TUG TALES
On board the Moran Tugboats
BY MARK CHAG JR.
ATLANTIC NEWS STAFF WRITER
Editor's Note: As readers will see in this story, access to the Moran Tugs has been restricted in recent years due to increased liability concerns and Department of Homeland Security regulations. The Atlantic News is truly grateful to Moran Towing Corporation Chairman Paul Tregurtha, as well as the hospitable and friendly pilots and crews at Moran's Portsmouth port for enabling this story to become a reality.
If one considers the downtown Portsmouth seascape a work of art, then the tugboats are the smile on the Mona Lisa.
Nestled in the heart of the city's seaside, the trio of brick-red tugs are the photogenic soul of the city itself - eye candy for locals and visitors alike.
But the Moran Tugs are much more than a picturesque attraction for photographers - they represent the very heartbeat of the region's economy, keeping Portsmouth alive for what has been for nearly 400 years: A true working port.
On Saturday, August 16, the Atlantic News was given exclusive permission to come aboard, and watch the tugs in action.
It's a busy day on the Piscataqua, as all three Moran Tugs depart from the dock on Ceres Street. Since 1967, the Moran Towing Corporation has owned and operated the Portsmouth tugs, one of only 13 port divisions the company owns across the nation that includes about 100 tugs in the fleet and nearly 1,000 employees.
Stationed in Portsmouth are the Mary M. Coppedge, Carly A. Turecamo and the Eugenia Moran, all roughly 100 feet in length.
That Saturday, a few minutes after 11 a.m., the Mary M. Coppedge is the first to pull away from the dock and head up river - to escort a tanker out to sea.
Shortly after, the Eugenia Moran fires up the engines, and heads toward the mouth of the river where a pair of ships are awaiting escort into the harbor.
Onboard the Eugenia is the full three-person crew of Captain Steve Holt, Engineer Joe Stein, and Deckhand Donald Howcroft. Also aboard are two Pilots, Chris Holt and Dick Holt Jr.
When a tug arrives at a ship to be escorted, a pilot leaves the tug and boards the ship, then takes the ship's conn and navigates it into the local port, a law that ensures the safety of arriving ships in all of America's ports.
As the Eugenia chugs along the river heading to sea, Chris is at the wheel. He's been piloting ships full-time since 2000, but has been in the business, following in his father's footsteps, since 1988.
The Eugenia passes Whaleback light, and the ships offshore come into view through only a mild haze on this hot summer day.
"They may look small now, but wait until we get close to them," Chris says with a laugh. Indeed, both ships are longer than two football fields - more than 700 feet in length.
Ships of this size have a narrow timeframe for when they can be brought into Portsmouth Harbor. Chris details how the tugs time the process perfectly to bring in ships just as the tide is reaching its peak, which offers the deepest water and full use of the incoming currents.
If severe weather conditions made a safe entry impossible, the ships would remain offshore until the following high tide.
Portsmouth Harbor is not an easy maneuver for a ship of this size, with three separate 90-degree turns and two tricky bridges to pass below. Not every boat afloat can call to port.
"We call it the 'Panamax Rule,'" says Chris. "If a ship can fit through the Panama Canal, we can bring it up this river" at least as far as the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard - but through the bridges spanning the Piscataqua River, an 800-foot vessel is the maximum.
Cargo ships and tankers coming into Portsmouth Harbor typically displace about 35-36 feet of water, not a large margin of error considering the waters are about 40 feet deep at low tide. What's more, ships like the majestic passenger cruise liners simply can't make the trip.
"Think of a cruise ship as an inverted iceberg. Very little of it is below the water but they're towering above the surface. Most of them just can't fit under the bridges," Chris explains.
The Eugenia approaches the ships, and she passes the tanker Great Eastern (which is carrying roughly 11 million gallons of fuel oil) on its way to the Atlantic Superior cargo ship, bringing 40,000 tons of gypsum rock into port for use in making sheetrock.
Captain Steve takes over in the wheelhouse as Chris readies to board and pilot the Superior.
As the Eugenia pulls in close, the Superior emerges as a mountain on the sea, drawing nearer and gobbling up the horizon with each passing second.
One might think that there would be a jarring jolt as the tug merged with the side of the ship, but the two come together like a pair of pillows, thanks to the "fenders," or hundreds of recycled sliced tires that offer cushion on each side of the tug.
Portsmouth tugs are also specially-equipped with submarine fenders, which is an apparatus of these same tires strapped below the waterline on the boat's hull in order to escort subs in and out of the harbor as needed for the shipyard.
With Chris aboard the Superior, the Eugenia heads toward the Eastern so that Dick can board and pilot that ship in.
"Be careful when we pull alongside; it can shake a bit," Chris explains, as I remark to him how smoothly I thought the merging with the Superior had gone.
"This is mid August and the sea is calm. Try coming out here in February in the dead of winter. It's a whole different ballgame," he says with a laugh. With that, Dick grabs hold of the rope ladder with wood plank rungs that has been lowered from high above on the Eastern, and ascends to the deck of the tanker towering above. He greets the crew, and gives a friendly wave back to the Eugenia before heading to the Eastern's wheelhouse.
Keeping balance on the boat while on deck, particularly when a tug affixes to a ship, is important - if not life-saving.
Unlike boats that are designed for passenger use, tugs are designed for the people who work them, not pleasure cruises. The rail surrounding the deck is barely knee-high, and not meant for tourists who are too busy looking at their camera viewfinders than their footing. Doorways require a foot-high step over the watertight thresholds, and stairs are narrow and steep. The roar of the diesel engines are a constant reminder that this is not harbor cruise, this is a working boat.
Years ago, Moran Tugs would raffle off rides on the boats to support local charities and non-profit organizations. Those were also the days when folks could wander along Ceres Street and right onto the Moran property to view the tugs from an arm's length distance.
However, like so many things that changed in the post-9/11 era, so did this access to Portsmouth's tugboats. Due to Department of Homeland Security's clamp on restricted spaces, a fence was installed for safety purposes by the dock. That and towering liability concerns of allowing passengers on a boat certainly not made for pleasure cruises have eliminated, the staff regrets, the charitable rides.
Nevertheless, a keen interest and fascination encircles the tugs, whether quietly tethered at the dock, or escorting a mighty 735-foot ship into the mouth of the harbor.
"Everybody waves," Steve says, as the captain is waving back at passing boaters, while the Superior is being towed past Whaleback Light.
The Eugenia advances with the ship, which is soon joined by the Coppedge, which takes to the stern of the Superior.
Meanwhile, the Turecamo and a Navy tugboat pass by on their way our to guide in the Eastern. Since four tugs are needed today, Moran welcomes the Navy's assistance with the additional tug. In a symbiotic relationship with the shipyard, the Moran Tugs assist with their ships whenever necessary.
The Memorial Bridge in the distance is elevated to its peak, as the twin tugs guide the Superior into the harbor.
"People always ask why the bridge has to be up for so long," Capt. Steve says matter-of-factly. "What they don't understand is, if something were to happen, and the bridge malfunctioned and didn't go up high enough, we need time to stop - lots of time."
In the narrow harbor, careening a 745-foot ship to an emergency halt would be tricky to say the least - something that the crews are always prepared for, and hope to never have to attempt.
Hence, the bridge is raised well in advance of the approaching ensemble. But when the tugs and the ship arrives, although folks have been stopped for a time in traffic, they don't seem to mind. Instead, they're lined up along the sidewalk of the bridge, waving, shading their eyes for a better view, and taking pictures.
From Prescott Park to the waterside cafés, spectators stand and stare in awe. Some have seen the show hundreds of times. Others, who are visiting Portsmouth for the first time, have probably never seen anything like it. The all watch together, amassed on the shoreline, as the real show is about to begin.
As the Superior makes its way below the Memorial Bridge, the Eugenia bears its full force against the bow of the ship, in what Capt. Steve later refers to as a "right hand turn."
The 3,000 horsepower diesel engines roar from below-deck, where the engineer - earplugs in place against the deafening roar - oversees that all is functioning perfectly. The vibrations beat through every inch of one's body, as this little tug shows all her strength, and pushes the Superior into the turn.
This maneuver is one of the three 90-degree turns that the river uses to welcome ships, and crowds watch as the tight squeeze is made, with the Eugenia near the Superior's bow, and the Coppedge at the stern ensures that the tail of the ship safely makes it under the bridge as the boat is already in a hard turn.
What is seemingly an impossible maneuver is made to look simple by the crews of the Moran Tugs and Chris, the pilot in the wheelhouse of the Superior. For them, it's another day on the job.
Interestingly, the second bridge, locally known as the "Middle Bridge," is a much different task. Because of the narrow passage beneath, the Eugenia must detach and pull ahead of the ship with will make the straight shot through with the Coppedge off the stern.
Once through, the Eugenia is tied back up to the Superior and the last leg of the trip continues upriver, so that the boat can be docked and the gypsum unloaded - an estimated 24-hour turnaround time, before the tugs are called to bring the ship back out to sea.
Unless they're on vacation, the tugboat crews remain on call 24-hours a day. More often than not, they'll know the ship schedule several days in advance, but its not uncommon for them to get a call, and report immediately to the dock, day or night.
While it may sound like a tough lifestyle, Moran is not a company known for turnover.
As the tugs push the Superior gently into the dock, Donald, the deckhand fastens the ropes securely in place. Donald has been working the decks of Portsmouth tugs for more than 30 years.
What does it take for a job to come open at Moran?
"I guess you'd just have to wait for someone to retire," says Capt. Steve with a laugh. "Moran is a good company to work for. They really treat their employees with a lot of respect."
What's more, they're an integral part of the local economy, navigating ships that haul away metal from the shipyard, or bringing in salt for both the roads and the dinner table. One day they oversee delivery of gypsum, the next it could be fuel for our homes.
All of this comes with the lofty responsibility of ensuring safe passage along the local waterways - something of which Moran has a perfect track record.
After nearly an hour, the Superior's crews have completed tying up the ship, and the tugs can now safely pull away and head back to port, passing the tanker Eastern which is already docked.
Off to the west, a looming thunderstorm is threatening on this summer afternoon; the timing today has been perfect in more ways than one.
The mighty engines purr to a near idle, as the Eugenia swivels into port. Hundreds of spectators rise from their seats at the many dockside restaurants to watch the scene.
Children wave as parents held them high for a good look, some pump their hands up and down in a gesture to hear the tug's horn.
Steve sees them as he maneuvers the Eugenia the last few feet into place, and gives the cable a gentle tug with his finger, releasing a final bellow from the horn.
From the docks, a responsive cheer from the children and adults alike fills the air. Another day's work has come to an end, and the tugs are back home in the heart of Portsmouth.
