"That silly man who wouldn't use his wireless!"

 

 

Confiteor Deo omnipotenti,

et vobis fratres,

quia peccavi nimis

cogitatione, verbo,

opere et omissione...

--From the 1970 Order of Mass

 

 I'm not a coward, I've just never been tested/

I'd like to think that if I was I would pass/

Look at the tested, and think "There but for the grace go I"/

 
Might be a coward, I'm afraid of what I might find out/

 

Never had to/

 

Knock on wood/

 
But I know someone who has/
 

Which makes me wonder if I could/
 

It makes me wonder if/
 

I've never had to/

 

Knock on wood/
 

And I'm glad I haven't yet/
 

Because I'm sure it isn't good/
 

That's the impression that I get/

 --"The Impression That I Get" by The Mighty Mighty Bosstones (1997).

The late American author Walter Lord wisely entitled his immortal book about the S.S. Titanic "A Night To Remember." 

Due in no small part to him, the sinking still has a hold on the collective imagination of the world. Even in places like America, where the majority of people increasingly live in a perpetual present tense. Of course, Robert Ballard's 1987 revelation of the wreck site and James Cameron's technically-stupendous and narratively-vicious film from 1997 certainly play even larger roles.

The flow of books has increased because of the latter two, no doubt. Yet, there are still enduring mysteries from the tragedy. What were done with the ice warnings the ship received? What was the speed of the ship at the time of the accident? Did the coal fire in a fuel bunker play a role?

For my part, the great mystery has always been the identity of the ship whose lights were seen from the Titanic. In fact, the lights were so noteworthy that several of the lifeboats started pulling toward the ship lights.

Could this ship have rescued the Titanic's passengers?

Ever since I read Lord's book, the ship that most likely to fit the bill is the Californian, a 5,000 ton steamer which stopped in the evening before the sinking to avoid trouble with the ice. It is undisputed that the Captain of the Californian, 36 year old Stanley Lord (no relation to Walter), had no experience in dealing with field ice. The decision to stop until morning was quite sensible. 

How the Californian's deck officers behaved after they stopped that evening has been the source of endless controversy.

In my opinion, that controversy has always seemed more apparent than real. To me, the defenders of the "slackness" (to use Captain Lord's own term) of the Californian's officers that night offer arguments that are a colorfully-lit flambé of ingenuity sitting atop an over-cooked hash of special pleading, speculation, hero-worship, unsupported claims of frame-ups and studied ignorance of inconvenient data.

That is because there is no dispute that (1) the crew of the Titanic fired eight white distress rockets into the sky starting around 11:40pm and (2) the crew of the Californian saw a ship firing eight white rockets into the sky at the same time.

The Second Officer of the Californian, Herbert Stone, noted the first rocket and reported it to Captain Lord. In response to this, Lord asked for the color of the rocket (he was napping in the chart room at the time), and was told the first rocket was white. He told Stone to try to contact the ship with a Morse lamp.

White rockets were universally known to be distress signals--there is no dispute here.

The ship did not respond. Stone and other crewman noticed other rockets being fired, and noticed, over time, that the lights of the other ship began to look "queer," and admitted this was consistent with a ship with a list.

Then, some time after 2:00am, both lights and ship vanished.

The Titanic sank at approximately 2:20am.

Ever since, the supporters of Captain Lord have, with much hand-waving and minimizing, dismissed the rockets as roman candle flares, some form of unknown shipping company signal, or something else from an unknown ship that has defied the most dogged nautical research in history and also fired eight somethings into the same night sky in the same basic patch of the ocean. Whatever else may be said, the persecuted Captain Lord's ship definitely did not see the Titanic's distress rockets, say the Captain's defenders.

The last word on the subject should be the late Leslie Reade's 1993 book The Ship That Stood Still: The Californian and Her Mysterious Role in the Titanic Disaster.

As a matter of definition, the defenders of Lord and the Californian are called "Lordites." Their opponents are called "anti-Lordites." Reade was a definite anti-Lordite, but it is to his very great credit that his presentation led me to have more sympathy and respect for Lord by the time I finished. 

This was not what I expected, to put it mildly. In my mind, this is extremely important, as Reade points out that it was Stanley Lord's otherwise spotless record and post-retirement gentlemanly charm which created the dogged devotion of the Lordites that persists to this day. As you can see from my last full paragraph above this one, I am in the anti-Lordite camp, despite that increased sympathy and respect.

If I could sum up the crux of Reade's argument in one vulgar catchphrase, it would be 

"THE. CALIFORNIAN. SAW. EIGHT. ROCKETS. DAMMIT!"

As said above, Lordites have tried to dispense with the rockets by claiming such were company signals. 

"Company signals" were a way for ships to identify themselves as part of a particular shipping line--and were fading out of use by 1912 anyway, in part due to the companies themselves frowning on using them. As an example of Reade's impeccable research, he obtained records detailing the company signals used by all the shipping companies which traversed the North Atlantic at the time. And this last company had no ships remotely in the vicinity at the time. Three companies used white lighting or flares, but punctuated them with other lights or signals, and none used full fledged rockets. None of these companies had ships in the area at the time, either.

As can be seen, Reade leaves no shell unturned in his analysis. He read the voluminous transcripts of the American and British inquiries. It is patently clear that Reade regarded the American chairman and Michigan Senator William Alden Smith as a good-hearted buffoon: florid, ignorant of nautical matters, painfully repetitive and given overmuch to bombastic speechifying. And to be fair, there was a good deal of posturing, ignorance and baffling question threads on display from the American Senators on the committee. 

But Reade just as readily concedes that the findings and recommendations of this much-condemned (at least by the British) American assemblage were sensible, well-supported and judicious. And, for all of his understandable facepalming at Smith's rhetorical flights, Reade concedes that Smith's presentation speech for the findings was delivered to a spellbound audience and elicited no few tears. [For a more positive and largely-persuasive evaluation of Smith and the work of the American hearings, I recommend Wyn Craig Wade's The Titanic: End of A Dream.]

Yet Reade is no respecter of persons or nations, and he takes a switch to the flaws in the British hearings, too. He pointedly notes that, unlike the supposedly-inferior American version, there wasn't much interest in hearing from passengers in Britain--certainly no one below First Class. It was the British Board of Trade as both plaintiff and defendant, and despite the selection of capable and knowledgeable men to head the hearing, it was an upper class corporate proceeding from beginning to end. Reade is scathing about that part of it, sounding like an old school Labour man--and I mean that as a compliment. 

Moreover, Reade is in the ideal position to swat at each of the hearings, as his familiarity with and command of both volumes of transcripts is that of a virtuoso.

Finally, to the transcripts themselves and the Californian officers' testimony. 

It is some of the most irritating testimony I have ever read. Most of the Californian's officers refused to admit that they thought the white rockets were "distress rockets." The British questioners, experienced barristers all, were almost indignant with the obtuseness of this evasive testimony, as white rockets were uniformly-recognized as distress signals. 

One can only come to the conclusion that there was a meeting of Lord and the senior officers to coordinate their stories after learning of the sinking. Statements were drawn up on the way back to Boston. An additional dubious oddly was that the ship's "scrap log," a standard draft document which contained the weather conditions and locations of the ship for entry into the official log, went missing. This, to me, suggest that the Californian was much closer to the Titanic than the 19.5 miles claimed by Lord.

These and other problems were noted in the British inquiry, which finally squeezed out of Lord an admission that the white rockets may have been distress signals.

To which the Californian responded with a Morse lamp, but not turning back on its wireless. Tragically, the Californian's wireless officer ended his 16 hour shift at 11:30pm that fateful night, missing the distress signals that blared from the Titanic until nearly the end.

It would have been a simple matter to wake him up and crank up the wireless--but that did not occur to any of the deck officers.

Hence the quote at the top of this post. 

It came from Carpathia Captain Arthur Rostron, whose ship under his orders heroically charged to the rescue of the Titanic's passengers that night. While sympathetic to Lord as a brother officer, he uttered that statement to his fellow officers when privately discussing the controversy.

A final interesting fact about Reade's book is not that he spent years writing it. It is that it took nearly twenty years from his completion of the work in 1975 for it to see print. Edward DeGroot was Reade's Dutch friend and collaborator and authored the final chapter added to the book after Reade's death to account for yet another British inquest in 1992. This last contained conflicting views, and satisfied no one.

He indicates that the publication delay was due in part to the eminent Lordite Leslie Harrison, the greatest champion of Stanley Lord, revoking his permission to use certain material that he originally granted to Reade. After publication, Harrison sued Reade for defamation (on dubious grounds to me, objecting to being characterized as badgering an elderly witness to make a pro-Lord statement) and unauthorized use of a photo of Harrison given to Reade (on more solid ground here, but petty beyond words). If I understand correctly, the suit was settled with an agreement to remove this material in the next printing of The Ship That Stood Still--which never occurred.

Indeed, it is probably safe to say that the antagonism between anti-Lordites and Lordites exceeds that displayed when the principals involved in the incident were still alive. Reade certainly had no respect for Lordite arguments and the bare civil minimum for their persons--though at least some sense of genuine respect for Harrison occasionally glints through the contempt for the latter's efforts.

I've never been a Lordite, and never will be. The answers given by most of the Californian's officers during the British investigation were incredibly (in both senses of the term) evasive. But I do feel considerably more sympathy for Lord. His nautical service was otherwise honorable, including later in wartime. But on the night of the sinking, the "slackness" (to use his own term) of the officers was inexcusable. Faced with that reality, he followed the self-serving route and tried to cover his backside. The cover story broke down under contradictions and sheer weight of falsehood. The stain never came off. 

In the end, I think he came to believe his untruthful version. Ultimately, and unfortunately for Lord, there was another captain on the ocean that night who behaved in the finest traditions of seamanship: Rostron. Against that exemplar, he did not remotely measure up. Lord is not the cartoon villain some anti-Lordites will suggest, but he is certainly a moral cautionary tale. But for the grace of God go I.

Book review inbound.

 My hyper-verbosity is slowing things down, but I have finished an interesting book about one of the lingering controversies surrounding the Titanic and am working on a review.

Specifically, a book about the Californian, a steamer which undisputedly saw eight white rockets fired by a steamship that night. 

It is also undisputed that the Titanic fired eight white distress rockets that night, and saw a ship's lights not too far distant. Indeed, several of the lifeboats pulled toward said ship lights.

The Californian responded to the rockets via a Morse lamp, but did not otherwise act until the next morning, which her wireless radio operator turned back on his Marconi and learned that the Titanic had foundered.

More when I finish flinging too many words on the screen and then prune them back a bit.

Detroit's expressways are known for traffic jams.

But I'm reasonably sure this is the first time we have had one on the Detroit River: 

One freighter is aground near Grosse Ile and another scraped bottom trying to pass her and is being examined for structural damage. 

The Lake Carriers' Association is warning about the effects of halted traffic, as many ships are too large to use the alternate channel:

 For larger ships packed with cargo, the Amherstburg Channel isn't an option, said Eric Peace, director of operations and communications for the Ohio-based Lake Carriers Association. 

"There is no other route," Peace said. "The Livingston Channel is for (loaded) downbound vessels."

The hold-up, Peace said, threatens efforts to transport goods, such as iron ore used by the auto industry, ahead of the January closure of the Soo Locks.

"We're toward the end of our season and trying to get as much as we can shipped," he said. "We're trying to stockpile and get as much as we can to them before the locks close."

Peace said several 1,000-foot vessels carrying 70,000 tons of iron ore that the association represents were waiting to get through to transport the material to southern blast furnaces that turn it into steel for the auto industry. Other Canadian ships carrying grain and wheat were also held up.

Peace noted it's critical to the national economy that the Great Lakes are able to move bulk cargo during the nine-month season.

The association, based on an analysis of slowdowns from inadequate ice breaking on the lakes between 2013 and 2014, in 2015 and 2018, resulted in an estimated loss of about $2 billion and 10,000 jobs, he said.

Chalk another one up for 2020.

A tropical cyclone has crossed Lake Superior for the first time in recorded history.

Cristobal reaches the mightiest of the Great Lakes.

Fascinating--if not much punch, compared to other lake storms:

Waves in the Upper Peninsula are also set to be high from the tropical storm, according to the weather service. Waves are expected to build from 5-6 feet high along the north end of the bay of the Green Bay area. The weather service also reported that along the Garden Peninsula, and east of it, waves could reach 10 feet.

Dangerous for smaller boats, to be sure. 

But definitely nothing like the "White Hurricane" of 1913, nor the gales of November 1975.

Forty years gone.

Hard to believe, but today is the fortieth anniversary of the beginning of the final voyage of the Edmund Fitzgerald. 

I doubt I'll be able to top what I wrote about her ten years (!) ago, so I won't try. I'll just point you to that piece, one of the earlier posts I'm most proud of.

I'd also be remiss if I didn't point you to the truly excellent Detroit News commemoration page, which collects a number of fine links.

The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel has a moving essay from the brother of the Fitz's cook, Allen Kalmon. 

Finally, credit where it is due--one of the main reasons the Fitzgerald still haunts is the immortal ballad from Gordon Lightfoot.

May God rest their souls, and be with all the sailors on the Lakes. 
 

And then there were three.

Nearly four years ago, I wrote about the "White Hurricane of 1913," easily the most devastating storm in the recorded history of the Great Lakes. Twelve ships and 275 sailors perished in that monstrous event. As of when I wrote it, five ships had yet to be discovered.

In 2013, that number dwindled to four with the finding of the Henry B. Smith in Lake Superior.

According to today's Free Press, the number has dropped to three, with the remarkable find of the Hydrus by a determined crew of divers back in July. 

Since the Great Storm of 1913, the 436-foot steamship Hydrus had been lost. It sank, most likely on Nov. 9 of that year, during a storm so ferocious it has been called the “White Hurricane.” The sky unleashed a blizzard over the Great Lakes, hitting Lake Huron  hardest with wind gusts up to 90 m.p.h. and waves to 35 feet. The Great Storm, even today, is the worst recorded on the lakes. Not even the weather that sank the Edmund Fitzgerald 40 years ago this week compares to the 1913 disaster. There were a dozen major shipwrecks from Nov. 7 through 10, and eight of them were on Lake Huron. More than 250 people perished. The Hydrus had been headed south toward the St. Clair River, iron ore in its belly. The ship lost everyone on board, a crew of 22, including five found frozen to death in a lifeboat that washed up in Canada.

Since that time, every ship believed to have gone down in U.S. waters in Lake Huron was discovered except the Hydrus. Veteran shipwreck hunter David Trotter, a 74-year-old former Ford financial man who lives in Canton, has had it on his wanted list for 30 years. Along the way, he has found scores of other ships and even a few airplanes as he scours Lake Huron’s bottom every year with his crew. It was Trotter who, in 1985, found another of the 1913 casualties, the John A. McGean, which was heading north in Lake Huron with a load of coal when it went down.

On the day they dove the Hydrus, he and his crew set out on his 32-foot dive boat, the Obsession Two, bringing along a Free Press crew. Trotter remains tight-lipped about the locations of some of his finds, so all that can be revealed here is that Trotter’s boat ran 32 miles out on the lake to the spot where the Hydrus lay waiting. He plans to share the location only after he is done investigating the wreck.

A great story with great pictures. Read the whole thing.

The Shoals of November.

We're coming up on the 40th anniversary of the loss of the Edmund Fitzgerald, and my favorite scholar concerning the wreck has changed his mind about the probable cause: 

In his latest book, [Frederick] Stonehouse lays out the myriad theories surrounding the Fitzgerald disaster, including unsecured hatch covers, deferred maintenance, a trio of 30-foot-plus rogue waves known as “Three Sisters,” and the notion that the ship either was structurally unsound or off-course.

“Others have talked about space aliens that supposedly were seen on the northern shore of the lake,” Stonehouse said dismissively in a recent telephone interview with The Detroit News.

After years of research, he’s inclined to believe that the ship likely hit a shoal and took on dangerous amounts of water even as it was buffeted by hurricane-force winds and blinding snow squalls. Stonehouse said he came to that conclusion gradually, based on conversations with Capt. Bernie Cooper, who was the last to speak to the Fitzgerald’s captain. Cooper’s ship, the Arthur M. Anderson, was closest to the Fitzgerald during the treacherous storm.

“In my mind and if I were to put money on it, she probably hit Caribou Shoal,” Stonehouse said, emphasizing, however, that there’s no proof of that. “She bottomed out and continued forward for a while before the damage finally broke her up. The damage, in combination with the extreme storm, caused the ship to dive to the bottom.”

That is interesting, because Stonehouse was for a long time a scathing critic of the Lake Carriers Association report which advanced the shoaling theory. He plainly regarded it as butt-covering, if plausible. It is beyond dispute that the Fitz was straying into the area known as the Six Fathom Shoal. 

In my earlier edition of his book, he blamed the wreck on defective hatch covers and the unwise decision to increase the ship's load limit. I tended to agree with his earlier argument, but now...looks like I'll need another book.

Deja vu.

The El Faro sinking is reminding me a lot of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

The last message from the ship came Thursday morning, when the captain reported the El Faro was listing slightly at 15 degrees in strong winds and heavy seas. Some water had entered through a hatch that popped open.
The captain, who has 20 years' experience on cargo ships, calmly told company officials the crew was removing the water.

The Coast Guard was unable to fly into the ship's last known position until Sunday, because of the fierce hurricane winds.

Steven Werse, a ship captain with 31 years' experience on the seas, said merchant vessels have access to up-to-date weather forecasting and technology that allow them to avoid most storms.

If the El Faro had not lost engine power, he added, it would probably still have been powerful enough to make it through Joaquin.

Without power, it was a sitting duck.

"The ship really is at the mercy of the sea. You have no means of maneuvering the ship. You would be rolling with the seas," said Werse, secretary-treasurer of the Master Mates and Pilots Union in Linthicum Heights, Maryland. The union has no connection to the El Faro or its crew.

While the Fitz was nowhere near old as far as lake freighters go, like the El Faro, she had an experienced captain and crew, ran into an autumn storm of unexpected intensity, suffered damage that led to a noticeable list, and may have shared the same cause of the list--hatch covers. 

The Fitzgerald didn't lose propulsion, however--which is what certainly doomed the ocean-going vessel. With power, a large ship can batter her way through a hurricane. Without it, she will quickly get caught in the trough of the massive waves and eventually roll over--especially given a list, and the kind of vessel she was, a container ship.

Prayers for the crew and their families and friends.

The Hurricane of November.

When I was around 9 or 10, a friend of mine said his uncle had told him a mini-hurricane once formed on one of the Great Lakes. Knowing, like most Michiganders, that the Lakes were formidable bodies of water, and knowing, like most fifth graders, bupkis about meteorology, it made sense.

Much later on, after learning something of the mechanics of hurricane formation, I discounted it. The Lakes aren't tropical bodies of water, and cyclonic formation isn't very likely. "Mini-hurricane" meant "big storm," like the one that had claimed the Edmund Fitzgerald when I was six.

As it turns out, my friend's uncle was right. In November 1913, an "extra-tropical cyclone" very likely formed over Lake Huron as part of a unique merging of two fronts with a jet stream coming down from Canada. The result: The Great Lakes Storm of 1913, also known as the "White Hurricane."

By the time it blew itself out, after four horrendous days, nineteen ships were wrecked, twelve of them sunk by the waves, including then-new steel freighters, and more than 275 sailors (including men and women) died.

While not as well known as the Fitzgerald's gale (though Lightfoot's classic understandably ensures it), the White Hurricane is worthy of a retelling, and three authors have taken cracks at it. Sadly, only one is currently in print, but the other two are readily available from used book sellers.

The best from a technical standpoint is David G. Brown's White Hurricane. Brown does a masterful job of explaining what was--and was not--known by weather forecasting back in 1913. The jet stream would not be discovered until a generation later, which would radically change forecasting. In the meantime, the Weather Bureau (the precursor to the National Weather Service) did its best with barometric pressure and understanding of fronts. All told, Brown makes a good case that the Bureau did as well as it could with the tools of the time to warn about the Hurricane, going so far as to warn the shipping companies with personal phone calls.

But what was coming was far beyond what anyone, sailor or meteorologist, had ever seen. 90 mph sustained winds, waves topping 35 feet and whiteout squalls making navigation all but impossible, turning southern Lake Huron into a killing ground (the storm would also claim ships on Lakes Superior, Michigan, and Erie, sparing only Ontario during the onslaught). As Brown explains, there's no "running before the storm" as can can be done on the oceans--you quickly run out of lake and have to turn, which during the White Hurricane was a serious capsize risk.

Where Brown trips up slightly is in not personalizing the loss of certain ships--e.g., the first ship lost, the Leafield on Lake Superior, is briefly mentioned without context. Overall, Brown is a solid historian, showing a critical eye for mariner's tales, the occasional hoax and the tendency of newspapers to exaggerate for effect. The prose is serviceable, if occasionally a bit dry. But while he avoids speculation for the most part, he ends with a reasonable hypothesis to explain one of the persistent mysteries of the Hurricane: why the body of John Groundwater, the engineer of the doomed Charles S. Price was found wearing a lifejacket from the tragic packet freighter Regina.

Robert Hemming's Ships Gone Missing is an earlier account which nicely fills in the gaps in Brown's narrative. Hemming is a very good prose stylist, and he manages to work in anecdotes about all the lost ships, however briefly. He also has an appendix describing later storms, up to and including the Fitzgerald.

Finally, Frank Baucus' Freshwater Fury gives the first person accounts of the Hurricane. This is very valuable, as it includes the remarkable tales of survival of the James H. Sheadle (which made four turns during the storm and yet survived the death zone in southern Lake Huron) and the J.F. Durston, which smashed its way north to Mackinaw over the same grounds, encased in tons of ice but still afloat. The seamanship of both crews was nothing short of extraordinary, and in the former case was still questioned in a fit of idiocy by the company's ownership.

In addition, it contains the description of the loss of the Argus, which was crushed by waves as a surviving ship watched helplessly three miles away, battling for its own life. The silent horror of the other ship's bridge haunts. The body of the Argus steward's wife would later be found in the Captain's lifejacket, a sign that chivalry was alive and well. Hard to picture Captain Schettino doing the same, alas.

Take, read, and--fair warning--prepare to be chilled. The stories are often tragic, if occasionally interspersed with humor. The latter includes the case of the Worst Son of the 20th Century, who, incorrectly reported as having died during the storm, thought it would be a great joke to show up at his own funeral.

To this day, five of the wrecks have never been found, with the most recent find, that of the Wexford, dating to 2000.

Thirty years ago tonight, the Queen of the Great Lakes began her journey into a hurricane.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down

Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee

The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead

When the skies of November turn gloomy.

With a load of iron ore - 26,000 tons more

Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty

That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed

When the gales of November came early

The ship was the pride of the American side

Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin

As the big freighters go it was bigger than most

With a crew and the Captain well seasoned.

Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms

When they left fully loaded for Cleveland

And later that night when the ships bell rang

Could it be the North Wind they'd been feeling.

The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound

And a wave broke over the railing

And every man knew, as the Captain did, too,

T'was the witch of November come stealing.

The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait

When the gales of November came slashing

When afternoon came it was freezing rain

In the face of a hurricane West Wind

When supper time came the old cook came on deck

Saying fellows it's too rough to feed ya

At 7PM a main hatchway caved in

He said fellas it's been good to know ya.

The Captain wired in he had water coming in

And the good ship and crew was in peril

And later that night when his lights went out of sight

Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does anyone know where the love of God goes

When the waves turn the minutes to hours

The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay

If they'd fifteen more miles behind her.

They might have split up or they might have capsized

They may have broke deep and took water

And all that remains is the faces and the names

Of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings

In the ruins of her ice water mansion

Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams,

The islands and bays are for sportsmen.

And farther below Lake Ontario

Takes in what Lake Erie can send her

And the iron boats go as the mariners all know

With the gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed

In the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral

The church bell chimed, 'til it rang 29 times

For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down

Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee

Superior, they say, never gives up her dead

When the gales of November come early.

So goes the immortal song by Gordon Lightfoot.

The last words ever heard from the Edmund Fitzgerald came from her captain, who said "We are holding our own" in response to a query from the Arthur Anderson, another ore carrier that was tailing the Fitzgerald in the late evening of November 10th.

The mixed bag that is the Detroit News has offered some fine coverage of the sinking of the ship, including an interview with one of the two Captains whose ships courageously went out into the teeth of the storm to look for their missing brothers. The crews of the William Clay Ford and the Anderson deserve more renown for their heroic actions of that night, volunteering to head back into the ferocious storm (several other ships, including two stronger ocean-going vessels, refused). The Captain of the Ford asked for a vote by his crew, who agreed to leave safe harbor.

Speaking of brave sailors: if you are ever in the area, stop by Mariners' Church--it is definitely worth a visit. Anglicans will be pleased to note that it is an oasis of '28 BCP sanity.

Why did the Fitzgerald sink? We'll likely never know in this vale of tears, especially since the Jacques Cousteau dive of the wreck didn't provide any new evidence. The two most likely theories are (1) a loose hatch cover or covers (there is documentation of the ship having this problem), which allowed water into the cargo hold, slowly and almost imperceptibly robbing the ship of bouyancy, and (2) the ship getting lost in the weather and straying over some dangerous nearby shoals. Frederick Stonehouse's indispensible book on the subject leans toward Theory #1 (at least in my printing).

What is heartening is that there hasn't been a major ship loss on the Lakes since the Fitzgerald (previously, there had been one every decade as long as records have been kept). However, it is heartening, sobering and appropriate to remember that every mariner experiences what the Psalmist records in Psalm 107, and that most of them these days are delivered of it:

23Some went down to the sea in ships, doing business on the great waters; 24they saw the deeds of the LORD, his wondrous works in the deep. 25For he commanded and raised the stormy wind, which lifted up the waves of the sea. 26They mounted up to heaven; they went down to the depths; their courage melted away in their evil plight; 27they reeled and staggered like drunken men and were at their wits' end. 28Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress. 29He made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed. 30Then they were glad that the waters were quiet, and he brought them to their desired haven. 31Let them thank the LORD for his steadfast love, for his wondrous works to the children of men!

Most, but tragically not all. Take a moment to remember the crew and families of the Fitzgerald, and all who go down to the sea in ships this day.

In less controversial news.

Well-preserved shipwreck found in Lake Superior.

Great Lakes is a misnomer--they are freshwater seas.

Here is a good--perhaps nearly complete--listing of Great Lakes shipwrecks. Here's a much less comprehensive list from a diver's website, including a few pictures from his dives.

The worst ever? The Eastland Disaster, where a ship carrying over 2500 Western Electric employees on a picnic excursion foundered just off Chicago, killing 812 people in 1915.

The most famous, of course, remains the S.S. Edmund Fitzgerald, immortalized by Gordon Lightfoot, lost with all hands in the brutal November 1975 storm. Also rightly immortalized is the Mariners' Church, which is worth a visit if you're in these parts.

The best book on the subject is by diver Frederick Stonehouse. Especially worthwhile is Stonehouse's highlighting of the heroism of the crews of the other ships in the area, especially those of the Arthur Anderson and William Clay Ford (yes, Lions fans, named for that WCF) who went into the teeth of the gale in an effort to search for survivors.