A lighthouse is a tower or building emitting a beacon of light on a dark and stormy night. Originally designed as navigational aids for warning of dangerous coastlines, reefs and rocks, or for marking safe harbors, they are largely ornamental now. Expensive to operate and maintain they have been mostly replaced by other electronic navigational devices and any remaining ones have been automated and no longer require a lighthouse keeper. Still, they have a certain romance about them – who doesn’t love a picture of a lighthouse?
As an important part of marine history, they make great tourist attractions. Canada’s most famous lighthouse at Peggy’s Cove attracts thousands of tourists a year. (link) You can explore on the boulders around the structure but despite the warning signs, a few people are swept into the dangerous surf every year.
Peggy’s Cove is an idyllic fishing village in Nova Scotia – it’s like stepping back in time.
Here’s another lighthouse from Prince Edward Island, as you can note from the red soil.
Although I live in the Great Lakes region, there aren’t many lighthouses around here anymore. There’s this one at the entrance to the lake on the American side.
And this smaller one along the river.
The odd shaped structure above, was moved to a local pioneer village/museum after it was decommissioned. While researching its history I was surprised to discover that my great Uncle Leo, was at one time (1948) the light-keeper there. I only knew Uncle Leo as an old man, bald and as deaf as a door-knob. When he came for a visit, the conversation would be a shouting match, music to a seven year old eavesdropping on adult conversation. He was also a house painter, and the official ringer of the church bell, so a bit of a jack of all trades. The maternal side of my dad’s family were known as river rats. Uncle Leo’s brother owned a cargo boat which made regular runs to Detroit, although not rum-running during Prohibition as they were strict religious folks. Another brother went down on one of the freighters in the Great Lakes Storm of 1913, which I’ve blogged about before in The Witch of November, a gale so furious that even the lighthouses were not of much help to the many ships which floundered and sank.
Maintaining the light and the log books was a meticulous business and the light-keeper sometimes lived adjacent to or on site in the larger lighthouses, with snug kitchen and sleeping accommodations on the bottom floor.
Here are a few more of my mother’s folk-art paintings, with variations in color scheme.
I’ve borrowed the title to this blog from the famous novel by Virginia Wolfe, (link) although I have not read it, or any of her other works, but I suppose I should some day, as it was rated one of the top classic novels of all time.
A more modern novel referencing light-houses is the best-seller The Light Between Oceans by M.L. Stedman. This was an interesting read if you missed it when it was first published in 2012. The setting is 1926 post WW1 Australia where a returning soldier takes a job as a lighthouse keeper on a small island off the coast, and later brings his new bride there. They are the sole inhabitants, with no visitors other than a supply boat which comes once a season to replenish their stores. After several years of isolation the grieving wife has suffered two miscarriages and a stillbirth. One day, a small rowboat washes up on shore with a dead man inside and a crying baby. Instead of reporting it to the authorities, the lighthouse keeper buries the dead man and is persuaded by his wife to keep the baby and pass it off as their own. Two years later when they visit the mainland on shore leave, and see the posters for the missing child, the morale dilemma ensues. The plot made for perfect book club discussion material. The author is an Australian lawyer, and this was her first published book. The 2016 movie did not do it justice due to miscasting and despite being filmed in Australia/New Zealand it failed to capture the descriptions and desolation of the windswept island so vivid in the book.
I can’t imagine being stuck in a lighthouse on an island for two years with no other souls around. Oh wait, after a rather solitary 17 months, maybe I can….but a safe harbor is now in sight!
The Tall Ships have come and gone, sailing away on a south wind and lots of good cheer, as the Gordon Lightfootsong goes. They have spent the summer visiting ports along the Great Lakes and were in my vicinity for the weekend, attracting 100,000 visitors in the process. You could purchase general admission day and weekend passes, as well as boarding passes that included deck tours, but as I am not a fan of big crowds or standing in long line ups in the sweltering heat, I viewed them from afar on Friday afternoon – along with thousands of other people lining the shore with the same idea!
Among the six ships in dock, was The Bluenose II, a famous Nova Scotia ship, and my favorite, the Nao Santa Maria, the flagship from the 1492 voyage Christopher Columbus made when he discovered North America.
Photo courtesy of Nao Santa Maria Facebook page
This replica was built in Spain to celebrate the 525th anniversary of the discovery of the new world and has spent the past two years touring various ports of call on this side of the Atlantic. (The Nao Santa Maria has it’s own Facebook page if you wish to check if it will be in your area).
We probably all remember the grade school rhyme, “In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue,” and we may remember the three ships on that famous voyage, the Santa Maria, the Nina and the Pinta, but I was unaware that the Santa Maria did not make the return journey home as it had run aground on a sandbar in Hispaniola/Haiti on Christmas Day 1492.
Here’s a link with more description about the three ships, and also a Wikipedia link with some information about the design, cargo, and the voyage. As the largest of the three, the Santa Maria was the main cargo ship, carried the most men, 52 of the 90, and was considered an old tub too unwieldy to navigate river mouths and shallow bays, which was left to the smaller faster Pinta. Columbus had struggled for years to obtain financing for his project (searching for a sea route to the far east and the treasures of Cathay), until the Queen of Spain reluctantly granted approval for the journey. How overjoyed they must have been to have sighted land and being proven right, even though they were unaware at the time that it was a whole other unexplored continent.
Ahoy mates! Land ahead! (Photo from Nao Santa Maria Facebook page)
Can you imagine travelling across the ocean in that for two months?
I had anticipated the opening Parade of Ships to be a glorious sight to behold – a beautiful sunny day, blue sky and water, white sails billowing in the breeze. While the weather was okay (coolish, sunny but lots of clouds), there was such a brisk north breeze, it wasn’t really a Parade of Sails, it was a Parade of Masts!
The water was so dark and choppy, I had to lighten my pictures to be able to see anything, plus a cloud managed to obscure the sun every time a ship went by. One of the crew was quoted as saying the sails were not up for safety reasons, as the river channel was too deep and narrow to allow much maneuverability, and it was too windy and rough once they got out on the lake. Plus, it wasn’t really a parade, as there were long gaps between the appearance of one ship and the next. We chatted and visited with fellow sightseers, many of whom had driven great distances, and ate french fries from chip trucks under the bridge, which is one of the touristy things to do in this town. This is the first ship which came along, although I don’t know the name, as I was too far away to see.
Several were so tall, we watched in awe as they barely cleared the bridge.
For $120 you could go on board for a two hour cruise during the Parade of Sails, which was sold out, as were all the more reasonably priced ($85 and $60) morning and evening cruises where the proceeds went to charity. I suspect the lack of sails was a liability issue also, as they wouldn’t want to risk anything with all those VIP’s and tourists aboard, especially if they were puking all over the nicely polished wooden decks.
I had a moment of regret, when the Empire Sandy went past. It looked like such fun, and I don’t usually get seasick on boats, having been on cruise ships, ferries and even a small motorboat.
But then I remembered the five days I spend on a Windjammer cruise in the Caribbean, back in my younger years, when I could more easily be talked into such things. I’ve learned my lesson, while something might sound romantic and adventurous, the reality often doesn’t match up. (Plus I require much more luxury in my vacations now). I distinctly remember arriving in St. Marten’s and gazing at the small vessel in the harbor and thinking – no that could not possibly be it. Nothing so small could hold 160 passengers and crew. It did, except for the two who got off at the first stop and flew home, thus saving themselves four more days of misery. Everyone on the boat was sea-sick the first 24 hours – the captain explained that was normal because the stretch from St. Martens to St. Kitt’s was notoriously rough. (Well if that was the case, then why didn’t they depart from a port with calmer waters?) He said most people were okay after the first day. Many were not. He said, stare at the horizon. It didn’t help. Better to be above deck, than below. Itwasn’t. Have some more booze. I don’t drink. While the cabins were so small as to be claustrophobic, the rocking of the ship was somewhat comforting when you were tucked up in your bunk bed at night. I tried not to think about the fact that only a foot of timber separated me from the watery depths. The food was okay, if you could eat it. (The dry crackers were highly recommended). We visited St. Bart’s and a private island for a picnic and scuba diving which was a welcome break. On Day 3, I applied one of those anti-nausea patches behind my ear – upon awakening on Day 4, I removed it, after walking into a wall and being told my pupils looked strangely dilated. (Most fixed-dose drugs are not for me, as I am a featherweight). Night 5 was particularly rough again, the rocking cradle turned into a see-saw, invoking a few prayers. I was never so glad to see dry land again, and practically kissed the ground at the hotel. The only good thing about the whole trip was the two days of shopping and restaurants in St. Marten’s capital city. The only good thing about the ship was there was plenty of hot water in the showers, and they played Amazing Grace on deck in the evening when they unfurled the sails, a nice romantic ritual. (Funny, I don’t remember the sails being raised during the day, probably too many drunken tourists about who might fall overboard). Thank God a wretch like me was saved – but I swore never to set foot on a sailing ship again!
It may be exhilarating to be on board when the wind grabs the sails, but sailing is only for more adventurous souls, with strong stomachs. For the rest of us, the Tall Ships are a pretty sight, best viewed from the safety of the shore.
(photo courtesy of the Tall Ships Festival Facebook site)
Postscript: Like the best of all plans, Columbus started small, with old ships. News of his new world discovery spread quickly throughout Europe, so on his second voyage, he was given a fleet of 17 ships, with 1,200 men and the supplies needed to establish permanent colonies in the New World. Which just goes to show how any new venture can start with one small step, which with a bit of luck and a favorable south wind, can turn into something much larger.
When something is not fun, the colloquial expression, “It was no day at the beach” comes to mind. Similar to “it was no picnic” or “not exactly a walk in the park” it denotes a situation which may be difficult to deal with – which is exactly what I discovered the first time I went to the beach this summer.
I had not been earlier because of the kitchen reno and the hot/humid/rainy weather. Although I can’t sit in the sun anymore I try and go at least a couple of times a year to take pictures and spend a relaxing afternoon with a book, but as it’s some distance for me, there never seemed to be a good day to pack up the beach stuff. We’re lucky we have beautiful beaches here and very blue water, but the truth is we don’t take advantage of them as often as we should.
Finally one day when I was running errands in town, (there always seems to be time for errands), I took a detour – as it was such a nice sunny bright-blue-sky- with-a-breeze day, it was a shame to waste it. I thought I would sit in the car and enjoy a coffee and snack and watch the sailboats for awhile.
What the heck happened to the beach?
It seemed to have disappeared. My usual spot, with the tree I usually sat under, consisted of a mere few feet of shoreline.
As the waterline was almost up to it’s roots, my beach blanket would have been swamped.
Before, you could walk out past the end of the groyne and still be in waist high water.
Now, the groynes were buried under water and considerably shorter.
At least half of the stretch of sand was missing, although it was better at the other end.
There is still a strip of sand in front of the parking lot, where they have placed boulders to prevent people from driving on the beach, but the beach down below has eroded considerably.
They have made some effort the past few years to protect the remaining sand by growing dune grass, but it was still a shock to see how much had washed away.
The lake levels are about a foot higher than they normally are and beaches all along the Great Lakes basin have experienced erosion and flooding this year. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the state of our beach, as driving down river earlier in the summer I noticed the same thing with the river level. Some of the boat ramps were closed because the river water had come up over the breakwall and flooded the parking lots.
And some docks were under or near level with the water. If I had expensive river or lakefront property I would be worried – another foot and the dock will just disappear.
The five interconnected Great Lakes make up the largest body of fresh water in the world. Although they say their water levels rise and fall in a cyclic fashion according to the prevailing weather patterns, I have never seen the water so high here. About ten years ago we were coping with the opposite – low levels exposing beaches and shipwrecks offshore which had never been seen before. It seems it has become a world of weather extremes. Although most of the problems with high levels and flooding in the Great Lakes can be attributed to the excessive rainfall this year, it does make you worry about global warming and the polar ice caps melting. Here’s a link to an article from The Weather Channel with more information on potential causes.
No matter what you may think about climate change, this sad sight, coupled with our brutally cold winters of late, and our prolonged rainy springs and hot humid summers, with all the torrential downpours and violent storms everywhere – it does make you wonder – are we ruining our planet?
Hey what happened to the beach?
If things continue beaches may become a thing of the past, a relic portrayed in paintings and photographs.
And life-guarding will become an obsolete occupation.
Perhaps it is not too late to take action?
Postscript: The Lake Huron Centre for Coastal Conservation has been advertising for “Coast Watchers”. These community volunteers help the Goderich-based centre monitor conditions along the Lake Huron shoreline and collect scientific data for a long term monitoring program. Last year they had 130 applicants, whose job it is to monitor a specific stretch of coast line once a week, from May to October, and record data such as wave height, temperature and wind speed. Another general observation group monitors for algae bloom, significant garbage wash-ups or spills, and rare birds or a species at risk. The Goderich-based centre was formed two decades ago with the goals of protecting and restoring Lake Huron’s coastal environment and promoting a healthy coastal ecosystem. It’s volunteer Coast Watchers Citizen Science Monitoring Program has been running for approximately 15 years. Training sessions are held every April.
Sounds like a great idea. Why be a weather watcher, when you could be a coastal watcher!
Postscript: Have you noticed any signs of climate change in your corner of the world?
As the genealogist in the family, the small ad in the local newspaper, caught my eye. A woman was looking for descendants of The Great Lakes Storm of 1913 for a book she was writing commemorating the one hundredth anniversary. The Great Lakes Storm of 1913 was a hurricane-like gale which raged over five days, Nov 7-11 in 1913. The weather had been unseasonably warm for early November, but two major storm fronts converging over the warm lake water (also known as a November Witch), suddenly brewed up the storm of the century. This perfect storm was actually a combination of two of the worst meteorological phenomena, a blizzard and a hurricane, or what is known as a white hurricane or an extratropical cyclone. The gale-force winds, massive 40 foot waves and whiteout conditions resulted in the sinking of 19 ice-laden ships, the stranding of another 19, and sent over 250 sailors to an early grave. (For those unfamiliar, the Great Lakes comprise five interconnected lakes on the border between Canada and the US, famous for being the biggest fresh water lakes in the world and important then and now as a commercial shipping route. Even today, the big freighters ply the waters, although with the milder winters now, shipping season extends later in the year. Last year they went very late, and the coast guard cutter trying to plow a route through the ice for one straggler, did some significant damage to docks on the Canadian side, a legal nightmare still being sorted out).
So, I emailed her that my great-uncle Joe had die in the storm, he had been a boatswain on the Henry B. Smith. He was my dad’s maternal uncle, and it was a bit of folklore passed down in the family history, that the captain had been drunk and should never have gone out. (The ship had been in port in Marquette Michigan on Lake Superior, from Nov 6 to 9th, taking on a load of iron ore, so it wasn’t caught out in the storm like the rest of the boats which sank on the lakes). Here’s more (Wikipedia) info on the sinking of the Henry B Smith. As it turned out, her great uncle, was “Dancing Jimmy/James Owen”, the captain, of the Henry B. Smith. Oops. She was gracious about it, having heard the rumors herself over the years. He sounded like quite a character, known for visiting dance halls in every port and laughing in the face of danger. Although an experienced and valued captain, he had experienced many delays on his last voyage of the season, and was under considerable pressure from head office to meet the schedule or be fired. He was an invincible soul, who like many captains back then, felt no fear – any captain who couldn’t sail in a storm wasn’t worth his salt. There had also been a lull in the northern part of the storm, before the southern part converged. Most likely, it was a combination of all these factors. At any rate, it was a reckless decision which took 25 men to their deaths, and which had far-reaching impact on many lives. Poor Captain Owen realized his mistake not many miles out and tried to change course, but by then it was too late, the ship had disappeared into a crashing snow squall and was never seen again, although several oars and one or two bodies eventually found drifted ashore. The ship was officially declared missing on Nov 14 1913.
She felt it was important to honor the stories of those mariners who had gone down with their ships, so we ended up corresponding over the next year, and she put a short chapter on my ancestor in her book of personal stories. When I say short, I really did not have much information to give her and none of it a first hand account, but she did a great job considering. She later invited me to attend her town’s memorial services but as my mother was having hip surgery that November I was unable to attend any services, either there or here.
My dad’s mother was one of nine children, six girls and three boys, one of which was Uncle Joe. The other two brothers were Bernard and Leo. Here’s a picture of my great-grandmother Jane with some of the family, except for Joe who was deceased by then. Jane lived well into her 90’s and my dad recalled her babysitting him while his parents went to the dance pavilion across the river – he remembered hearing the music floating over the water, (the end of the Roaring 20’s?), as their family homestead was close to the river, and also her cookies. As a family, they were very involved in the local church which was right down the street and it was the job of one of the boys to ring the church bell on Sundays. My paternal grandparents died before my parents were married, so the only ones I knew when I was a child were Aunt Kathleen and Uncle Leo, who was as deaf as a doorknob. Uncle Leo gave up the boats and became a house painter, but he still rang the church bell on Sundays. (My grandmother is the one with the child on her lap).
Jane’s husband had been a cobbler, (I have his business card), but died young, leaving her a widow with nine children, ages 1 to 19 yrs. The girls went to work as maids in the big hotels, or as a seamstress (my grandmother), and the three boys sailed on the boats. They were river rats.
Here are the girls, displaying a bit of ankle…..what would they think of the fashions today?
And here are the boys. Joe is the oldest, sitting in the chair,
and here he is later in life, quite a dapper young man. I am not hundred percent certain this is him as opposed to one of his brothers, (Leo the middle one and Bernard the youngest), but was given the photo by my 97 year old great-aunt Dorothy, (Bernard’s daughter), who was born in 1917 and so never met him, although she was of course familiar with his tragic end. Cameras were still rarities at the time, so I have very few photos from either grandparents side.
Later on, his brother Bernard captained his own small boat, and made trips up and down the river to Detroit. Perhaps he no longer wanted to be at the mercy of someone else’s orders like his brother had been. Here’s a picture of some of his family eating watermelon on board his boat. From the middy blouses and big hair bows, it is probably dated around 1920?
According to the 1911 census, Joe made $500 on an oil barge, while his two brothers Leo and Bernard, worked on steamers, making $450 for a 36 week season.
Joe is on the far right in this picture of the crew relaxing on deck.
Here is a photo of the ship leaving Cleveland on it’s last voyage, taken through a glass display case so it is hard to see, but you can just make out the Henry Smith name down in the lower right corner. I wonder if Joe is in the picture and who are the women on deck saying goodbye?
Below are a couple of descriptions of the boat leaving port in the late afternoon on the day of the storm.
And another writeup……
What were Joe’s thoughts on that fateful day? Were they of his family and his fiancé/sweetheart? He was supposedly engaged to be married to my dad’s paternal aunt Annie. Here’s Annie in the middle of the back row, photo taken around 1911.
How awful it must have been for her and for the families waiting at home for word which never came. I remember sitting in the genealogy library, back in 2003, reading all the newspaper coverage of the storm on microfilm, and the reports of bodies being washed up on the shore near our area of the lake. He was 30, and she was 29, and the last of the girls left on the farm. Options were few for women back then, and after her mother died in 1917 and her brother, (my grandfather) wanted to marry and start a family of his own, she ended up marrying someone else and moved to Seattle where one of her other brothers lived. They adopted a child, as she was older then and couldn’t have any of her own. When that child, now in his 70’s, returned for a visit to the homeplace in the 1990’s, intent on researching his family roots, he did not seem to be aware that he was adopted and no one let on.
The following gives a bit of credence to the family folklore.
While there was certainly a significant financial loss to the storm, most ships were insured, and the owners of the Henry Smith ended up with an insurance payout of $335,000. Total losses from the storm, for lost and damaged ships, were almost 4 million, with another million for lost cargo. A compensation fund for the families of $18,245, shared by the 250 sailors lost, meant each received $73, (about $1700 in today’s money). The life of a sailor was cheap. One good thing to come out of this marine disaster was an improvement in weather forecasting and faster responses to storm warnings as well as stronger construction of ships.
Could they have survived had all the hatches been closed before they left port, and if the waterproof tarps had been placed over them to protect them from flying apart from the force of the pounding waves, a time consuming procedure the captain had not deemed necessary. There were two theories, the most likely that she took on too much water in the hold and rolled, pouring out the ore through the hatches as she sank, the second that the excess water caused the steel to fracture. As only two bodies, both wearing life preservers, drifted ashore, it is probable there was little warning and the rest went down with the ship. But it was not just the wind and the waves which caused havoc in the storm for the temperature had dropped enough to create a full-blown blizzard, reducing visibility so that the ship could not see the shore, and significant icing from the freezing spray weighed it down to the point that they could not even navigate, so the odds were slim, but some ships did make it through, (any port in a storm), although they were badly damaged and encrusted with ice. Could Joe and his fellow crew members have said no, when the whistle had blown and the boat was already streaming away – not likely they even had a chance. While working conditions have certainly improved in the past century, are workers today, still being asked to perform reckless duties and actions in the names of corporate profit/greed? In some jobs cutting corners might mean lives lost, maybe not yours, but someone else’s. Something to think about if you’re the boss….or a worker being asked to do unsafe tasks.
Flash forward to the spring of 2013 and they have found the wreck of the Henry B. Smith in waters not far off Marquette Michigan, almost one hundred years after it sank.
The wheel and bridge of the wreck of the Henry B. Smith
Here’s a link to a newspaper article with a video of the flying bridge. And a more personal account of the dive team. The boat had split in two and was resting on it’s load of iron ore at the bottom. Most of the hatches were open. My author friend emailed me that she had been invited by the dive team to go out on the water for a memorial service the following year. She was excited that the divers had recovered an enamel coffee pot from the bottom of the lake, a poignant piece of memorabilia, and she was picturing the crew members pouring a cup of coffee from it on a cold blustery night, a night fit for no man. I have not talked to her since but in the mariner’s tradition, I hope someone rang a bell on behalf of each of the 25 men lost on the Henry B. Smith. I think Joe would have approved.
PS. The title The Witch of November is taken from Canadian folksinger, Gordon Lightfoot’s, song The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, a ship which sank in a November 10 1975 gale on Lake Superior with the loss of all men aboard. In that song, “The church bell chimed till it rang twenty-nine times for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald”.
The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called ‘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 twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty.
That good ship and crew 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 good 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 ship’s bell rang
Could it be the north wind they’d been feelin’?
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the captain did too,
T’was the witch of November come stealin’.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the Gales of November came slashin’.
When afternoon came it was freezin’ rain
In the face of a hurricane west wind.
When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck sayin’.
Fellas, it’s too rough to feed ya.
At Seven P. M. A main hatchway caved in, he said
Fellas, it’s been good t’know ya
The captain wired in he had water comin’ in
And the good ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when his lights went outta sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Does any one 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 put fifteen more miles behind her.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
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 rooms 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 till it rang twenty-nine 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 said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early!
PS. There are many books available on the Great Storm, most of them self-published by local authors. Here is my Goodreads review of one I read last year, and I also attended a lecture by the author, but it is more focused on the sailing aspects of the disaster, as opposed to the personal stories. The author focused on just a few of the ships and gave a more detailed account. Still, it was a fascinating read, even if you already knew the outcome.
An excellent read about the big storm of 1913 on the Great Lakes. I had a family interest in the subject as my great uncle died on the Henry Smith, which was recently located a hundred years after it went down, and while his boat wasn’t mentioned much in the book, there was lots of detail and research about other ships. Stayed up late two nights reading, couldn’t put it down, even though I knew the sad outcome. Well done.
PS. While I was preparing this post last week, the Witch of November came calling. On November 9, the exact date of the sinking, we had our first snowfall of the season with blustery north winds….