Tugboats on the Bay
Crew Members and Captain of working tug
By Christine Cordi
Published: July, 2001
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.
The Andrew Foss is aided by its cycloidal propulsion system, instead of the more traditional rudder and propeller blades of most boats and many tugs. Envision two large eggbeaters sticking into the water, blades moving in a breast stroke fashion, near the middle of the ship’s hull. This system invests the tug with great maneuverability which can be critical if the tug has to make tight turns either in assisting others to parallel park at a crowded dock, or for preventing disaster. On the outbound trip the captain demonstrated this system as he made the tug perform a few water wheelies. The 299-ton tug spun like a ballerina. Also fascinating was the fact that the tug could easily go in reverse at up to 80% of its forward speed of roughly 12 knots (13 mph). Engineer Mike Port was responsible for making sure that the tug’s 4000 hp engine was in top shape and could rise up to 900 rpm when necessary. In addition to more traditional ways of clocking and tracking usage of various parts of the engine, he also utilized the more advanced tool of lube oil spectral analysis to make sure that engine parts were not being worn down.
The sea was calm and the visibility was generally superb. By the time we neared Mile Rock the captain had radioed to the Marine Exchange and others, to let them know we had arrived and were waiting. He had consulted his ship finder, showed me maps on the computer, pointed out the radar, a fax machine - the wheelhouse had a number of high tech tools.
Then we saw it coming out of the mist. All 150,000 dead weight tons of oil tanker. It had already picked up its Bay pilot and was heading towards us. Tanker – tug radio conversations ensued. Our first maneuver (okay – their first maneuver) was to gallop alongside the tanker (tricky in heavy seas), as if it were a freight train, and we were the horse and rider. And we were going stern first.
Alongside an oil tanker
