Lake Superior Journal
by James R. Marshall
In 18-Foot Seas, Death Blinked
AN OCTOBER EDMUND FITZGERALD-CLASS STORM
TAKES AN ALUMINUM VICTIM
Dana Kollars came to the north shore of Lake Superior
a number of years ago. Retiring as a major from the United States Army,
he and his Korean born wife, ChunAe, realized that they had explored a
fair part of the earth's surface in the many years of their marriage. Lake
Superior, they decided, was everything good our planet had to offer, and
it was here they elected to settle.
While building a small home near the Gooseberry River, they realized
their decision had been correct. Acquiring other property, they set out
to carry out the dreams their love had blessed them with. After coming
to know the resort owners along the shore, they saw the value of a small
cruise boat to entertain the many visitors attracted by the beauty of the
shore.
The first boat was a 40-footer, and they soon realized it just wasn't
big enough. Named the Grampa Woo, thus honoring ChunAe's father,
it attracted many who wished to see the shore from the expanse of a summer-placid
Lake Superior. Dana studied and acquired the proper licenses, finding the
freedom of the open lake and command of a fine vessel a most satisfying
avocation.
Thus came, in 1996, the new Grampa Woo. She was 110 feet of
carefully crafted aluminum, in the form known in the Gulf as a "Crew
Boat." Both fast and comfortable, its size and accommodations made
its first season almost busier than Dana could have imagined. Plans were
laid to take it south for the winter, and propellers were ordered to replace
the motley assortment that Dana's diving skills had long noted adorning
the three propeller shafts of the Grampa Woo. Built in 1980, the
new boat fit into the needed commerce of the north shore as a hand fits
a familiar and well-worn glove.
It was Saturday, October 26, 1996, and the last group enjoying the
boat's hospitality was reluctantly leaving the Grampa Woo. Dana
discussed the promised arrival of the new propellers with Robin Sivill,
his first mate, also a skilled divemaster.
"They promised the new propellers will be here in Grand Portage
by noon on Monday," he recounted, "and with this good weather
we ought to get the old ones off."
Sunday, October 27th was spent mostly underwater, as they removed the
three old propellers with mechanical pulling devices.
A good night's sleep was greeted with warm morning sunshine. The secure
mooring adjacent to Pete's Island in Grand Portage Bay tugged only gently
on the bow of the Grampa Woo. After breakfast, they launched the
inflatable dingy and soon were tying it to Kek Melby's Voyageurs Marina
dock. Hours passed, small talk gave way to periods of silence. Kek resumed
his many winterizing activities. As the day passed, the realization could
no longer be ignored. No truck, no propellers.
Driving back to their home in Beaver Bay, some 75 miles along the shore
to the southwest, conversation between Dana and Robin was muted. The weather
forecast repeated on their truck radio was not at all reassuring.
Tuesday was a repeat no propellers! Weather deteriorating, Dana
almost distraught as the missing propellers remained totally elusive.
"Yeah, they were shipped" was the gruff response to the many
phone calls. "I told you the truck line," was the further curt
remark.
Rescue attempts from the Walter J. McCarthy were initially successful,
but huge seas buffeted the tow and the lines parted near the Thunder Bay
entry. COURTESY AMERICAN STEAMSHIP CO.
The wail of high wind and swaying trees awakened Dana just before 3
a.m. on Wednesday morning, October 30th. His concern had long since translated
itself to almost naked fear for the safety of the Grampa Woo. He
and Robin were settled into the truck by 4 a.m., en route to Grand Portage.
Arriving at Melby's Voyageur Marina just after 8 a.m., the increasing
wind was evident. Peering across the several thousand feet of bay to the
moored Grampa Woo, Dana and Robin agreed that the vessel had dragged
its mooring anchor in an easterly direction. Waves in the sheltered slip
at Melby's were well over two feet in height, making the launching of the
Grampa Woo inflatable dinghy quite a challenge.
The plan was simple. Grampa Woo's sturdy mooring anchor, an
8-by-24-by-8-foot steel bar, was no match for the increasing wind. Add
the vessels anchors, they decided, and she would stay put. With no small
effort, they launched the Zodiac inflatable and scrambled aboard. But within
a few feet of the Grampa Woo, the Zodiac's engine died. No amount
of effort would restart it, they concluded, as they managed to climb aboard
the now obviously moving larger boat.
The path of the errant Grampa Woo took it from Grand Portage to Passage
Island.
Asking Robin Sivill to start the generator, Dana made his way to the
bow of the endangered vessel. Soon the large anchor was lowered, but the
depth had changed, he realized, to at least 60 feet of water under the
boat. More line was thrust into the lake, but the anchor had too sharp
an angle and just would not bite.
Glancing around, Dana realized that the rapidly increasing wind was
carrying them past Hat Point, Grand Portage Bay's eastern promontory. The
open expanse of Lake Superior lay just beyond.
Conferences on the marine radio brought reassurance that Kek Melby
was trying to launch his 26-foot Bertram, which he was warming up using
water hose-supplied cooling water. If he could launch at all, the engines
must be warm and ready to leave once in the now turbulent water.
At this point, wind-blown trees had fallen into the power lines serving
the Melby marina complex. The only contact now with the departing Grampa
Woo was the marine radio on the Bertram boat, which Kek Melby resolutely
manned. It was then that Kek noted the darkened image of a giant freighter.
Hard aground on Passage Island near Isle Royale, the Woo spent several
weeks being battered by waves before succumbing to the lake. PHOTO BY DUANE
HAAS
It was the Walter J. McCarthy, loaded with coal and seeking
the shelter of the north shore in this developing blow. After extended
discussion, the McCarthy moved toward the now freely drifting Grampa
Woo, planning to rescue its two crew members. The plan was simple
get the two stranded souls aboard the 1,000-foot McCarthy as soon
as possible.
Clearing Hat Point, Dana Kollars had used his cellular telephone to
call the Thunder Bay (Ontario) Coast Guard. While they offered assistance,
they explained how much simpler it was to offer help in Canadian waters.
Dana asked if they might help anyway.
The McCarthy made two circles around the stricken Grampa
Woo, dragging an ice-encrusted three-inch line which was finally brought
aboard by Dana, crouching on the heaving ice-laden bow. While alongside
the McCarthy, the large ship's crew urged the two to jump to the
safety of the open engine room door. Between iced decks and heaving turbulence,
the suggestion was not seriously considered by either Robin or Dana.
To them, the huge ship was the passage to safety in Thunder Bay, and
securing the towline with a secure bridle was the paramount intent. Neither
realized that the crew of the Walter J. McCarthy saw the Woo
as a totally expendable little boat. What would count was the saving of
the two endangered lives.
As the towline pressure stabilized the Grampa Woo, the large
ship gradually increased speed. For almost six hours they moved northeast
some two miles off the string of islands which form the waters of Thunder
Bay. Dana had further conversations with Gerry Dawson, who had brought
his 75-foot harbor tug Glenada out to the eastern sheltered coast
of Pie Island. Their companion, unfortunately, was only the 40-foot Canadian
Coast Guard cutter Westfort, which was finding the increasing seas,
with winds now approaching 60 KNOTS, the ultimate challenge. As darkness
fell, the tiny dots of the McCarthy and the Grampa Woo blazed
an erie track on their radar.
Impaled on the rocks and battered by waves, the Woo was already a broken
ship when Coast Guardsmen first boarded it a week after it went adrift.
By late-November, all that remained above water was a section of the stern.
COURTESY U.S. COAST GUARD
While heroes are often described as being folks who inherit a problem
and rectify it, the Glenada and its crew watched the problem they
would resolve as it formed. The tiny images on the radar had maintained
a constant relationship up to now, but the increasing spread between them
was instantly obvious. A frantic radio call from Dana only confirmed what
they had already concluded the towline bridle had failed and Grampa
Woo was adrift at the mercy of the elements. The McCarthy continued
into Thunder Bay while the final rescue attempt began.
It took almost a half hour for the Glenada to reach the stricken
vessel, and several attempts to reestablish a towline just didn't work.
Ice-encrusted lines and seas of some 15 feet doomed the effort. It was
time to get the two men, who had dressed in their diving wet suits, off
the stricken vessel.
Gerry Dawson and his engineer, Jack Olson, a 60-year-old veteran Great
Lakes sailor, were experiencing some of the most contrary seas of their
lives. Now he must guide his iced-up tug alongside the Grampa Woo
and stay there long enough for Dana and Robin to gain the deck of the Glenada.
Pushing the bow hard against the stern of the Woo, the two men scrambled
aboard, with seaman Jim Harding's assistance. He literally, Dana later
recalled, "grabbed both of us" off of the pitching vessel.
When they gained the security of the tug's pilothouse, Captain Gerry
Dawson explained that they were going to run with the seas to the safety
of Tee Harbor, on the east side of the Sibley Peninsula, just a few miles
ahead. The Canadian Coast Guard Westfort had the same destination,
and once in the welcome shelter of the tiny bay both vessels nosed into
the gravel beach. They spent Thursday and a good part of Friday before
the seas had calmed to the point that they could make their way to Thunder
Bay. As might well be imagined, the reunion of the several families involved
as the boats tied up was emotional.
All agreed Gerry Dawson was the real hero of this whole adventure.
As for the Grampa Woo, she was later found impaled on the rocks
of Passage Island, badly damaged. A subsequent storm finished the job and
by November 20, only a small portion of its stern was above water, literally
hammered into the shoreline.
Dana Kollars has replaced it with a similar vessel and will return
from southern winter charters in time for this summer's season.
See LSM June/July 1997 for Part Two,
from the perspective of the Grenada