In the Strait of Magellan Three islanders at the other end of the world By Keith A. Lewis Four generations of Dodge mariners, pictured in 1978 just before the experiences described here by shipmate Keith Lewis. They are Evan, the captain, George, the chief engineer, Josh and, at right, Linus, lobsterman and fisherman. Josh is now third mate on a tanker off the West Coast; his mother and George's Many cultures have a canon of books that have shaped their traditions, attitudes and beliefs. To that we might add the books of our childhood, a major influence in our lives. As a kid, I was fascinated by the story of a deep sea salvage tug working the North Atlantic. "The Grey Seas Under" by Farley Mowat became a cherished part of my canon. Other accounts introduced me to the exploits of the Dutch and their famous tugs. They wrote the book on ocean towing and salvage, developing its methods and placing their powerful vessels around the world. Smit International had the world's most famous tugs, many of them named for the seas on which they sailed: Zwarte Zee, Witte Zee, Pool Zee and so forth. I was fascinated by the subject. In my canon too, were books about Cape Horn, Tierra del Fuego, the Beagle Channel and Strait of Magellan. In the early 1980s, it all came together when I learned that Evan Dodge and George Dodge would be working in that area on a tug owned by Smit International. Evan was captain. His son George was first engineer and would later become chief engineer. I applied for a job and was taken on as second engineer, later becoming first engineer. Over the generations, my family has now and then sailed with the Dodges. Not by design, but simply by chance when our paths happened to cross. George and I grew up at the Old Harbor Dock and went lobstering and codfishing with his grandfather Linus. We both attended Maine Maritime Academy. In the early part of our careers, our ships passed outside of Karachi, Pakistan. Several years later George was working for the American Bureau of Shipping; he came aboard to inspect our boilers. Our fathers also went to sea; both worked for American Export Lines. In 1942, they made a trip together to West Africa, zigzagging all the way to avoid U-boats. Both rose through the ranks and assumed commands. George's uncle, Elwin Dodge, also sailed with American Export. And now a generation later, Evan, George, and I would all be sailing together. This chapter opened in the 1970s when drilling for oil began in the waters off the eastern United States. Smit International built two large tug/supply boats and placed them under the American flag. They were operated through Biehl Offshore, a company based in Houston. Evan had recently retired, had finished building his house and was looking for something else to do. He heard that a boat named the Biehl Trader would be working on the continental shelf east of New Jersey. He applied for a job and was hired as captain. George was also looking for a new job situation. As a ship's engineer, he had been with American President Lines on their round-the-world run, had circled the globe a number of times. His resume also included other jobs in the industry. Married and starting a family, the idea of working in the neighborhood was appealing. Alas, the proximity to home was not to last. When drilling ended in these local waters, Evan and George took the Trader to the Mediterranean, working off the coast of Spain, then later moved on to Barr, Yugoslovia. The contract there ended just as that country entered another of its political crises. There was concern that the Trader might be seized, so they hastily sailed, leaving gear behind on the pier. The Biehl Trader, still under Evan's command, set off for the next job at the Strait of Magellan. Arriving off Recife, Brazil, it rendezvoused with another of Smit's tugs, the Pool Zee, that was towing an oil rig from Texas to the Strait. It was the rig with which the Trader would be working. The two tugs towed side-by-side for the remaining 2,300 miles. The strait Wind, current, and tide: they are the governing factors of daily routine when working near the Strait of Magellan. Fierce winds blow for days on end. The tidal range is about 30 feet with a maximum spring range of 45 feet! A lot of water moves in and out each day, driving swift currents that have defeated many a ship. Those were the waters on which we worked. I joined the Biehl Trader at Santa Cruz, Argentina, a lonely port north of the Strait. The Trader and Pool Zee had just arrived with their tow. Evan and George, having made the long voyage, then started home on a much-deserved vacation. They would return in six weeks; my hitch was just beginning. Since our hitches varied and frequently overlapped, the following is a composite of those experiences. From Santa Cruz, the Biehl Trader towed the rig 150 miles farther south to a point near the eastern entrance of the Strait. The rig would do exploratory drilling, sinking a series of wells to determine the location and extent of hydrocarbons. Drilling each well took about a month. When drilling and testing were completed, the well was capped. We then towed the rig 10 or 20 miles where another exploratory well was drilled. Though in Argentine waters, we were drilling close to the Chilean border. The two nations have a history of border disputes; the discovery of oil added fuel to the fire. Those were the days of the oil embargoes when crude brought $30 to $40 dollars a barrel and $100 was forecast. Much was at stake. No sooner was the rig on location when a Chilean military helicopter landed uninvited, ordering us to leave. In response, the Argentine Navy sent a frigate to protect the rig. It remained with us about a month while tensions slowly eased. The boat The Biehl Trader was one of the finest boats on which I've worked. An article in "Smithsonian" magazine referred to her as the "Cadillac of the fleet." Everything was well designed; seamen's ideas had worked their way back to the naval architect's office. The boat was about 185 feet in length, rated at 7,500 horsepower, twin screw with controllable pitch propellers. (In contrast, Smit's largest tugs were 22,000 horsepower.) The Trader performed a multitude of tasks. In addition to towing, she served as a supply boat, carrying fuel, water, drill pipe, well casing, cement and barite to the rig. She was also used for anchor handling. When not engaged in those functions she lay out at the rig for 10 or 12 days, slowly jogging back and forth. There was always a supply boat standing nearby for emergency purposes. Sometimes we were told to work in a little closer when the roughnecks were in danger of falling. That was often at night. With the darkness, cold water and swift currents, there was little chance of retrieving them alive. In fact, two roughnecks did fall. Though their bodies were recovered, they had died from the fall itself and from hypothermia. The rigs We worked with two types of rigs. The first was a jack-up. In the drilling position it resembled a table standing on the ocean floor with its drilling platform high above the water. The height of the platform was adjusted by jacking it up or down the legs. The rig was moved by lowering the platform until it floated. We also worked with a semi-submersible, more commonly called a "sem-eye." That type of rig is always floating, though it is ballasted to a greater degree when in the drilling position. Even so, the drilling deck is always high above the water. Since the semi is floating it must be anchored to hold it over the well. The rig used 16 anchors weighing 10,000 or 15,000 pounds each; the Biehl Trader set and retrieved them. It's dangerous work; the wind and current put heavy strains on the gear as we manhandled the anchors on the Trader's deck. Pity the poor guy standing nearby if an anchor breaks loose and plunges overboard. Crews and roughnecks Several nationalities worked the oil patch. We were on a U.S. flag vessel owned by the Dutch. The officers were American; the crew was Portuguese, one was from the Cape Verde Islands. There was a language barrier but even so, we all worked well together and did a number of difficult jobs side-by-side. The Portuguese are good seamen; they've been at it a long time. The jack-up's crew was largely British but its steward's department was Filipino. One American supply boat was manned by Brits; another was flying the Norwegian flag. The helicopter was flown by South Africans; the divers were Canadian. We were all working for Shell Argentina. Quite often when rejoining the Trader we flew by helicopter from the airport to the rig, then transferred to the boat. The chopper was an old Sikorsky of Korean War vintage. It was usually carrying other supplies; there'd be pipe and whatever hanging out the open door. We flew on some windy days; landing on the rig, we were greeted by a fireman in an asbestos-type suit, his face and head within a fire-proof helmet and a fire nozzle by his side. The chopper wouldn't stay long, its presence a danger to itself and the rig. So the new arrivals and those departing exchanged hasty messages beneath the loud whirling blade - an inadequate change of command, but par for the course: "You got it!" they hollered. The ports We worked out of two small, desolate ports. The main supply base was at Santa Cruz; we occasionally called at Rio Gallegos for fuel. Those 30-foot tides governed our use of the ports. The entrance to both had sand bars over which we had to pass; we could cross only when the tide was relatively high. There is very little marine traffic in that part of the world. With the swiftly moving tides and dearth of shipping, there was little incentive for the government to install navigational aids. There were few buoys. Instead, the harbors and the winding channels were sparsely marked by range lights. Unfortunately, they were undependable and frequently off when needed. Docking facilities at Santa Cruz were undesirable. Though a large pier was built to accommodate a government tanker, it was of little help for vessels our size. With the extreme tides we could not get on and off the boat except at high water. One day a Norwegian supply boat came in and tied up astern of us. Swift currents swirled around the legs of the pier, creating whirlpools and eddies. There was a heavy strain on their mooring lines as they made fast. Their chief mate was handling one of the lines; it momentarily caught on a fitting, then jumped free. The line sprang up, hit him in the neck and decapitated him. But the pace of work never faltered. Out at the rig, that drill bit continued round and round, cutting deeper and deeper into the earth's crust in the quest for black gold. Yes, time is money; death is lonely in the oil patch. No cure, no pay Smit International's raison d'etre had always been ocean towing and salvage. Their large powerful tugs were stationed at strategic locations around the world, waiting, listening on the air waves for vessels in distress. Hearing such calls, the tug immediately puts to sea, steaming perhaps hundreds of miles to the casualty. However, there is no guarantee that the distressed vessel will accept its services. Indeed the ship's master and company resist it due to the cost. However, disaster sometimes strikes so quickly that there is no time to negotiate the towing or salvage fees. When it is evident to the master of the casualty that the ship is in immediate danger, he may decide to sign Lloyd's Open Form - -no cure, no pay. No fees have been agreed upon; if the tug fails to save the vessel, it receives no compensation for its time and expenses. However, if it saves the stricken ship there are substantial financial rewards for the tug and its crew. The amount of the award is determined by arbiters at Lloyd's of London. (Note: The concept has evolved somewhat since then due to the huge liabilities from oil spills.) When the offshore oil industry opened up, it presented opportunities for companies such as Smit. The industry needed a large number of vessels with towing and salvage capabilities. Thus employed, the boats would not sit idly waiting for a casualty; they would be working daily under contract, earning their keep. In those contracts, however, Smit wisely inserted a clause that allowed its vessels to go off charter to respond to such opportunities. While at the Strait of Magellan, the Trader did respond to such a call. (Though Evan was home that trip, his years at sea provided other harsh experiences.) An Argentine freighter had broken down at the eastern end of the Strait. The company negotiated a contract; we went off charter to respond. It took 12 or 18 hours to reach the freighter, arriving after dark. We found the ship swinging on its starboard anchor. Their crew had unshipped the port anchor; the chain was dangling from the hawse pipe, ready to receive our tow wire. The westerly wind was blowing true to form. (Magellan would have had problems beating his way through the Strait that night.) It was wet and wild connecting up the tow wire, with waves breaking over as we worked on the Trader's stern. We finally connected up; the freighter heaved up her starboard anchor and we began the tow. The next morning the wind abated and we proceeded into the narrowing strait. By then, we were in Chilean waters. The pilot came out in an old landing craft left over from World War II. He was a Chilean citizen of European extraction, living in Valparaiso. As he climbed over the rail, I noticed he was missing a hand. In its place was fitted a hook. We towed the vessel halfway through the Strait to Punta Arenas for repairs. As an engineer, I could sympathize with my counterparts on the freighter, that they had not been able to solve the problem themselves. At the end of that hitch, I flew home. Landing late in the evening in New York, I took a room at the Seamen's Church Institute. The next morning I heard organ music as I walked past the chapel. It was a memorial service for the crew of the freighter Poet which had recently disappeared without a trace, taking all hands to a watery grave. After the service, I chatted with a captain I'd sailed with years before. I told him I was working for Smit International. He told me of a time when he'd been broken down off the Azores for several days in terrible weather, the ship rolling violently without power. The Witte Zee had heard of their plight and come out, hoping to take her under tow for a lucrative settlement. Like a vulture, the salvage tug waited, waited. But the freighter stubbornly resisted; eventually her engineers got her up and running again. Yes, there are two sides to many stories - two ends of the tow wire. I would certainly prefer to be on the towing end. Moving on The contract at the Strait lasted about a year and a half; the Biehl Trader then left for the West Coast. As for me, another seagoing opportunity came along that I felt I should accept. But the Biehl Trader was one of the best jobs of my life. I learned a lot and the company treated me well. Evan and George were fine people to sail with - good shipmates, the best. The two continued on the Trader, taking it to California where Bill Fowler joined them for a trip. "He was a good man," said George. "We worked well together." The Dodges later took the vessel to Alaska, working out of Nome and Dutch Harbor on the cold and stormy Bering Sea. The vessel was later put under foreign flag; George was hired as chief engineer on tankers run by Amoco Oil and Keystone Shipping. Evan has since moved on to a Greater Voyage, but happy memories remain. As master, he was a wonderful man to work for. Skilled, decent and thoughtful, he was calm under pressure and one of the best ship handlers I've known. The oil patch is a tough place, even more so with the winds, currents and tides of Magellan. But Evan seemed to enjoy it. He was in his element, at peace with himself and the world.