We passed the 30th anniversary of the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald on Lake Superior earlier this month. While Gordon Lightfoot's song was somewhat overplayed when it was originally released, it's a fairly accurate account of the actual event, and relatives of the Fitzgerald's crew have expressed appreciation for the song as it keeps alive the memory of their loved ones.

If you think the song is ponderous, you should see one of these ships working the Great Lakes. The slow tempo of the song and that repetitive chorus perfectly capture the extraordinary effort it takes those ships to put water behind them.

I've been working overnights at one of my jobs. In the morning, I'll take a walk downtown, and occasionally I'll end up at Navy Pier. Invariably I'll walk all the way to the east end of the pier, settle into one of the benches, gaze out on Lake Michigan, and catch-up on phone calls. One day, I saw a freighter making it's way down the lake, a rare sight now that the South Works are gone, and it was easily 10 miles offshore. Presumably, it was on its way to Gary, Indiana's steel mills or possibly the grain elevators. It was huge.

The Edmund Fitzgerald was 750 feet long and 75 feet wide, and it was the biggest ship ever to sail the Great Lakes from the day it was launched right up to the day it sank. Even in the worst weather, a big ship must still give its crew a pretty high level of confidence that it can weather the storm. Perhaps you just take some of this for granted.

I sat on the pier and watched that ship make its way across the lake, slowly, like it was barely moving, and I thought to myself, It had to be a helluva storm that night to take down a ship that size.

The Fitzgerald had set sail from Superior, Wisconsin on her way to Detroit with a 26,000 tons of taconite -- iron ore pellets -- and Capt. Ernest McSorley at the helm, a veteran of better than 40 years on the Great Lakes. Piloting through the storm, the Fitzgerald was making her way along the Canadian coast when the gale force northeast winds shifted and began blowing from the north west, blowing continuously at 50-60 mph over open water. More fetch. Bigger waves. The Fitzgerald was being pounded by 30 foot waves at intervals as close as 150-200 feet. One or more defective hatches was allowing water to get into the hold taking the Fitzgerald lower in the water. At 7:10pm on the evening of November 10th, at the height of the storm, Capt. McSorley made his last radio transmission to another ship shadowing the Fitzgerald and checking on her progress. Fifteen minutes later, the Fitzgerald disappeared from the radar screen of the Arthur Anderson, the ore carrier just ten miles behind her and keeping her company.

The maritime accident report has a chilling account of one theory about how the Fitzgerald sank. It believes that a large wave carried her stern up in the air, shifting her cargo of taconite to the bow of the boat, and causing the bow to plow into the water. With the wave continuing to lift her stern, and the cargo continuing to shift forward, it took the 750 foot-long Fitzgerald and impaled her now front-heavy bow on the bottom of the 550 foot deep lake. Nearly vertical now, she snapped in two, and it must have happened in just seconds.

She lies at the bottom of Lake Superior off Whitefish Point, Michigan in two pieces. The front of the ship lies right side up. The pilot house is upside down on top of the front piece. You can count on one hand the number of items that were recovered. I don't believe any remains were found.

On November 10th the bell chimed 30 times -- 29 times for each of the crew and once for all others lost at sea -- and that final toll carries a special significance on the 30th anniversary of her sinking.

This is perhaps the best site I've found for information on the life and times of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

http://www.ssefo.com

tony b.

"We're holding our own..."

Some story, YTB.

I don't remember ever even hearing about this.

I live a few miles from Lake St. Clair, which is the feeder lake into Lake Onterio. When you live in Michigan, the lakes are a huge part of your life. We have a boat and a cabin we go to every year. The lakes are very beautiful.

I know what you are talking about when you speak of these huge frighters.(Boats) They are massive and we often took our boats as close as we were allowed to get to them, which can be VERY close. They have channels dug throughout the lake so they may pass through them. Lake St. Clair is only about 25 feet deep but VERY large. It is the divider of America and Canada. I used to go to Canada all the time by traveling across the lake. The huge boats are a awe-inspiring sight.

The Doc

Thanks for the insight TB. I knew of it, but only by Gordon Lightfoot's song.


TIS

I remember that song playing on the radio like it was yesterday.

Here are the Lyrics for anyone interested:


by Gordon Lightfoot

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy.

With a load of iron ore - 26,000 tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early

The ship was the pride of the American side
Coming back from some mill in Wisconson
As the big freighters go it was bigger than most
With a crew and the Captain well seasoned.

Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
When they left fully loaded for Cleveland
And later that night when the ships bell rang
Could it be the North Wind they'd been feeling.

The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the Captain did, too,
T'was the witch of November come stealing.

The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashing
When afternoon came it was freezing rain
In the face of a hurricane West Wind

When supper time came the old cook came on deck
Saying fellows it's too rough to feed ya
At 7PM a main hatchway caved in
He said fellas it's been good to know ya.

The Captain wired in he had water coming in
And the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his lights went out of sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does anyone know where the love of God goes
When the words turn the minutes to hours
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
If they'd fifteen more miles behind her.

They might have split up or they might have capsized
They may have broke deep and took water
And all that remains is the faces and the names
Of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the ruins of her ice water mansion
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams,
The islands and bays are for sportsmen.

And farther below Lake Ontario
Takes in what Lake Erie can send her
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
In the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral
The church bell chimed, 'til it rang 29 times
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
Superior, they say, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early.


© 1976 Moose Music, Inc.


Don Cardi

Lightfoot's rendition of "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" is my favorite narrative song of all time. Its hauntingly beautiful.

I've seen a few tv specials about this tragedy and always find it to be a fascinating story.

That's a perfect way to describe that song. It has a kind of haunting tone to it, but it is a beautiful song.

Don Cardi