a cotter pin. Omygawd! Where did that come from? What was it keeping from falling apart? Is a shackle pin about to slip its moorings? Is it from a vital part of the rig? A backstay or shroud? The possibilities tick through your imagination as anxiety mounts through the rest of the night. At first light you start scanning the tophamper with binoculars. Nothing. You get out the bosun's chair for a closer look. Nothing. As the days pass the apprehension gnaws its way deep into your guts. When will whatever the pin was holding let go? What will follow it down? When you reach your next port of call, you resume the search. Still nothing. Insomnia has settled in. In short stretches of sleep you dream of a crash of spars and rigging. Should you end the cruise and head for home port? Or continue with apprehensive glances aloft, cringing at each creak and groan of the rig? It's too much. You set a course for home, planning to unrig and find wherever the cotter pin is missing. Days later, as you enter harbor, you hear a slight noise from above. You glance aloft in time to see the flag halyard fluttering down from the main truck. The little bronze becket block hits the deck. Almost simultaneously the becket pin, sans cotter, makes a light plink nearby. You stare at it, taking in the enormity of your anxiety over what turns out to be such a minimal threat to the rig. An immense weight slowly lifts itself from your soul. But it is many weeks before you can bring yourself to set sail again, since that slight tinkle is so thoroughly imbedded in your psyche

[David N.]

One of my old sailing buddies , well for lack of a better term is a little loose . But I would sail just about anywhere with Bill , I mean there is never any hassle , you want to sail , uh no you sail , here take the tiller while I go check something , no prob , real low key , tough as nails just low key .
As an example , Bill is always ready to try something new , like the time he had been doing a little painting ( he calls it painting , we all laugh ) so here comes bill up the dock , up the ramp , and into the work shed , and a trail of paint where ever he goes , so I mean you look at the brush and you are glad it is not one of your's , that is till you look a lot closer and it is one of your's , dont worry bill I will clean it , so there are three of us standing there , now bill just paint's right out of the can , thinning what's that , I will be back next week it will be dry by then . He grab's the top and before we can say anything he put's the can on the floor and stomps on it with his foot , it shot paint all over us and up into the rafter's . Like I said I will sail anywhere with bill .
Now bill I guess got tired of all his boat tools rusting , so he bought some light weight oil and poured it into his tool box , and when ever he has to do a little rigging work , every one sort of moves their boat's and stand's back and watches , sure enough , a cresent wrench , or a pair of pliers or a screwdriver or even a hammer will either hit the deck's or the water .
Bill was getting ready to sail off to the south sea's , and his engine needed rebuilt one of those atomic 4's , so he takes the engine out of the boat and rebuild's it in the driveway , a dirt driveway at that , so we see him when he get's back in a couple of years and ask him , bill how long did your engine last , he would not tell us , his crew told us it lasted about a week .
Now before he left on his big cruise he was going to make a self sterring vane , hell look at this picture how hard is it anyway , for a sproket he grabbed a piece of aluminum and started drilling holes around the out side of his " work piece " ( he grabbed a paint can and drew a circle on the aluminum ) now he started out with a 5/16 bitt , and he went around the outside the holes keep getting bigger until finally the bitt fused into the aluminum , so he steps out the back door and let's it fly . Of course i saw where it went , and it is still sitting in my tool box 25 years later . What the hell are friends for .