Mainstreet Radio's Catherine Winter visits the last remaining tugboat company in the Duluth Superior harbor. For more than 150 years, big ships have sailed the Great Lakes, from state to state and out to the sea. For nearly as long, little tugboats have helped the great freighters in and out of harbors, broken ice for them in winter, and rescued boats in emergencies.
A century ago, dozens of tugs worked Lake Superior. They competed fiercely, racing out to boats and sometimes even ramming each other…but the era of the tugboat is passing.
Transcripts
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CATHERINE WINTER: On a bright afternoon, Dean Olson steers a red and green tug boat out into the Duluth-Superior harbor. The 95-foot tug looks tiny as it motors past huge grain elevators and ships as long as 1,000 feet, carrying iron ore and wheat and cement.
DEAN OLSON: We're going over to harvest elevator number one. It's just around the corner, under the bridge and off to the left there.
CATHERINE WINTER: Olson and his two-member crew are working with another tugboat on a routine run. They'll tow a Norwegian ship laden with grain from a loading dock, so it can head into Lake Superior, down the chain of Great Lakes, and out to sea.
Oceangoing freighters are too clumsy to turn by themselves in harbors, but ships that stay within the lakes have become more maneuverable since Dean Olson started working on tugs 24 years ago. Olson points to one such freighter. Stood on end, it would be as tall as a 90-story building. But this modern ship has thrusters, jets that shoot water and turn the boat. Olson says these days, many ships can get around without tugs.
DEAN OLSON: Other than during the ice season, they usually don't need any help. Once in a great while, though. That's what makes me think that there'll always be a need for tugs, in case of an emergency situation. But it's way, way less than-- there was 29 guys working here when I started. There's eight guys working here now.
CATHERINE WINTER: Olson says there are also fewer freighters to tow. Ships keep getting bigger, and each big ship replaces several smaller ones. Olson pulls his tug alongside the towering grain elevator where the Norwegian ship is docked. The bow of the grain ship rises up before the tug, a dark wall blocking out the bright harbor. The tugboat bobs gently beside the ship like a friendly dolphin nosing up against a whale. The pilot of the freighter calls the tugs on the radio.
TOM OJARD: OK, fine. I read you loud and clear. I don't think it'll be too long to be ready.
DEAN OLSON: That's the American pilot who's going to take it down the lake. His name is Tom Ojard. Been around a long time. Good pilot.
CATHERINE WINTER: On the deck of the tugboat, crew member Clint Ross catches a rope dropped from the ship high above him. He attaches a steel cable to the rope and feeds it up to the ship. The tug pulls the line taut, putting a tremendous amount of pressure on the cable. Ross says once in a while, a cable snaps.
CLINT ROSS: You usually don't get killed. You might get crippled up a little bit. A line breaks and hits you, it'll cave in a few ribs or whatever, wherever it hits you. That's why you stand clear of it, so you can't get hit with it.
CATHERINE WINTER: The second tug is at the freighter's other end, invisible to Dean Olson's crew behind the vast bulk of the ship. As the tugs slide the ship away from the dock, wheat chaff floats down onto the deck. It's like being part of a slow and graceful dance with an enormous partner. One tug pulls and the other pushes to turn the ship to face the bridge that marks the exit from the harbor. Beyond the bridge, Lake Superior stretches out wide and choppy until it blends with the horizon in a blue haze. The grain ship drops the tug's lines and motors off.
[RADIO CHATTER]
SPEAKER 1: --just ordered two tugs for 8:00 PM, 2000.
CATHERINE WINTER: In the pilot house, Dean Olson gets a call from the tug office. Another ship wants a tow. Now the crew won't be able to go home until 9:00 at night.
DEAN OLSON: The hours stink, being on call 24/7 hours a day, seven days a week for 10 months. But other than that, it's good work.
CATHERINE WINTER: Olson's not exaggerating. He was called to the tug dock at 4:00 in the morning. Before the day is over, he'll put in 16 hours. He says ships come and go at all hours. He has to work when there is work, and he'll be ready to do it again tomorrow. I'm Catherine Winter, Mainstreet Radio.
[BIRDS CAWING]