Tugboats on the Bay

By Christine Cordi

Water broke over the bow of the brave little tugboat. Large swells were bearing down in a fast, cruel cadence. The deck was flooding, making the boat list badly to one side. I could see that she wasn’t going to make it. Only a miracle could save her now. Suddenly the waters calmed and then receded as my mother reached down and drained my childhood bathtub. Why would I want a rubber ducky when I had a toy tugboat? Tugboats were pint-sized, (like six year old me), pugnacious, powerful, and with a strong sense of purpose.

During the intervening years (just a few) I retained fond memories of the small ship. So I was pleased when I finally had the opportunity to ride aboard a real tugboat and glimpse a view of its world. This column is dedicated to the men and women who work aboard tugs.

In and around the Embarcadero piers you’ll see a tug every so often. They don’t tarry, like cruise ships, or carry commuters in style like ferries, or zip along like speedboats, or lean into the wind like graceful sailboats, or shine all sleek and sexy like some yachts. Instead they’re too busy pushing, pulling barges, assisting other vessels, and getting the job done.

The Andrew Foss slipped from its berth at the Port of Richmond to head out beyond the Golden Gate. It was 8:00AM on a recent Sunday, when most of you were still sleeping. Aboard were the Captain, Rex Barnes, his four-person crew, plus this writer. Our mission (okay –"their" mission) was to wait for an incoming oil tanker near Mile Rock, escort it safely into Bay waters, and help it moor at the Chevron Long Wharf. In tug parlance this was called an "escort and assist". If the tanker lost a rudder or somehow lost its steering, the tugboat would use its might to keep the other ship from running aground and spilling its load of crude oil.