Lake
Superior Journal
by James R. Marshall
The Other Side Of The Story
THUNDER BAY'S CAPTAIN GERRY DAWSON
See LSM February/March 1997 for Part
One, from the perspective of the Grampa Woo
The news of an incredible rescue of two men on
storm-tossed Lake Superior, in 20-foot seas and 70-knot winds, fascinated
two nations. That it was accomplished by three skilled men on a normally
harbor-bound 76-foot tug generated worldwide admiration. Without their
efforts, this might well be the digest of a tragedy.
It was a strange night, October 29, 1996, in Thunder Bay, Ontario.
The north side of Lake Superior was being swept with high easterly winds.
Captain Gerry Dawson's two tugs, the 96-foot Point]Valour and the
76-foot Glenada, were fighting six-foot seas while tied to their
normally sheltered dock! Gerry's wife and Thunder Bay Tug Services dispatcher,
Sharon, took the call from Roland Frayne, the chief engineer and Gerry's
partner in Thunder Bay Tug Services, who usually spends at least five nights
a week as engineer on the Point Valour, wherever it happens to be.
Gerry, master on the Glenada, soon joined Roger Hurst, the Point
Valour's captain, at the dock. They quickly realized that the heaving
vessels were challenging their mooring lines.
"Let's
get 'em out of here," Gerry shouted, realizing no lines could match
the incredible southeast seas marching through the normally small and inconsequential
opening in the Thunder Bay breakwater.
"Up the Kam" was the next directive, "and let's get
going!"
The "Kam," as the Kaministiquia River is locally known, offered
desperately needed shelter and was just a few miles south of the normally
secure slip they were about to leave. In less than two hours, they were
secured to docks in calm water just below the famed Jackknife Bridge. Time
to get some sleep.
Dawn came early and the winds had abated. Checking with Sharon, they
met the Great Lakes freighter John J. Boland at 8 a.m. on the 30th
at the mouth of the Mission River. In freshening westerly winds, they escorted
it a mile and a half up the Mission to its junction with the Kam, then
another mile and a half up the Kam to Avenor's paper mill. The increasing
winds kept the big ship off the dock, to the point that the tugs could
barely move it into good mooring position.
"Let's get 'em out of here," Gerry shouted, realizing no
lines could match the incredible southeast seas marching through the Thunder
Bay breakwater.
In any harbor environment, tugs depend on highly skilled dispatching
management. When vessels need to move, it is often conveyed as some form
of quickly needed speed or service. The dispatcher, getting a myriad of
calls on any day, must instinctively sort out the real needs from the perceived.
Thus, Gerry's Glenada and its companion Point Valour stay
in almost constant touch with Sharon as each day marches by.
Around
11:30 on this already busy morning, Sharon received a cellular call from
the captain of an American vessel, who advised that the high winds had
blown his cruise boat out of the bay at Grand Portage, Minnesota. Claiming
to be adrift and disabled, he was asking for help. This is some distance
from Thunder Bay, easily five to six hours of running.
"Can we help," was Sharon's question to Gerry. With tight
commitments for both tugs, Gerry asked for time to consider the request.
In his mind was the obvious an adrift vessel can usually find the
means to get under way and he already had several vessels in the harbor
awaiting his assistance.
The path of the errant Grampa Woo took it from Grand Portage
to Passage Island.
Around 2:30 p.m., Sharon advised of the revised request from the American
vessel, now identified as the Grampa Woo, a 110-foot aluminum tourist
vessel. It was under tow of the 1,000-foot Walter J. McCarthy, a
large freighter that had sought the shelter of the north shore after leaving
Duluth loaded with coal. Grampa Woo asked to be intercepted off
Pie Island, the approach into Thunder Bay, around six in the evening.
Though the increasing westerly winds were apparent in Thunder Bay Harbour,
Gerry thought little of the lake conditions as he asked Roland Frayne on
the Point Velour if he and his crew wanted to go out and bring the
American vessel in. With several vessel movements in prospect, Frayne declined,
feeling that his tug was needed in the harbor.
Sharon
Dawson, Gerry's wife and Thunder Bay Tug Services dispatcher. Around 11:30
a.m., Sharon received a call from the captain of an American vessel who
claimed to be adrift and disabled.
Gerry, in the meantime, had learned through Sharon's relayed phone
calls that the Grampa Woo was in dire straits, with no means to
control its destiny. Its propellers had been removed three days before,
in preparation for installing the new ones due to be delivered the following
day. Unfortunately, the new props had not arrived. Attacked by incredible
west winds, the Woo had blown out of the bay, dragging the several-ton
mooring anchor into deeper water. Now it was under tow of the McCarthy,
which was expected to drop the Woo off of Pie Island and resume
its course toward Sault Ste. Marie.
Its need was for a vessel to tow it into Thunder Bay Harbour. Gerry
sensed the extent of the problem quickly and told Sharon to advise the
Grampa Woo that they would be at Pie Island by 6 p.m.
The 1,200-horsepower Glenada is a harbor tug, well-designed
for the work it does every day. Under Gerry Dawson's guidance, with engineer
Jack Olson's skilled mechanical management and deck hand Jim Harding's
line handling, it is a respected member of the Thunder Bay harbor fleet.
At 4:52 p.m. on October 30, 1996, it cleared the harbor for the 16-mile
run to Pie Island. Its companion was the Westfort, a 44-foot Canadian
Coast Guard rescue and patrol vessel. Within minutes, the two boats exchanged
thoughts about the screaming westerly winds urging them along.
As they passed the Welcome Islands, the seas had gained prominence
and the gusts of increasing wind were tearing at anything loose or poorly
fastened on the big tug. As they approached the giant mass of Pie Island,
darkness and the increasing seas had their full attention. No vessel of
any size was visible on their radar as they sought what little security
Pie Island offered.
"Going
to be a long night," Captain Gerry observed, glancing at Jim Harding.
The deck hand had donned a survival suit, preparing for the activity which
would take the still-missing boat in tow. Below decks in the engine room,
Jack Olson was watching the engine fuel filters carefully, looking for
water. The pitching and rolling that the tug was going through would really
mix up the fuel, and it was time to watch these filters carefully.
Less than two weeks before, the fuel delivered and pumped aboard the
tug had been contaminated with dozens of gallons of water. The engine had
failed in the midst of towing a large ship, a dangerous embarrassment.
Olson's repeated cleaning of the fuel filters finally got them under way
again. Over the following days the filters had to be cleaned many times.
As they waited in the darkness, the Westfort, under command
of Chief Coxswain Bob King, was being continuously assaulted by the increasing
seas. King finally radioed Gerry Dawson, advising that the Westfort
was close to its limit in the increasing seas and was in fact taking on
water. They agreed to stay close to each other and stay in contact.
With engineer Jack Olson's skilled mechanical management, the 1,200-HP
Glenada is a respected member of the Thunder Bay harbor fleet.
Just after 7 p.m. the lights of the big freighter came into view, rounding
Angus Island and apparently heading into Thunder Bay. Soon the Grampa
Woo's lights were visible off the McCarthy's stern. Moments
later the men on the Glenada realized that the distance between
the big vessel and its tow was obviously increasing. Radio reports confirmed
that the towing bridle had failed. The big ship continued its turn and
headed west into the security of Thunder Bay.
Radio conversations linked Gerry Dawson with Captain Dana Kollars,
owner and master of the Grampa Woo, confirming it was adrift in
the troughs of at least 15-foot seas. Sustained winds exceeding 70 knots
were moving it at 4.5 knots, Dana reported, as Gerry's radar confirmed
the Woo was almost five miles farther out in the lake.
"We'll do our best to get to you quickly," he promised. As
the tug increased speed the Westfort reported it was taking volumes
of water on deck and its windows and the rest of the vessel were heavily
coated with ice. King added that they were rolling up to 80 degrees, and
the increasingly hesitant recovery was a major concern. True to the highest
calling of this fine service, King and his two crew, Inga Thorsteinson
and Willie Trognitz, remained on station to assist the Glenada.
As they neared the stricken Grampa Woo, Gerry was startled to
discover that the radar echo return from the Westfort was intermittent
on the Glenada's radar. Additional radio conversation confirmed
that the Westfort was having heavy going, but they would stand by
the Glenada as best they could. It was time, Gerry realized, to
make one final attempt to get a line either to or from the Grampa Woo.
Jim Harding gained one line, which snapped almost immediately as the
Glenada took a strain on it. Gerry, in the darkened pilothouse of
the tug, was making do with a small area of one window he could still see
out of. His tiny electric heater and its fan kept a post card-sized portion
of the window free of ice.
Not seeing Jim Harding anywhere, Gerry realized that it was possible
Harding had been swept overboard in the violent seas. Only when Jim tapped
at the port wheelhouse window with the end of a pike pole did Gerry sigh
with relief and decided that it was time for another plan. Harding would
later recount that he was holding onto the tow bollards on the afterdeck
with both hands and arms, but his legs were often floating in the crashing
seas. Gerry then had Jim go below to the engine room to check on Jack Olson.
Making
his way below to the engine room, Jim Harding was barely able to hang on
with both hands as the tug rolled and pitched in the heavy seas. At first
he couldn't see Jack anywhere, then found him gasping for air in the passageway
just above the stairway. The turbulence, combined with heavy diesel fuel
vapors, had gotten the best of Jack and he was in desperate need of fresh
air.
About 9 p.m., the crew (Jack, Jim and Gerry) called Sharon, reporting
their safe arrival.
Advising Dana Kollars and Robin Sivill that he was concerned for the safety
of his own crew and that of the Westfort, Gerry suggested that if
they had a life raft they should abandon their vessel. A United States
Coast Guard helicopter was being dispatched from Traverse City, Michigan,
to rescue the two men aboard the Grampa Woo, but this would take
several hours. Further discussion revealed that the only rafts available
on the Grampa Woo were mesh floored with no overhead shelter. There
was no more time, Gerry realized, and he decided it was time to try and
get the two men off. He nosed into the stern of the Woo, but the
pitching was too violent and he backed away.
Approaching the rolling Grampa Woo one more time, with Jim Harding
on the bow, they nudged firmly into the stern quarter. Harding literally
pulled Robin Sivill up over the tires on the tug's bow, then grabbed Dana
Kollar's waist, dragging him aboard the tug. Soon, they were in the galley
and out of the weather. The Grampa Woo drifted on toward its appointment
with the rocky shore of Passage Island.
Advising the Westfort of the rescue, Gerry's call saying, "We
got them," was also welcome news to his wife, Sharon, as well as the
Canadian Coast Guard Radio station crew in Thunder Bay, who had both remained
by their radios through the whole adventure.
Both vessels quartered the seas, angling toward the shelter of Thunder
Cape, where they were able to run with the seas to the shelter of Tee Harbor.
Located on the southeastern side of the Sibley Peninsula, Tee Harbor afforded
shelter and calm water. Arriving at about 9 p.m., they literally beached
themselves, pushing their bows into the gravel shoreline. Gerry called
Sharon, reporting their safe arrival and that they would be home when the
seas abated. That turned out to be a day and a half later.
A triumphant Glenada returns from its rescue of the crew of
the Grampa Woo. Entering Thunder Bay Harbour, the Sleeping Giant
(Sibley Peninsula) watches in the background.
So just who is this man, this hero, Captain Gerry Dawson? A skilled mariner,
obviously, but not by accident. Forty-year-old Dawson holds a "350
Home Trade Master" license, allowing him to operate any sized tug
anywhere in North America. This certificate was earned through five winters
of schooling and 11 separate examinations. All through this period, he
helped his father in many different capacities in the Thunder Bay Marine
Services company they operated. When it came time to buy the business in
the 1980s, Gerry took the gamble. The bigger tugs and a second company,
Thunder Bay Tug Services, came in the 1990s.
In February, Gerry was honored as the Harbor Man of the Year by the
International Ship Masters' Association (ISMA). He and the crew were also
honored with an award for bravery by the U.S. Coast Guard and the Duluth-Superior
ISMA Lodge.
He and Sharon have three children. In many ways Gerry and Sharon are
a mirror of the wonderful new Canada finding better ways to grow
and to prosper. Yes, this is a family to be proud of.
And our whole world is better because of them.
