Just a Few Tales of this old Tugboat
This story was told to Rich by an Old Salt who knew her 'back in the day.'
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In 2008, we were hauled out in the Port Townsend Boatyard for the summer. Onboard the then-named Crusader, (from 1973 to 2010) Rich was working his way through a long list of smaller and larger repairs. Pamela and their daughters, Sophie, 15, and Zenia, 11, were back in Seattle while the girls finished up the school year. Port Townsend was and is the finest boatyard in the region for drydocking a wooden boat, especially one of the Crusader's vintage. Port Townsend Shipwrights' Co-op and other sources can provide you with skilled craftsmen of all sorts, whether it is caulking seams, working on your propeller or working on your rigging, for the sailors out there.
But we have always done all our own work. Rich is the highly skilled and energetic craftsman while Pamela acts as the go-fer, tool organizer, and accountant of the operation. As long as she feeds him tools and materials, Rich is working at what he does best: meticulous craftsmanship with endless energy and productivity. This particular day 18 years ago, Rich was working on scaffolding 15 feet up in the air when an old sailor walked up to the hull, scrutinized the boat from stem to stern, looked up at Rich and, without preamble, asked him, "Is this the Edward A. Young?" Rich, surprised, answered, "Yes, sir. That's what they called her up to the early 70s." The old salt continued, "Well, sir, I was there the day she died." After a stunned silence, Rich's curiosity got the best of him. "Tell me more!" The Old Salt went on to tell Rich his memory of the fateful day when the Edward A. Young was pulling its tow in one of Tacoma, Washington's waterways. "Well, she went into irons," he said matter-of-factly. Rich, not familiar with this term, asked what he meant. For a tugboat, he learned, it is a fatal maneuver. Normally the tug, the towline and the tow all line up with the tugboat pulling it all along straight. Sometimes, though, an unfortunate situation develops. Perhaps because they're in tight quarters. Maybe the current, tides or wind are pushing the tug or its tow in an unexpected direction. Maybe the Captain spoke badly of Neptune? Well, whatever the circumstances, the unfortunate captain of the Edward A. Young watched as the tug's towline went from the tow bit, over the starboard side and down into the water, NOT toward the tow because the tow had ended up on the port side. Now the towline was running from the cleat in the middle of the aft deck (tow bit), over the starboard gunwale, underneath the tugboat and over to the tow off the port side. Disaster hovered in the wind. The tugboat was in a very dangerous predicament. The tow, pushed by current or wind, moved away from the tug. The Edward A. Young immediately started listing to starboard, then leaning badly and, before anyone could even call out, turned turtle. It had been flipped over by the towline and capsized in a flash! IF the towline had been only an inch in diameter and IF a crew member had jumped on it with a very sharp knife to cut the towline, perhaps a disaster could have been averted. Such was not the case for the Edward A Young. Well, my friends, that was the end of the working days of the tugboat Edward A. Young. For a YouTube video of a tug "going into irons," check out https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgC2SOQNCTk. |
2008 Dry dock Port Townsend
2008 Rich working in drydock
1920s photo of Puget Sound tugboat of similar vintage to the Edward A. Young
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Don't lose heart, though! This disaster was not the end of this hardy boat's sea stories!
1973 to 1978: Another Yarn in the Life of This Maritime Phoenix
We're not sure exactly how long the tugboat Edward A. Young sat on the bottom in the Tacoma Waterway. Teredo borings could be seen in her hull and deck when we took her apart. People familiar with how teredo worms drill into wood think she might have been down on the bottom for as long as three years! Teredo worms are actually not worms at all but a soft-shelled clam that eats wood. Heavens!
Eventually, though, this sturdy tugboat rose again, like the seawater phoenix she is.
The Edward A. Young was bought for salvage rights in 1973 by a family with long ties to the Pacific Northwest boating community. They renamed her the Crusader. A daughter of the family, Trish, came onboard many years later when we were hauled out in drydock in 2016. Trish remembers spending an entire summer when she was a kid digging sand out of the stern of the boat, probably accumulated during the time she sat on the bottom. Trish's family stepped two tall masts onto her deck with crutch poles set below deck on either side of the masts' feet and, voila! The tugboat Edward A Young became the sailboat Crusader, a brigantine rig.
Eventually, though, this sturdy tugboat rose again, like the seawater phoenix she is.
The Edward A. Young was bought for salvage rights in 1973 by a family with long ties to the Pacific Northwest boating community. They renamed her the Crusader. A daughter of the family, Trish, came onboard many years later when we were hauled out in drydock in 2016. Trish remembers spending an entire summer when she was a kid digging sand out of the stern of the boat, probably accumulated during the time she sat on the bottom. Trish's family stepped two tall masts onto her deck with crutch poles set below deck on either side of the masts' feet and, voila! The tugboat Edward A Young became the sailboat Crusader, a brigantine rig.
A drawing of a classic brigantine rig
Unfortunately we don't have any images of the Crusader when she was rigged as a brigantine. Ah, well.
We listened raptly as Trish told us stories about her family's cruises north and south in the Salish Sea. The family acquired a small cannon for the foredeck and developed a tradition: Father ignited the fuse which shot a small wad of paper out of the cannon with a great plume of smoke and accompanying CRACK! This signaled the beginning of cocktail hour! Unfortunately, one afternoon, someone neglected to tie the cannon down. The shot flew out of the cannon's barrel heading one way while the cannon flew over the opposite side and down into 'the drink,' never to be seen again.
During one of these summer cruises, the family headed for Semiahmoo Bay, by the Canadian border. During the summer months, the low tides around the summer solstice reveal expansive tidelands in the bay. The family was enjoying a late dinner when Father got up to see how the tide was doing.
"Nobody move!" he shouted loudly from the aft deck. It turned out the Crusader was sitting high and dry in the middle of the tide flats, balanced on her 14" wide keel! The entire family froze in place as Father explained the precariousness of their position. Everyone was talking at once, trying to figure out what to do, fearful any move would have the boat rolling onto her side. After a half hour of this, though, Father decided "What the heck!" He got out a rope ladder, lowered himself off gingerly down the middle of the boat's stern onto the tide flat to go looking for oysters or clams or geoducks. He found quite a few, Trish said. He hauled himself back into the boat and, while waiting for the tide to come back in, they added shellfish to dinner. An hour later, it was as though it had never happened and they were floating again.
After sailing the Crusader for 5 years or so, the family decided it was time for a change. The Crusader was then purchased by a couple out of Tillamook, Oregon, home of the Tillamook Cheese factory, the Tillamook River and great coastal winds for sailing.
We listened raptly as Trish told us stories about her family's cruises north and south in the Salish Sea. The family acquired a small cannon for the foredeck and developed a tradition: Father ignited the fuse which shot a small wad of paper out of the cannon with a great plume of smoke and accompanying CRACK! This signaled the beginning of cocktail hour! Unfortunately, one afternoon, someone neglected to tie the cannon down. The shot flew out of the cannon's barrel heading one way while the cannon flew over the opposite side and down into 'the drink,' never to be seen again.
During one of these summer cruises, the family headed for Semiahmoo Bay, by the Canadian border. During the summer months, the low tides around the summer solstice reveal expansive tidelands in the bay. The family was enjoying a late dinner when Father got up to see how the tide was doing.
"Nobody move!" he shouted loudly from the aft deck. It turned out the Crusader was sitting high and dry in the middle of the tide flats, balanced on her 14" wide keel! The entire family froze in place as Father explained the precariousness of their position. Everyone was talking at once, trying to figure out what to do, fearful any move would have the boat rolling onto her side. After a half hour of this, though, Father decided "What the heck!" He got out a rope ladder, lowered himself off gingerly down the middle of the boat's stern onto the tide flat to go looking for oysters or clams or geoducks. He found quite a few, Trish said. He hauled himself back into the boat and, while waiting for the tide to come back in, they added shellfish to dinner. An hour later, it was as though it had never happened and they were floating again.
After sailing the Crusader for 5 years or so, the family decided it was time for a change. The Crusader was then purchased by a couple out of Tillamook, Oregon, home of the Tillamook Cheese factory, the Tillamook River and great coastal winds for sailing.
1978 to 1983
The Crusader under sail in the mouth of the Tillamook River.
In 1978, Rik and Noreen brought her to Tillamook Bay and re-rigged her as a topsail gaff-rigged schooner. With this configuration, she was much easier to sail. A schooner could be sailed with only a small crew. The coastal winds off Tillamook averaged 10 knots year 'round while winter storms off the Pacific could easily top 50 knots. The fall winds gave the Crusader just what she needed: constant 25 knot winds to sail her properly. Five years of vigorous sailing proved enough for the Flynns. In early 1983, they began to entertain the idea of passing her on to her next lucky owner.
1983 to 1994
The Crusader sailing the Salish Sea under Jonathan White's ownership
In 1983 Jonathan Shaw White, a "writer, sailor and surfer," as his biography describes him, saw the Crusader as the perfect companion for where he wanted to go, both geographically and professionally.
From 1983 to 1993 White's Research Institute hosted thinkers and luminaries, inspiring two books by White: Talking on the Water and Tides. Visitors onboard the Crusader during those years included such luminaries as Ursula K. Le Guin, microbiologist Lynn Margulis, writers Paul Shepard, and Peter Matthiessen, conservationists Roger Payne (the first to record the songs of the humpback whale) and David Brower, activist Janet McCloud, Jungian analyst James Hillman, poet Gary Snyder, and ecologist Dolores LaChapelle. White created floating conversations with the Crusader. And adventures. Did I mention adventures?
In Deep:
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climbed on deck to make sure everything was okay. It wasn’t. We had dragged anchor across the bay and were aground in the mud. With a lump in my throat, I grabbed the tide chart. If the tide was low and about to turn, I’d be in luck. The boat would re-float easily with the flood. But if the tide was high and on its way down, it’d be disastrous. With the large Alaskan tides, the water could literally disappear and leave Crusader stuck in the mud.
I read the chart five or six times in disbelief. Really? It was the worst possible timing. We were at the top of the flood, near slack water. In the next six hours, the tide would drop 12 feet. I woke the crew and within an hour we had everyone off the boat, huddling under a tarp in a very cold, stormy, Alaskan morning. Richard Nelson kept a loaded rifle on hand in case of bears. In the next six hours the boat went down like a fatally wounded animal, first to her knees, then all fours, and finally rolling onto her side. She burrowed so deeply into the mud that she didn’t want to re-float with the incoming tide. She filled with water, to the point where my crew and I were swimming inside the cabins, hopelessly trying to salvage valuables. The engine was a tractor-size red diesel. I watched the tide lap at its oil pan, imagining how, once the water was gone, I could drain the contaminated oil and refill with new. But then the tide rose over the batteries, the injectors, and finally swallowed the whole red mass. Food and books, once dry and neatly in place, swelled and floated. As the morning wore on, I watched bananas, plums, and apples float by, and rice, like herring balls, swirling near the quarter births. And books — Jesus the books! — swollen to double size, drifting here and there. I’ll never forget the titles that floated by: Ed Rickett’s Between Pacific Tides; Robert Bly’s When Sleepers Awake; Ram Dass’s How Can I Help? At one point one of our crew, Lela Hilton, managed a smile as she held up a soaked copy of Maxine Cumin’s In Deep. Crusader did eventually float with the incoming tide, and we miraculously got her back in shape to sail off on the next seminar a few day’s later. |
By 1993, the excitement and momentum of the early days of Research Institute had slowed down. White began looking for someone to take over the mission. Or at least the boat maintenance and other costs. It took close to two years for someone to find her.
Over the two decades since she'd been salvaged, the Crusader's deck had slowly deteriorated from the pressure of the sails, masts and booms on the deck planking. She was gloriously romantic as a sailboat, as long as there was wind of at least 25 knots. But wood decks only fulfill their duty for a certain number of years and those years were nearing their end. Her topsail didn't come down very often, reflecting the difficulty of bending it on. The rest of the sails were tired but usable. The leaks down below deck were legion, legendary and the source of many enthralling post-cruise stories from all the wonderful people who sailed on her. Mementos, plaques, a lovely stain glass window in the galley, an oil stove that worked less and less as outside got colder and colder, and flooring in the lower saloon resembling the topography of a golf course were her selling points. And the crew bunks in the engine room. And a serviceable galley with a large galley table. And the unique, indescribable smell of an old wooden boat.
Over the two decades since she'd been salvaged, the Crusader's deck had slowly deteriorated from the pressure of the sails, masts and booms on the deck planking. She was gloriously romantic as a sailboat, as long as there was wind of at least 25 knots. But wood decks only fulfill their duty for a certain number of years and those years were nearing their end. Her topsail didn't come down very often, reflecting the difficulty of bending it on. The rest of the sails were tired but usable. The leaks down below deck were legion, legendary and the source of many enthralling post-cruise stories from all the wonderful people who sailed on her. Mementos, plaques, a lovely stain glass window in the galley, an oil stove that worked less and less as outside got colder and colder, and flooring in the lower saloon resembling the topography of a golf course were her selling points. And the crew bunks in the engine room. And a serviceable galley with a large galley table. And the unique, indescribable smell of an old wooden boat.
1994
In fall of 1994, Vidar, Rich's Norwegian friend from his years in the Alaskan fisheries, glanced through the September 1994 issue of Wooden Boat magazine, saw a classified ad photo for the Crusader and pressed the magazine into Rich's hands. The photo opened a door to our future. Over the next few months, we contacted White who assumed we were more tire-kickers, interested only in the romance of the old ship but not really serious. One day in November, Rich, 2-year-old Sophie and I took the ferry to Orcas Island in Washington State's San Juan Islands and drove to Deer Harbor in West Sound. There she was. The Crusader. She looked glorious with her two masts towering over us and a good coat or two of paint on her. Two-year old Sophie wandered around the deck. I investigated the cabins and salon down below. Rich fell in love with her lines, her sturdiness and the feel of her motion beneath our feet. Our credit union gave us a loan and we moved onboard in January 1995.
1995 to 2010
We found moorage in Ballard at the Golden Tides marina, below the Azteca Mexican restaurant and next to Ray's Boathouse. Golden Tides sat 3/4 of a mile outside the Chittendon Locks. Every time the locks emptied, 8 million gallons of silt-laden water flowed by our slip. We could see the tidelands on the other side of the channel off of Magnolia Headlands.
That summer of 1995 was wonderful. Rich worked at a fabrication shop on Seattle's south side, almost an hour away. Sophie and I enjoyed sitting on the edge of the boat looking down into the water, watching the Dungeness crabs scuttle by and the millions of tiny fish wend their way through the eelgrasses.
As spring turned into summer, the calendar approached the summer solstice. The tides got lower and lower. One day in mid-June, Sophie and I were down below when all of a sudden the entire boat gave a mammoth lurch and went from floating upright to laying over at a 45 degree angle in a matter of seconds. Dishes and books went flying off of shelves, crashing into the floor. A glass table top was smashed to smithereens by a heavy vase falling on it. I grabbed Sophie and went to the phone. (No cell phones yet. Not for another 4 years. But we had the phone company run a line from the street, down the ramp, along the docks and out to our slip.)
I frantically called Rich at work. Almost in hysterics, I told him the boat had fallen on its side and was sinking. "Sinking?" Well, OK, I didn't know if we would or could sink at the dock but it sure felt like it. I hung up, grabbed Sophie and we escaped the Carnival Fun House the Crusader had become. I walked, shaking with adrenalin, up the dock to the Azteca parking lot to wait for Rich. It took him close to an hour to drive home. By the time he arrived, the tide had come back in and the Crusader was floating, looking innocent, like nothing had ever happened. The only evidence was the chaos onboard. And I was still shaken. We soon learned to watch the tide tables closely. Every time the tides were -3.5 or lower, the boat would lay over as the water with its bouyancy receded. Around Christmas time this happened at midnight! For a while we had to tie our Christmas tree upright so the ornaments would stay on. Rich eventually built two huge crutches to keep us from laying over. They worked perfectly for as long as we stayed at Golden Tides.
That summer of 1995 was wonderful. Rich worked at a fabrication shop on Seattle's south side, almost an hour away. Sophie and I enjoyed sitting on the edge of the boat looking down into the water, watching the Dungeness crabs scuttle by and the millions of tiny fish wend their way through the eelgrasses.
As spring turned into summer, the calendar approached the summer solstice. The tides got lower and lower. One day in mid-June, Sophie and I were down below when all of a sudden the entire boat gave a mammoth lurch and went from floating upright to laying over at a 45 degree angle in a matter of seconds. Dishes and books went flying off of shelves, crashing into the floor. A glass table top was smashed to smithereens by a heavy vase falling on it. I grabbed Sophie and went to the phone. (No cell phones yet. Not for another 4 years. But we had the phone company run a line from the street, down the ramp, along the docks and out to our slip.)
I frantically called Rich at work. Almost in hysterics, I told him the boat had fallen on its side and was sinking. "Sinking?" Well, OK, I didn't know if we would or could sink at the dock but it sure felt like it. I hung up, grabbed Sophie and we escaped the Carnival Fun House the Crusader had become. I walked, shaking with adrenalin, up the dock to the Azteca parking lot to wait for Rich. It took him close to an hour to drive home. By the time he arrived, the tide had come back in and the Crusader was floating, looking innocent, like nothing had ever happened. The only evidence was the chaos onboard. And I was still shaken. We soon learned to watch the tide tables closely. Every time the tides were -3.5 or lower, the boat would lay over as the water with its bouyancy receded. Around Christmas time this happened at midnight! For a while we had to tie our Christmas tree upright so the ornaments would stay on. Rich eventually built two huge crutches to keep us from laying over. They worked perfectly for as long as we stayed at Golden Tides.
The First Dry Dock
In early July 1995 we hauled out the Crusader at Seaview Eaaast in Ballard on the ship canal for what we knew would be a loooong dry dock. Maybe even as long as 4 or 5 months. That turned out to be an optimistic timeframe.
Mid-August, I got pregnant with Zenia, conceived onboard, during dry dock. Really?! The boatyard staff and crew were amazed our little family of three was living onboard during the dry dock. And then I got pregnant! Climbing up and down the ladder kept me in good shape but finally the boatyard guys pressured the manager and they provided us (me)with a set of stairs. Zenia was born June 2, 1996. At this point therre was no deck, other than over where we slept with Sophie. With a newborn in arms Sophie, baby Zenia and I stayed with friends for the next 4 months.
MEANWHILE
At least a dozen planks were replaced.
The boat was completely refastened, to the tune of 2 large barrels of galvanized fasteners, around 5000 fasteners.
Every inch of seam was reefed and re-caulked.
80 ribs were "sistered."
The stacked gunwales were taken off (not to be replaced for decades).
Elbows were examined and repaired, the "shelf" was mostly replaced.
And that was just the beginning.
We have photos of it all. Just ask us!
Finally, in March of 1997, we launched the Crusader, and went back to our mooring spot next to Ray's Boathouse at the Azteca marina.
Mid-August, I got pregnant with Zenia, conceived onboard, during dry dock. Really?! The boatyard staff and crew were amazed our little family of three was living onboard during the dry dock. And then I got pregnant! Climbing up and down the ladder kept me in good shape but finally the boatyard guys pressured the manager and they provided us (me)with a set of stairs. Zenia was born June 2, 1996. At this point therre was no deck, other than over where we slept with Sophie. With a newborn in arms Sophie, baby Zenia and I stayed with friends for the next 4 months.
MEANWHILE
At least a dozen planks were replaced.
The boat was completely refastened, to the tune of 2 large barrels of galvanized fasteners, around 5000 fasteners.
Every inch of seam was reefed and re-caulked.
80 ribs were "sistered."
The stacked gunwales were taken off (not to be replaced for decades).
Elbows were examined and repaired, the "shelf" was mostly replaced.
And that was just the beginning.
We have photos of it all. Just ask us!
Finally, in March of 1997, we launched the Crusader, and went back to our mooring spot next to Ray's Boathouse at the Azteca marina.
- We watched Comet Hale-Bopp from our foredeck in 1997.
- Rich called to tell me the World Trade Center had been hit by two planes in 2001.
- The girls had many birthdays in Golden Gardens, just down the road.
- Visits from our disbelieving families.
As long as we had to vacate our Bell Harbor slip, we figured, we might as well make good use of it. For the summers of 2008, 2009 and 2010, we dry-docked during the summers. The masts came down and the interior space was expanded. When we went back into the water in 2010, we decided to change her name to the Zenia Sophia, in honor of our amazing daughters who grew up on board her.
We held a full maritime ceremony, with dozens of friends in attendance who dutifully repeated the words and threw water, wine, beer and other beverages on her hull before she was launched, insuring we had Neptune's protection.
We held a full maritime ceremony, with dozens of friends in attendance who dutifully repeated the words and threw water, wine, beer and other beverages on her hull before she was launched, insuring we had Neptune's protection.
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In 2011, we found a summer sublet at the end of S Dock in Shilshole Bay Marina. Perfect! For years, we moved every June 1 to S Dock, spending summers at Shilshole and returning to Bell Harbor for the winters. In 2020, we were finally offered permanent moorage on C Dock in Shilshole where we've been ever since. Phew!
The Zenia Sophia in her Shilshole Bay Marina slip on C Dock
We love taking pictures during our dry docks, both to document our work and give us the feeling of celebration.
If you are seriously interested in seeing the boat-work we have done over the last 18 years
(when we had good digital cameras and took a LOT of photos), please do not hesitate to contact us and
we would be more than happy to show you the photos.
It has been a labor of love.
This wonderful Puget Sound boat deserves it!
We hope you have been inspired by our journey.
Someone will take her to the next level.
Perhaps it is you.
If you are seriously interested in seeing the boat-work we have done over the last 18 years
(when we had good digital cameras and took a LOT of photos), please do not hesitate to contact us and
we would be more than happy to show you the photos.
It has been a labor of love.
This wonderful Puget Sound boat deserves it!
We hope you have been inspired by our journey.
Someone will take her to the next level.
Perhaps it is you.