Save Ottumwa Post September 13, 2023

Coffee Time

Sitting on the porch drinking coffee and watching the hummingbirds a couple of days ago brought back memories of spending time on the porch in the early morning hours with a friend of mine. Bart lives in Louisianna where he was a crop duster pilot and hunting guide for geese and ducks. I hunted with him in Louisianna a couple of times, and he came to Iowa to bow hunt deer a few times. He is an avid hunter as well as a great guy to hang out with. The first year he hunted Iowa, his brother, Kent came with him. I think it was the second day out, Bart got a trophy buck. Since he and Kent rode

together, he could not go home until Kent got a deer or they ran out of time.

We made the most of the remaining portion of Bart’s hunting trip. Each morning, we would meet on the porch with a cup of coffee. He said he enjoyed the bucolic scenery and camaraderie as much as the hunt. He brought Community Coffee with him, as in his opinion, that is the only good

coffee brand made. He made a believer out of me, and it is now the only kind of coffee at our house.

The wildlife cooperated by being out and about on these days. We watched the deer come and go dur-

ing the morning. We knew where Kent was in his tree stand so when we saw deer moving into the timber in his direction, we knew he was at least seeing deer. The hummingbirds were enjoying the last days in Iowa before they migrated to Louisianna and Texas. Swarms of the busy little birds fought over the feeders over our heads on the porch. Trumpeter swans would leave the lake right after dawn to feed in local corn fields and return throughout the day after their feasting on spilled grain. One morning, we brought the spotting scope out with us to better identify deer that moved across the hill on the far side of the lake. We were well into our second pot of coffee and watching a flock of turkeys chase grasshoppers when we noticed a larger than normal deer sneaking up the far side of the dam as he headed for the top gate. His nose was close to the ground while he tracked a doe that had come through earlier. With the spotting scope, we could tell it was a good buck. Good enough, Kent would take it if he had the chance. The buck continued up the hill and

into the timber, heading straight for Kent. Bart and I were both getting excited as we waited with anticipation for a call from Kent. The call never came. The big buck must have turned somewhere between Kent’s stand and where we last saw him go into the woods because Kent never even saw him.

Several more enjoyable mornings were spent on the porch drinking coffee and swapping hunting stories before the call came from Kent. He had a deer down and could use some help if we were not too busy. We jumped in the Ranger and went to load out

the deer. He had a nice trophy also.

Kent’s kill brought an end to the morning coffee times, but we enjoyed each minute we had. Both hunters had great success and we all enjoyed the time we got to enjoy the outdoors, either hunting or just watching wildlife from the comfort of the porch.

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Going The Full Mile

I do it, and I’m not the only one who does. People who drive muscle cars or ride motorcycles will understand. When passing through the tunnels on Highway 61, I like to accelerate a little (sometimes a lot if I’m the only vehicle in the tunnel) just to hear how sweet the mufflers sound as I cruise through. I enjoy the sound of other muscle cars in the tunnel as well. But not everyone likes the noise; sometimes it can be too much.

The roar can be deafening when a group of Harley’s or other road bikes pass through. My KZ 650 is not a loud bike but it sounds fantastic in the tunnel.

Last Sunday, I was riding my motorcycle home from Duluth. I met a long line of oncoming motorcycles in the Silver Creek Cliff Tunnel. The roar was like super loud thunder that echoed on and on. As I left the tunnel, I could still hear the other bikes passing through behind me. I missed hearing my own bike, but another tunnel was coming up.

Unfortunately, I followed a semi-truck through the Crow Creek Tunnel. The sound from his mufflers bounced off the arched ceiling and tiled walls, making a smooth rumbling echo. Unfortunately, I didn’t hear the cool sound of my bike again – although the sound of the semi was loud and impressive.

Big vehicles, like semitrucks and airplanes, can make the most extraordinary sounds. In contrast, other big vessels are nearly silent; for example, the ships coming and going from the twin ports. I am always amazed at how quiet and graceful those

giant boats are as they glide through the canal, passing under the lift bridge.

Riding past Palisade Head, I saw a large ship on Lake Superior, probably a thousand-footer headed for Duluth. I had not been to Canal Park to watch a boat come in for quite a while. Since I had no plans that evening, I thought I would check the shipping schedule to see what time that boat was expected to arrive at Duluth.

I was right; the boat was a 1,000-footer, the American Century, and it was expected to arrive in Duluth at 7:30, but there was a bonus. The Philip R. Clark was expected just thirty minutes later. I read more of the schedule. It would be a busy night for the Duluth Harbor.

A salty coming in around 9:00. The schedule showed the Indiana Harbor was due at 11:00, with the Arthur M. Anderson following forty-five minutes later. If I wanted to spend the night in Canal Park, the Paul R. Tregurtha was due at 1:00 a.m. At 1,014’, the Tregurtha is the longest boat on the Great Lakes. Wow! “Holy mother of Mary,” I said. “That’s got to be a full mile of ships in less than six hours!”

I grabbed a pen and

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paper and started writing down numbers, adding the length of each ship. Disappointment set in. “5,186 feet. Seriously? A lousy 94 feet short of a mile.” I decided to go anyway.

I highly doubted I would stay for the late-night arrivals or the Tregurtha arriving in the wee hours of the morning. Still, seeing even three ships pass through the canal in less than a day would be a record for me. Possibly better than winning the lottery! I decided I was going.

I checked the weather, packed a few things, and prepared to take off on the motorcycle again – destination: Canal Park, Duluth. But I took my leather jacket and helmet back into the house. I decided to take Willie instead.

Willie is our 1971 Ford F-250 Camper Special, with a 1970 Alaskan camper in the bed. We had not had Willie out all year, and he was overdue

for a little road time.

The day was hot, and Willie did not have air conditioning. I drove down Highway 61 with the windows rolled all the way down. I opened the wing windows to push more air through the cab. Usually, I would sing some John Denver tunes, but I was driving Willie, and the sentiment was right: “On the road again. Just can’t wait to get on the road again. The life I love is making music with my friends. And I can’t wait to get on the road again.”

Speaking of music, with the wind rushing through the cab, I could barely hear the sweet music coming from the pipes on Willie’s 390 big-block V-8 motor. The tunnels were no help. Another group of Harley’s got me in the first, and a hopped-up Mustang drowned out my motor in the second tunnel.

I parked the truck and

(Just the Other Day cont’d on pg 4)

(Just the Other Day cont’d from pg 3) walked to the canal wall right on time. I could see both ships in the distance. I rechecked the schedule. “Darn!” If I had arrived forty-five minutes earlier, I would have caught an unscheduled boat departing and could have made the full mile. Oh well.

As the First boat approached, people began to migrate to the wall. The American Century quietly enters the canal, smoothly sailing between the parallel concrete seawalls. People were talking, but the big boat sounded its massive horn, silencing any other sound. Three long blasts, followed by two short blasts. The lift bridge operator replies with his horn, welcoming the big boat to the Port of Duluth.

The people wave to greet the sailors, and the sailors return the salutations. Clanking noises are heard as the ship’s hands begin unlocking the massive hatches, preparing to take on a whole load of iron ore. It was quite an event. Twenty minutes later, the Philip R. Clark arrived, and the entire scene played out again. I get a natural high watching these big guys come in. So huge and powerful, yet so quiet and gentle. They don’t even create a wake as they glide by.

I really enjoyed the thrill of it all and was bursting with excitement! I decided to wait for the salty, but time passed, and the boat never arrived. In my mind, I still hoped to see a mile of ships – but it wouldn’t

happen. Still, it didn’t hurt to dream.

It was about 9:00, and I was getting tired. I thought I should head home, but I met some people, then some more folks. We started talking, and before I knew it, an hour had passed. Just like life, the shipping schedule is full of unexpected changes.

The updated schedule showed two more boats were due within ninety minutes. Arthur M. Anderson was ahead of schedule, and I wanted to watch it arrive. I’ll admit to having a soft spot for the Anderson if it’s possible to be emotionally attached to a steel boat.

On November 9, 1975, the Edmund Fitzgerald set out from Superior, Wisconsin, on its final and fatal voyage. Shortly after, the Anderson departed from Two Harbors.

During that horrific storm, Captain Bernie Cooper of the Anderson was in contact with Captain McSorley at the helm of the Fitzgerald. The Anderson was only ten to fifteen

miles behind the Fitz and tried to help the troubled crew ahead of them. Captain Cooper watched as the mighty Fitzgerald disappeared from the radar. I always get a lump in my throat when I consider the courage it took and how desperately the crew of the Anderson tried to help the Fitz – there was just nothing they could do.

The Anderson quietly entered the dark canal. At night, the big boats don’t sound their horns. Still, a handful of people were on the wall to welcome the Anderson. Seeing a big ship arrive so calmly offers significant serenity and humility. The boat is massive but so quiet.

I stuck around to watch the Indiana Harbor arrive less than an hour later. The Tregurtha was falling behind schedule and wasn’t expected until 5:30 a.m. I was too tired to drive home, so I called my wife to say I was staying the night.

I crawled into the Alaskan camper, pumped up the top, and made the bed. I set an alarm for 5:00 to catch the Tregurtha’s arrival. Unfortunately, I was so tired I slept through the alarm and didn’t wake up until after 6:00. Surely, I had missed the boat. Still, I was on time to catch a beautiful sunrise over Lake Superior. I used this opportunity to enjoy some morning reflections and prayer.

Before leaving, I checked the shipping schedule one more time. The Tregurtha wasn’t going to arrive until 8:30. Wow! I had time to get breakfast and coffee and watch the biggest boat on the lake come in. I swear, the Tregurtha has the deepest tone and the loudest horn on the lake.

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The captain gave one long and two short blasts – the lift bridge operator returned the greeting as people lined up on the wall and waved to the sailors. There was one more amendment to the shipping schedule, and I intended to stay longer.

At 9:30 a.m., the American Century had loaded and was departing Duluth Harbor. The captain sounded his horn – the lift bridge replied. It was like a conversation: the big boat said, “So long, Duluth.” The lift bridge replied, “We’ll see you again soon, American Century.”

The American Century was the first boat I saw come in and the last boat I saw leaving.

I watched the big boat leave the canal and sail out to the big lake. A man approached me, “Isn’t that something to see?”

“It sure is,” I replied. “I never get tired of watching these boats come and go. I love the sound of their horns.”

“That horn on the American Century was really loud,” he commented.

“Yep,” I replied, “But it would be no match for the

Tregurtha if the two ships met in the tunnel.” The man looked confused, and I wasn’t going to explain. I just let him walk away, thinking I was crazy.

I wasn’t expecting to see the American Century depart. But catching the boat both coming and going, I was able to watch a full mile of ships passing under the Duluth lift bridge in just under fourteen hours. I hopped in Willie’s driver’s seat and began our journey home. I was smiling, “We did it, Willie,” I said to the truck. “I don’t know if we broke any all-time records, but it was certainly a record for us!”

Just me and Willie were alone when we entered the Silver Creek Cliff Tunnel. The morning air was cool; my window was about halfway down. I started to accelerate a little just to hear the sweet sound of the big-block motor rumbling through the tunnel. I actually accelerated a lot, but Willie and I were the only two in the tunnel.