On The Water
Included with permission from the author
Copyright © 2004 Thomas Ball McGlinn
I remember coming back to Nantucket, from off-island visits, as a little kid. My parents and I usually stayed at the New Bedford Hotel, having driven up from Philadelphia, my grandparent’s city, that same day. The New Bedford Hotel was a massive brick building, maybe 10 stories high – a real “sky-scraper” by the standards of the 50’s, or at least in my eyes, compared to the two-story wood houses on Nantucket. My strongest memory of that place was the special dining room down in the basement – decorated to resemble the inside of a sailing ship – I think the entrance included a boarding ramp, and I seem to remember false portholes in the walls with ocean scenes lit inside them. There was a more stately dining room on the floor above.
We’d stay there, usually arriving too late to see much of New Bedford, and catch the ferry early the next morning, headed for Nantucket, by way of Woods Hole and Martha’s Vineyard. The ferry was always the Steamship Nobska, as I recall.
I can still remember the yelling and excitement at the New Bedford Terminal as my father drove us on board over a narrow ramp that extended into the side of the boat. There were shouts of “You’re next! Pull ahead! Keep coming! Stop!” as the crew directed the automobiles into the tight spaces on board. After parking, it was always a squeeze between the cars to head to the stern to get off the freight deck. And there was very little headroom, either. No room for big trucks. Small electric carts towed trains of three or four flatbed cars loaded with freight. These would eventually be off-loaded into the big shed at the end of Steamship Wharf, where island truckers would pick up and deliver the goods.
Then it was up a wide staircase, with an extra railing in the center,
up onto the passenger deck. The dark, wooden lunch counter faced you as you came up the stairs, and the purser’s office was to the right, a tiny corner office with bars like a bank’s, where you got the key to your cabin. My folks always took a cabin – usually up towards the bow on the starboard side. The floors were linoleum tile on that deck, and it was a little dark in the corridor where the cabins were. There were benches outside the cabins. The cabin had a sink, a mirror, a rugged couch that might have been built-in, and a stand alone chair that was heavy enough not to slide around much even when the boat rolled in the waves.
So, there were rows of cabins along either side of this deck, the lunch counter aft, and forward of the cabins there was a large open space with seats and writing tables. Further forward were great, heavy sliding doors, which lead out onto the deck. It was all a little kid could do to manage to slide those open. Once on deck you could climb some stairs and come out on the top deck – out in the sun, if that was the weather, where folding chairs were scattered all over, and full of people if it was the season.
I liked to roam around the boat, and my parents liked to sit in the cabin, so that worked out great for me. I’d be sent to the lunch counter for snacks. I’d go out on the outside deck aft of the lunch counter and stare at the wake for a while, watch seagulls trailing us, watch passing islands, passing boats, and look straight down where the side of the hull met the water and watch and listen to the water sliding by us and throwing spray back into the water.
And the steam whistle, when we approached a port, was a majestic announcement of our arrival. People would come out on deck to look at the approaching docks and the people greeting the boat.
One time my father took me into the engine room where I got to meet the people working there and we got a tour. High ceiling. To me the steam engine seemed as big as a house. It seemed to be made of a thousand moving pieces working like a huge clock. That’s another noise that’s hard to recreate – a real clatter in the engine room and some kind of thunderous swoosh on the rest of the boat. It was not the same as the diesel engines we’ve become accustomed to.
Anyway, I liked the Nobska a lot. And the New Bedford to Nantucket trip was an adventure for a young child. Crossing different bodies of water, passing through the narrow passage at Quick’s Hole, islands big and small, different harbors. And time. There was no rush. It was a long trip. People settled down and enjoyed it.
I can’t remember if the boat ever stopped in Woods Hole on that route. We did stop at the Vineyard. We’d never go ashore at Martha’s Vineyard – the boat didn’t stay long enough. I would stand out on deck and look at the place – very curious. It looked just like Nantucket, but a little different. One time I sneaked down to the freight deck and reached out to touch the dock, just to say I’d touched the place.
After the Vineyard the excitement built, for me. I’d linger in the cabin for a while and then head out to the reading area, and have a look through the window there, to look for Nantucket. What I was looking for was the water tower – that was the first sign of Nantucket you’d see. It was black then, and stood out. That was a big deal, particularly if I hadn’t been to Nantucket in a while. First it was the tower, then the cliff out by Dionis and Hinckley Lane showed up, and pretty quickly the rest of the island would come into view – just like now.
I can just barely remember the Lightship Cross Rip as we passed her. We’d pass pretty close, as I remember. Sometimes you’d see some of the crew. I’ve heard that the boat used to swing close enough to throw over newspapers, but I never saw that. Now there’s just a buoy there.
As we rounded Brant Point the Nobska let out a blast on her steam whistle and the town
knew we were coming. And we had time to look over the town from the top deck, as the Captain backed her around and expertly docked the boat using spring lines and lots of experience and a skilled crew on board and on the dock. Finally the gangplank was hoisted out and tied on, and the automobile ramp was hooked up and we drove off the boat, through the warehouse, and we were back home.
The Nobska got taken out of service around 1974. She’d been operating for nearly 50 years. She actually stayed tied up on the south side of the Steamboat dock for a long time. I think a lot of us thought she might get fixed up and make the run again, but she was bought by somebody in Baltimore and was made into a restaurant there. She was towed out of here and that didn’t seem right. Eventually a group called the “Friends of Nobska” bought the boat with the idea of restoring her. That brings us to the present, because that restoration project has been going on in one way or another, ever since. So long, in fact, that people have gotten a bit numb to the idea, and now, after lots of money and work, Nobska might get scrapped as soon as this June.
The New England Steamship Foundation is the group that is now fighting to save the Nobska. The boat is in dry-dock in the Charleston Navy Yard, up in Boston. They have rebuilt three-quarters of her hull, and have to finish that work so they can float her and get out of that space, which is needed by, none other than, the USS Constitution, due for her own repairs. If they can’t float her, she can’t get out of the way, and Nobska will be scrapped. Best estimates are that it will take one or two million dollars to get her floating. That will buy the organization time, as they seem to have a place to tow the boat for further work. To get Nobska refurbished and re-certified to carry passengers, which is one of the hopes of the NESF, it may eventually cost another 20 million.
Because the SS Nobska happens to be the nation’s last coastal steamer, the New England Steamship Foundation has been able to form alliances with powerful maritime organizations, both private and government, and expect to be able to raise the necessary funds, eventually. They fully intend to have the Nobska rebuilt in time for the bi-centennial of Robert Fulton’s first steamship, in 2007. But, barring some Deus Ex Machina, if they can’t float by June, Nobska is done for.
Good Sailing,
Tom McGlinn is a Yachtmaster who grew up on Nantucket and spent a lot of time operating boats on waters other than Nantucket’s. You can email him with comments and ideas for columns at tom@onthewatercolumn.com