The Great Testosterone Race, "Yeeee-haw!"


Tugboats are manly craft. Not that they cannot be captained, crewed, or
maintained by women (and many are), but there's a certain machismo in
any mission where work is accomplished by the artful application of
brute force. Feature writer Jim Wood and I both fancy ourselves to be
men of a masculine sort. Neither of us required extensive persuasion to
accept an invitation from our friend Captain Rob Heay to join him on
his yard tug, "Clydesdale", for the Twenty-First Annual Tugboat
Race in Seattle. Rob owns Port Orchard Yacht Sales in Port Orchard, and
for a good portion of the year is accepted as a successful leader in
the business and maritime communities of Port Orchard. Rob enjoys
sailing and riding his Harley when not selling yachts, but after
spending a Saturday racing with him aboard "Clydesdale" it is easy
to conclude there are few things he could possibly enjoy more than his
tugboat.

"Clydesdale" is a familiar sight in Port Orchard. When something
needs to be pushed, nudged, or towed around the harbor local boaters
often call on Rob and "Clydesdale." A hearty smile and a sincere
handshake will typically be all the payment required. "Clydesdale"
is just that friendly a boat, and Captain Rob is just that friendly and
helpful a skipper. On race day, however, Captain Rob develops a
mischievous twinkle in his eye, buckles his swash, checks the weather,
and begins to grin like a school boy on Christmas morning.
"Clydesdale" takes off the workaday harness, takes a deep sip of
fresh diesel, and tugs impatiently at spring and breast lines. She may
be a workhorse most of the year, but this is her day to unleash what
she holds in her heart. It's her day to run like a thoroughbred.

Jim and I boarded Clydesdale at Elliot Bay Marina. Rob arrived from
Port Orchard with four friends aboard; Wes Fitz and Anne Fitz as well
as David and Joan Loe. Wes is Rob's usual racing partner, but for
some of us this would be our first tugboat race.

"Clydesdale" is a simple towboat. She has a working pilothouse with
a large, teak wheel
and a curved bank of thick glass windows. Her engine room is forward of
the pilothouse, with some simple stowage compartments and a very rustic
marine toilet. Nobody will confuse her with a pampered, dock queen, or
a luxury yacht- and one suspects that "Clydesdale" couldn't care
less.

"Clydesdale" is a wooden boat, and her classic lines create the
impression that she is much older than she is. She was built in 1982,
the first boat ever produced by the Wooden Boat Building School in Port
Townsend. Prior to retirement, she was a yard tug for a logging
operation based somewhere near Anacortes. "Clyde" (as she allows
Captain Rob to call her) is 28 feet long, draws six feet, and weighs
nine tons. She is powered by a Detroit 671. "There's a good chance
we'll be the smallest tug in the race," said Rob.

"Clydesdale's" full displacement hull provided an excellent,
stable ride across Elliot Bay. Seating was catch-as-can on the
foredeck, two canvas chairs aft, and atop an ice chest loaded with
snacks and adult beverages nestled against toe rail at the stern. There
was a light breeze, with no whitecaps. As we motored toward Pier 66 on
the Seattle waterfront we noticed tugs beginning to arrive from all
directions in Elliot Bay.
Our first stop was the Bell Harbor Marina, where we tied up briefly to
participate in the Seattle Maritime Festival. The Loe's and Fitz's
went foraging for chowder while Jim and I explored the Maritime
Festival exhibits ashore.

The Maritime Festival seemed sparsely attended for a dry Saturday in
May, but the crowd on hand was enjoying the event. A pool filled with
radio-controlled model tugs fascinated kids of all ages. Clowns and
dipping polls filed with prize-winning plastic fish kept the
preschoolers smiling. A variety of regional associations and businesses
were hastily assembling some racing shells and kayaks in the "Quick
and Dirty Boat Building Contest." Quick and Dirty is an event in
which only a few hours separate small piles of specifically permitted
materials and the "ready or not" starting time where each untested
watercraft would be paddled or rowed through a race course. All racers
will of course be wearing pfd.

Jim and I met a fellow maritime scrivener, Captain Kelly Sweeny,
(Master Mariner). Captain Sweeny writes "From the Bridge", a
monthly column in Pacific Maritime Magazine, and he has just published
a collection of his stories in a book, also titled "From the
Bridge." Captain Sweeny said he was inspired to produce the book
after buying a copy of Jim Wood's "The Captain's Gift" at the
Armchair Sailor in Seattle. (Watch for a review of Captain Sweeny's
book in a future issue).

Jim and I bought a couple of Polish hot dogs from a vendor rather
obviously attending his first ever tugboat race.

"What time does the parade start?" asked the vendor.

"Twelve-thirty"

"Great!" replied the vendor, as he motioned with a thumb over his
shoulder toward Alaska Way, "And it goes right down the street behind
us, right?"

"No, I don't think so. It's a tugboat parade."

"Oh, thanks," said the sheepish vendor.

As we returned to the top of the gangway to return to "Clydesdale",
we noticed a long line of people waiting to be admitted to the docks.
"Aha!" I thought. "There really is a lot of public interest in
viewing the tugs!" We were halfway down the float to where
"Clydesdale" was moored when the guards let the crowd through the
gate. Several hundred excited people poured into the marina- and almost
flattened everyone unlucky enough to be between the gate and the
combination floating wet bar/ mammoth charter boat at the far end of
the dock. Oh well; who could realistically expect our maritime heritage
to compete with a booze cruise, anyway?

Shortly after Jim and I rejoined Captain Rob on "Clydesdale", the
rest of the crew assembled and we cast off to begin queuing up for the
parade. Most of us were thinking beyond the opening parade to the race
itself, and while several of us were novice tug racers, it seemed like
a useful tactic to "lighten ship". All the heavy liquid in those
bottles of adult beverages was likely to slow us down, so for the good
of the enterprise we each agreed to empty a bottle or two. A few of the
more enthusiastic racers may have been especially zealous in the
pursuit. Some spoiler pointed out that we hadn't actually lightened
ship, but merely arranged to strain the liquid through our kidneys and
displace it into the holding tank. (It was widely agreed that he was
not yet into the proper spirit of the day and he was offered an
additional beverage).

I sat atop the cooler as we motored back into the bay from Bell Harbor
Marina. "I figure this is a pretty good seat," I joked. "If I go
overboard with the cooler, I can be sure you'll come back for me."

"That will depend," said Anne, "on whether the cooler actually
goes overboard with you and whether or not there's any food or beer
left inside!" (Indeed? Harumph!)

"Clydesdale" is considered a "Class C" tug. "Class C" boats
are yard tugs and small harbor tugs. "Class B" tugs are medium to
large harbor tugs, commonly ranging up into the 100-foot and over
category. "Class A" tugs are the larger, "tractor" tugs with
Z-drives and 360-degree mobility. Most of the larger tugs had
rendezvoused outside of the Bell Harbor Marina, (for obvious reasons),
with some happy hijinks being exchanged among vessels from rival tug
companies.

Two large "Class B" tugs were steaming into one another, stem to
stem, surrounded by a loose circle of "spectator" boats. It looked
like a Jr. High after-school fistfight, and reality was not far from
the illusion. "That's a push-off," said Rob Heay. " Those guys
are feeling their leather and hot metal. The race is all about going
fast, but for a lot of these boats there are more bragging rights at
stake in a push-off. If you have the horsepower to push your competitor
astern while he's motoring into you attempting to do the same, it's
a lot like the strong bull showing up the weak bull. Getting beat in a
push-off can be pretty embarrassing."

We watched as a tug pulled between us and a boat belonging to one of
its rival companies. We could see a crewmember with an evil grin
holding a partially charged fire hose that was spraying into the bay on
our side of the newly arrived tug.
"I think the guy with the fire hose is up to no good," speculated
Rob. He was right.

As the tug lay alongside its rival, the fire hose mysteriously,
somehow, traveled from the port side to starboard, where it immediately
began drenching the decks (and everyone on the decks) of the other
"Class B" tug. Despite the angry assurances that the boat getting
hosed wasn't actually aflame, (and some rude suggestions for
extremely unorthodox hose handling techniques), the dousing continued
until the dripping tug steamed away.

"Clydesdale" doesn't have a fire hose. "I think we need at
least a big squirt gun," suggested Wes.

The "Chief Seattle" fireboat led the parade along the waterfront,
and we were joined by the "Virginia V" steamship. The Class C boats
paraded first, followed by the larger vessels. The bright orange Coast
Guard inflatable patrolled the area, with a 50-cal machine gun on a
mount in the bow to remind us that while we were racing and partying in
Elliot Bay there were men and women having a lot less fun and doing an
important duty elsewhere.

We drifted in the bay while several of the tractor tugs performed
intricate maneuvers for the amusement of other boats and the spectators
lining Pier 66. We noted that Crowley's tractor tug might be lacking
the latest technology in some basic areas. High above the waterline, we
noticed a pilothouse window on the Crowley tug was propped open with a
wooden stool!

Some of the large Class B tugs had the entire populations of small
villages aboard.
For some of the tug companies, the race is a corporate social event
with husbands, wives, kids, friends, distant cousins, and friends of a
friend's friend all invited aboard for a day of kegging and cruising.
One such party barge drifted over near "Clydesdale", and a young
blonde woman came to the rail and said, "I like your boat! I mean,
isn't that just the cutest little thing!"

"You're cuter!" replied Rob, in a strange tone that sent her
scampering away. Rob said, "I can think of a couple of times when a
man doesn't want to hear a woman say, 'isn't that just the cutest
little thing,' and one of them will always be when she's talking
about his tugboat!"

Our "Class C" race began at 1400. The race instructions stated
"The starting line
bears 223-degrees true from the southwest corner of the west wing of
Myrtle Edwards Park fishing pier, to a Crowley tug, our stake boat,
lying 300 yards seaward. The finish line bears 223-degrees true from
the southwest corner of Pier 62/63 to the 'Virginia V', the finish
boat, lying 300 yards seaward. The fairway is 1.8 nautical miles long
by 200 yards wide, bearing 313-degrees true from the starting line to
the finish line. Minimum separation from the pier ends is 100 yards.
Orange buoys mark the seaward edge of the fairway."

As we gathered at the line for our standing start, we noticed that the
Race Committee and taken certain liberties with the "Class C"
designation. Apparently some relatively slower boats that had competed
in other classes in the past had been allowed to "step down" in
search of a victory. We lined up with small tugs like "Reliable",
"Texada Fir", "Ironman", "Newt", and some much larger boats
as well. "Island Wind", off our port side, had three times our
waterline length and probably 4 times the horsepower. The "Carole
B", out of Alaska, stretched the definition of "tug boat" as well
as the limits of "Class C"- she was far larger than any of the yard
tugs and obviously rigged for crabbing. "Olmstead" was another
large boat apparently stepping down in class for this race. To my
personal relief, one of the smaller tugs proved to be named
"Hornet". When viewed from less than optimal angles, there was some
question regarding the last letter in her name. Prior to realizing that
the final letter had a flat top and was a "t", I was thinking,
"what an odd name for a boat!"

Last minute preparation for the race included clearing the folding
chairs from the aft deck and lashing the cooler in place. Everyone
found a grab rail or a safety line to hang onto, with the exception of
Jim Wood who initially thought he would spend the race sitting atop the
ice chest. (Jim reconsidered very shortly after the starting whistle).

The whistle sounded, the gearboxes were engaged, and all the tugs went
to full throttle. A chaos of exhaust smoke, roaring engines, and
churning props resulted in the (expanded) Class C boats plowing away
from the line in general unison.

"Iron Man" immediately to starboard gained an initial advantage off
the line. "Texada Fir", "Reliable" and "Newt" were
trailing. "Clydesdale" was running fairly evenly with "Island
Wind" and beginning to gain on "Iron Man" when "Iron Man"
came across her bow. Captain Rob backed off to avoid colliding with
"Iron Man", and that allowed "Island Wind" to pull ahead.
"Iron Man" and "Island Wind" pulled ahead of "Clydesdale"
and then came close abeam to eliminate any chance for "Clydesdale"
to pull between. If Rob were going to overtake these boats, he would
have to go around to port or starboard to do it, and we were contesting
with "Carole B" for third place.

If you're not the lead boat in a tugboat race, the view seldom
changes. Green water was churning on all sides as the wakes collided
from the leading boats. We shipped some water onto the deck, and
estimated that the confused "seas" were averaging about 4 feet.
As the smallest vessel in the race, "Clydesdale" had to back off a
bit to safely manage the wakes, and the larger "Carole B" edged
into undisputed third.

Coming up strong closest to shore was the "Olmstead," threatening
to overtake the leaders.

The greater the number of large tugs in front of us, the more severe
the sea conditions became. We soon had 5-6 foot chop, rather than
4-foot, and we began shipping green water over the bow. Anne jumped
aside as half a foot of water came racing down the sidedeck past
completely overwhelmed scuppers. My comments on the micro-cassette
recorder were decidedly less than properly nautical,
("Yeeee-haw!").

It appeared that we might be able to regain third or fourth from
"Carole B", but Rob had to back off the throttle when
"Clydesdale's" bow just simply disappeared in a solid wall of
frothing chop. Darn.

The race aboard "Clydesdale" will be one the most memorable 1.8
nautical miles of my life. We finished fifth, but Wes observed that we
had finished ahead of every boat that had ever been in "Class C" in
the past, and actually made better time in this race than in previous
years where "Clyde" had placed better or won.
Rob asked me, "Well, what did you think?"

"It was a blast! Can we run again?"

"Well, there is an 'open' class at the end of the day where
everybody can compete, but there will be some extremely big boats in
that one," said Rob.

"I'd be up for that!" I enthused...

And just about that time, some much more responsible person discreetly
removed my adult beverage.


Thanks to Rob Heay, and shipmates Wes, Anne, David, and Joan for
hosting Jim Wood and I at the tugboat race. We may not have been first
across the line in our class, but I will guarantee that nobody had
anymore fun than the crew of the intrepid little "Clydesdale."

Awesome post, really enjoyed the story. I didnt even know they had tug boat
races here in seattle and I have live here for 48 years. Where can I get
information on these so i can watch the next time ? Again thanks for a great
story.

Thanks
Ed
wrote in message
oups.com...
The Great Testosterone Race, "Yeeee-haw!"


Tugboats are manly craft. Not that they cannot be captained, crewed, or
maintained by women (and many are), but there's a certain machismo in
any mission where work is accomplished by the artful application of
brute force. Feature writer Jim Wood and I both fancy ourselves to be
men of a masculine sort. Neither of us required extensive persuasion to
accept an invitation from our friend Captain Rob Heay to join him on
his yard tug, "Clydesdale", for the Twenty-First Annual Tugboat
Race in Seattle. Rob owns Port Orchard Yacht Sales in Port Orchard, and
for a good portion of the year is accepted as a successful leader in
the business and maritime communities of Port Orchard. Rob enjoys
sailing and riding his Harley when not selling yachts, but after
spending a Saturday racing with him aboard "Clydesdale" it is easy
to conclude there are few things he could possibly enjoy more than his
tugboat.

"Clydesdale" is a familiar sight in Port Orchard. When something
needs to be pushed, nudged, or towed around the harbor local boaters
often call on Rob and "Clydesdale." A hearty smile and a sincere
handshake will typically be all the payment required. "Clydesdale"
is just that friendly a boat, and Captain Rob is just that friendly and
helpful a skipper. On race day, however, Captain Rob develops a
mischievous twinkle in his eye, buckles his swash, checks the weather,
and begins to grin like a school boy on Christmas morning.
"Clydesdale" takes off the workaday harness, takes a deep sip of
fresh diesel, and tugs impatiently at spring and breast lines. She may
be a workhorse most of the year, but this is her day to unleash what
she holds in her heart. It's her day to run like a thoroughbred.

Jim and I boarded Clydesdale at Elliot Bay Marina. Rob arrived from
Port Orchard with four friends aboard; Wes Fitz and Anne Fitz as well
as David and Joan Loe. Wes is Rob's usual racing partner, but for
some of us this would be our first tugboat race.

"Clydesdale" is a simple towboat. She has a working pilothouse with
a large, teak wheel
and a curved bank of thick glass windows. Her engine room is forward of
the pilothouse, with some simple stowage compartments and a very rustic
marine toilet. Nobody will confuse her with a pampered, dock queen, or
a luxury yacht- and one suspects that "Clydesdale" couldn't care
less.

"Clydesdale" is a wooden boat, and her classic lines create the
impression that she is much older than she is. She was built in 1982,
the first boat ever produced by the Wooden Boat Building School in Port
Townsend. Prior to retirement, she was a yard tug for a logging
operation based somewhere near Anacortes. "Clyde" (as she allows
Captain Rob to call her) is 28 feet long, draws six feet, and weighs
nine tons. She is powered by a Detroit 671. "There's a good chance
we'll be the smallest tug in the race," said Rob.

"Clydesdale's" full displacement hull provided an excellent,
stable ride across Elliot Bay. Seating was catch-as-can on the
foredeck, two canvas chairs aft, and atop an ice chest loaded with
snacks and adult beverages nestled against toe rail at the stern. There
was a light breeze, with no whitecaps. As we motored toward Pier 66 on
the Seattle waterfront we noticed tugs beginning to arrive from all
directions in Elliot Bay.
Our first stop was the Bell Harbor Marina, where we tied up briefly to
participate in the Seattle Maritime Festival. The Loe's and Fitz's
went foraging for chowder while Jim and I explored the Maritime
Festival exhibits ashore.

The Maritime Festival seemed sparsely attended for a dry Saturday in
May, but the crowd on hand was enjoying the event. A pool filled with
radio-controlled model tugs fascinated kids of all ages. Clowns and
dipping polls filed with prize-winning plastic fish kept the
preschoolers smiling. A variety of regional associations and businesses
were hastily assembling some racing shells and kayaks in the "Quick
and Dirty Boat Building Contest." Quick and Dirty is an event in
which only a few hours separate small piles of specifically permitted
materials and the "ready or not" starting time where each untested
watercraft would be paddled or rowed through a race course. All racers
will of course be wearing pfd.

Jim and I met a fellow maritime scrivener, Captain Kelly Sweeny,
(Master Mariner). Captain Sweeny writes "From the Bridge", a
monthly column in Pacific Maritime Magazine, and he has just published
a collection of his stories in a book, also titled "From the
Bridge." Captain Sweeny said he was inspired to produce the book
after buying a copy of Jim Wood's "The Captain's Gift" at the
Armchair Sailor in Seattle. (Watch for a review of Captain Sweeny's
book in a future issue).

Jim and I bought a couple of Polish hot dogs from a vendor rather
obviously attending his first ever tugboat race.

"What time does the parade start?" asked the vendor.

"Twelve-thirty"

"Great!" replied the vendor, as he motioned with a thumb over his
shoulder toward Alaska Way, "And it goes right down the street behind
us, right?"

"No, I don't think so. It's a tugboat parade."

"Oh, thanks," said the sheepish vendor.

As we returned to the top of the gangway to return to "Clydesdale",
we noticed a long line of people waiting to be admitted to the docks.
"Aha!" I thought. "There really is a lot of public interest in
viewing the tugs!" We were halfway down the float to where
"Clydesdale" was moored when the guards let the crowd through the
gate. Several hundred excited people poured into the marina- and almost
flattened everyone unlucky enough to be between the gate and the
combination floating wet bar/ mammoth charter boat at the far end of
the dock. Oh well; who could realistically expect our maritime heritage
to compete with a booze cruise, anyway?

Shortly after Jim and I rejoined Captain Rob on "Clydesdale", the
rest of the crew assembled and we cast off to begin queuing up for the
parade. Most of us were thinking beyond the opening parade to the race
itself, and while several of us were novice tug racers, it seemed like
a useful tactic to "lighten ship". All the heavy liquid in those
bottles of adult beverages was likely to slow us down, so for the good
of the enterprise we each agreed to empty a bottle or two. A few of the
more enthusiastic racers may have been especially zealous in the
pursuit. Some spoiler pointed out that we hadn't actually lightened
ship, but merely arranged to strain the liquid through our kidneys and
displace it into the holding tank. (It was widely agreed that he was
not yet into the proper spirit of the day and he was offered an
additional beverage).

I sat atop the cooler as we motored back into the bay from Bell Harbor
Marina. "I figure this is a pretty good seat," I joked. "If I go
overboard with the cooler, I can be sure you'll come back for me."

"That will depend," said Anne, "on whether the cooler actually
goes overboard with you and whether or not there's any food or beer
left inside!" (Indeed? Harumph!)

"Clydesdale" is considered a "Class C" tug. "Class C" boats
are yard tugs and small harbor tugs. "Class B" tugs are medium to
large harbor tugs, commonly ranging up into the 100-foot and over
category. "Class A" tugs are the larger, "tractor" tugs with
Z-drives and 360-degree mobility. Most of the larger tugs had
rendezvoused outside of the Bell Harbor Marina, (for obvious reasons),
with some happy hijinks being exchanged among vessels from rival tug
companies.

Two large "Class B" tugs were steaming into one another, stem to
stem, surrounded by a loose circle of "spectator" boats. It looked
like a Jr. High after-school fistfight, and reality was not far from
the illusion. "That's a push-off," said Rob Heay. " Those guys
are feeling their leather and hot metal. The race is all about going
fast, but for a lot of these boats there are more bragging rights at
stake in a push-off. If you have the horsepower to push your competitor
astern while he's motoring into you attempting to do the same, it's
a lot like the strong bull showing up the weak bull. Getting beat in a
push-off can be pretty embarrassing."

We watched as a tug pulled between us and a boat belonging to one of
its rival companies. We could see a crewmember with an evil grin
holding a partially charged fire hose that was spraying into the bay on
our side of the newly arrived tug.
"I think the guy with the fire hose is up to no good," speculated
Rob. He was right.

As the tug lay alongside its rival, the fire hose mysteriously,
somehow, traveled from the port side to starboard, where it immediately
began drenching the decks (and everyone on the decks) of the other
"Class B" tug. Despite the angry assurances that the boat getting
hosed wasn't actually aflame, (and some rude suggestions for
extremely unorthodox hose handling techniques), the dousing continued
until the dripping tug steamed away.

"Clydesdale" doesn't have a fire hose. "I think we need at
least a big squirt gun," suggested Wes.

The "Chief Seattle" fireboat led the parade along the waterfront,
and we were joined by the "Virginia V" steamship. The Class C boats
paraded first, followed by the larger vessels. The bright orange Coast
Guard inflatable patrolled the area, with a 50-cal machine gun on a
mount in the bow to remind us that while we were racing and partying in
Elliot Bay there were men and women having a lot less fun and doing an
important duty elsewhere.

We drifted in the bay while several of the tractor tugs performed
intricate maneuvers for the amusement of other boats and the spectators
lining Pier 66. We noted that Crowley's tractor tug might be lacking
the latest technology in some basic areas. High above the waterline, we
noticed a pilothouse window on the Crowley tug was propped open with a
wooden stool!

Some of the large Class B tugs had the entire populations of small
villages aboard.
For some of the tug companies, the race is a corporate social event
with husbands, wives, kids, friends, distant cousins, and friends of a
friend's friend all invited aboard for a day of kegging and cruising.
One such party barge drifted over near "Clydesdale", and a young
blonde woman came to the rail and said, "I like your boat! I mean,
isn't that just the cutest little thing!"

"You're cuter!" replied Rob, in a strange tone that sent her
scampering away. Rob said, "I can think of a couple of times when a
man doesn't want to hear a woman say, 'isn't that just the cutest
little thing,' and one of them will always be when she's talking
about his tugboat!"

Our "Class C" race began at 1400. The race instructions stated
"The starting line
bears 223-degrees true from the southwest corner of the west wing of
Myrtle Edwards Park fishing pier, to a Crowley tug, our stake boat,
lying 300 yards seaward. The finish line bears 223-degrees true from
the southwest corner of Pier 62/63 to the 'Virginia V', the finish
boat, lying 300 yards seaward. The fairway is 1.8 nautical miles long
by 200 yards wide, bearing 313-degrees true from the starting line to
the finish line. Minimum separation from the pier ends is 100 yards.
Orange buoys mark the seaward edge of the fairway."

As we gathered at the line for our standing start, we noticed that the
Race Committee and taken certain liberties with the "Class C"
designation. Apparently some relatively slower boats that had competed
in other classes in the past had been allowed to "step down" in
search of a victory. We lined up with small tugs like "Reliable",
"Texada Fir", "Ironman", "Newt", and some much larger boats
as well. "Island Wind", off our port side, had three times our
waterline length and probably 4 times the horsepower. The "Carole
B", out of Alaska, stretched the definition of "tug boat" as well
as the limits of "Class C"- she was far larger than any of the yard
tugs and obviously rigged for crabbing. "Olmstead" was another
large boat apparently stepping down in class for this race. To my
personal relief, one of the smaller tugs proved to be named
"Hornet". When viewed from less than optimal angles, there was some
question regarding the last letter in her name. Prior to realizing that
the final letter had a flat top and was a "t", I was thinking,
"what an odd name for a boat!"

Last minute preparation for the race included clearing the folding
chairs from the aft deck and lashing the cooler in place. Everyone
found a grab rail or a safety line to hang onto, with the exception of
Jim Wood who initially thought he would spend the race sitting atop the
ice chest. (Jim reconsidered very shortly after the starting whistle).

The whistle sounded, the gearboxes were engaged, and all the tugs went
to full throttle. A chaos of exhaust smoke, roaring engines, and
churning props resulted in the (expanded) Class C boats plowing away
from the line in general unison.

"Iron Man" immediately to starboard gained an initial advantage off
the line. "Texada Fir", "Reliable" and "Newt" were
trailing. "Clydesdale" was running fairly evenly with "Island
Wind" and beginning to gain on "Iron Man" when "Iron Man"
came across her bow. Captain Rob backed off to avoid colliding with
"Iron Man", and that allowed "Island Wind" to pull ahead.
"Iron Man" and "Island Wind" pulled ahead of "Clydesdale"
and then came close abeam to eliminate any chance for "Clydesdale"
to pull between. If Rob were going to overtake these boats, he would
have to go around to port or starboard to do it, and we were contesting
with "Carole B" for third place.

If you're not the lead boat in a tugboat race, the view seldom
changes. Green water was churning on all sides as the wakes collided
from the leading boats. We shipped some water onto the deck, and
estimated that the confused "seas" were averaging about 4 feet.
As the smallest vessel in the race, "Clydesdale" had to back off a
bit to safely manage the wakes, and the larger "Carole B" edged
into undisputed third.

Coming up strong closest to shore was the "Olmstead," threatening
to overtake the leaders.

The greater the number of large tugs in front of us, the more severe
the sea conditions became. We soon had 5-6 foot chop, rather than
4-foot, and we began shipping green water over the bow. Anne jumped
aside as half a foot of water came racing down the sidedeck past
completely overwhelmed scuppers. My comments on the micro-cassette
recorder were decidedly less than properly nautical,
("Yeeee-haw!").

It appeared that we might be able to regain third or fourth from
"Carole B", but Rob had to back off the throttle when
"Clydesdale's" bow just simply disappeared in a solid wall of
frothing chop. Darn.

The race aboard "Clydesdale" will be one the most memorable 1.8
nautical miles of my life. We finished fifth, but Wes observed that we
had finished ahead of every boat that had ever been in "Class C" in
the past, and actually made better time in this race than in previous
years where "Clyde" had placed better or won.
Rob asked me, "Well, what did you think?"

"It was a blast! Can we run again?"

"Well, there is an 'open' class at the end of the day where
everybody can compete, but there will be some extremely big boats in
that one," said Rob.

"I'd be up for that!" I enthused...

And just about that time, some much more responsible person discreetly
removed my adult beverage.


Thanks to Rob Heay, and shipmates Wes, Anne, David, and Joan for
hosting Jim Wood and I at the tugboat race. We may not have been first
across the line in our class, but I will guarantee that nobody had
anymore fun than the crew of the intrepid little "Clydesdale."

On 15 May 2005 20:29:34 -0700, wrote:

Tugboats are manly craft. Not that they cannot be captained, crewed, or
maintained by women (and many are), but there's a certain machismo in
any mission where work is accomplished by the artful application of
brute force. Feature writer Jim Wood and I both fancy ourselves to be
men of a masculine sort. Neither of us required extensive persuasion to
accept an invitation from our friend Captain Rob Heay to join him on
his yard tug, "Clydesdale", for the Twenty-First Annual Tugboat
Race in Seattle.

~~ snippage ~~

Great article Chuck.

Now, where's the freakin' pictures?!? :)

Later,

Tom

Good story! Wish I'd been there.

On 15 May 2005 20:29:34 -0700, wrote:

The Great Testosterone Race, "Yeeee-haw!"


Tugboats are manly craft. Not that they cannot be captained, crewed, or
maintained by women (and many are), but there's a certain machismo in
any mission where work is accomplished by the artful application of
brute force. Feature writer Jim Wood and I both fancy ourselves to be
men of a masculine sort. Neither of us required extensive persuasion to
accept an invitation from our friend Captain Rob Heay to join him on
his yard tug, "Clydesdale", for the Twenty-First Annual Tugboat
Race in Seattle. Rob owns Port Orchard Yacht Sales in Port Orchard, and
for a good portion of the year is accepted as a successful leader in
the business and maritime communities of Port Orchard. Rob enjoys
sailing and riding his Harley when not selling yachts, but after
spending a Saturday racing with him aboard "Clydesdale" it is easy
to conclude there are few things he could possibly enjoy more than his
tugboat.

"Clydesdale" is a familiar sight in Port Orchard. When something
needs to be pushed, nudged, or towed around the harbor local boaters
often call on Rob and "Clydesdale." A hearty smile and a sincere
handshake will typically be all the payment required. "Clydesdale"
is just that friendly a boat, and Captain Rob is just that friendly and
helpful a skipper. On race day, however, Captain Rob develops a
mischievous twinkle in his eye, buckles his swash, checks the weather,
and begins to grin like a school boy on Christmas morning.
"Clydesdale" takes off the workaday harness, takes a deep sip of
fresh diesel, and tugs impatiently at spring and breast lines. She may
be a workhorse most of the year, but this is her day to unleash what
she holds in her heart. It's her day to run like a thoroughbred.

Jim and I boarded Clydesdale at Elliot Bay Marina. Rob arrived from
Port Orchard with four friends aboard; Wes Fitz and Anne Fitz as well
as David and Joan Loe. Wes is Rob's usual racing partner, but for
some of us this would be our first tugboat race.

"Clydesdale" is a simple towboat. She has a working pilothouse with
a large, teak wheel
and a curved bank of thick glass windows. Her engine room is forward of
the pilothouse, with some simple stowage compartments and a very rustic
marine toilet. Nobody will confuse her with a pampered, dock queen, or
a luxury yacht- and one suspects that "Clydesdale" couldn't care
less.

"Clydesdale" is a wooden boat, and her classic lines create the
impression that she is much older than she is. She was built in 1982,
the first boat ever produced by the Wooden Boat Building School in Port
Townsend. Prior to retirement, she was a yard tug for a logging
operation based somewhere near Anacortes. "Clyde" (as she allows
Captain Rob to call her) is 28 feet long, draws six feet, and weighs
nine tons. She is powered by a Detroit 671. "There's a good chance
we'll be the smallest tug in the race," said Rob.

"Clydesdale's" full displacement hull provided an excellent,
stable ride across Elliot Bay. Seating was catch-as-can on the
foredeck, two canvas chairs aft, and atop an ice chest loaded with
snacks and adult beverages nestled against toe rail at the stern. There
was a light breeze, with no whitecaps. As we motored toward Pier 66 on
the Seattle waterfront we noticed tugs beginning to arrive from all
directions in Elliot Bay.
Our first stop was the Bell Harbor Marina, where we tied up briefly to
participate in the Seattle Maritime Festival. The Loe's and Fitz's
went foraging for chowder while Jim and I explored the Maritime
Festival exhibits ashore.

The Maritime Festival seemed sparsely attended for a dry Saturday in
May, but the crowd on hand was enjoying the event. A pool filled with
radio-controlled model tugs fascinated kids of all ages. Clowns and
dipping polls filed with prize-winning plastic fish kept the
preschoolers smiling. A variety of regional associations and businesses
were hastily assembling some racing shells and kayaks in the "Quick
and Dirty Boat Building Contest." Quick and Dirty is an event in
which only a few hours separate small piles of specifically permitted
materials and the "ready or not" starting time where each untested
watercraft would be paddled or rowed through a race course. All racers
will of course be wearing pfd.

Jim and I met a fellow maritime scrivener, Captain Kelly Sweeny,
(Master Mariner). Captain Sweeny writes "From the Bridge", a
monthly column in Pacific Maritime Magazine, and he has just published
a collection of his stories in a book, also titled "From the
Bridge." Captain Sweeny said he was inspired to produce the book
after buying a copy of Jim Wood's "The Captain's Gift" at the
Armchair Sailor in Seattle. (Watch for a review of Captain Sweeny's
book in a future issue).

Jim and I bought a couple of Polish hot dogs from a vendor rather
obviously attending his first ever tugboat race.

"What time does the parade start?" asked the vendor.

"Twelve-thirty"

"Great!" replied the vendor, as he motioned with a thumb over his
shoulder toward Alaska Way, "And it goes right down the street behind
us, right?"

"No, I don't think so. It's a tugboat parade."

"Oh, thanks," said the sheepish vendor.

As we returned to the top of the gangway to return to "Clydesdale",
we noticed a long line of people waiting to be admitted to the docks.
"Aha!" I thought. "There really is a lot of public interest in
viewing the tugs!" We were halfway down the float to where
"Clydesdale" was moored when the guards let the crowd through the
gate. Several hundred excited people poured into the marina- and almost
flattened everyone unlucky enough to be between the gate and the
combination floating wet bar/ mammoth charter boat at the far end of
the dock. Oh well; who could realistically expect our maritime heritage
to compete with a booze cruise, anyway?

Shortly after Jim and I rejoined Captain Rob on "Clydesdale", the
rest of the crew assembled and we cast off to begin queuing up for the
parade. Most of us were thinking beyond the opening parade to the race
itself, and while several of us were novice tug racers, it seemed like
a useful tactic to "lighten ship". All the heavy liquid in those
bottles of adult beverages was likely to slow us down, so for the good
of the enterprise we each agreed to empty a bottle or two. A few of the
more enthusiastic racers may have been especially zealous in the
pursuit. Some spoiler pointed out that we hadn't actually lightened
ship, but merely arranged to strain the liquid through our kidneys and
displace it into the holding tank. (It was widely agreed that he was
not yet into the proper spirit of the day and he was offered an
additional beverage).

I sat atop the cooler as we motored back into the bay from Bell Harbor
Marina. "I figure this is a pretty good seat," I joked. "If I go
overboard with the cooler, I can be sure you'll come back for me."

"That will depend," said Anne, "on whether the cooler actually
goes overboard with you and whether or not there's any food or beer
left inside!" (Indeed? Harumph!)

"Clydesdale" is considered a "Class C" tug. "Class C" boats
are yard tugs and small harbor tugs. "Class B" tugs are medium to
large harbor tugs, commonly ranging up into the 100-foot and over
category. "Class A" tugs are the larger, "tractor" tugs with
Z-drives and 360-degree mobility. Most of the larger tugs had
rendezvoused outside of the Bell Harbor Marina, (for obvious reasons),
with some happy hijinks being exchanged among vessels from rival tug
companies.

Two large "Class B" tugs were steaming into one another, stem to
stem, surrounded by a loose circle of "spectator" boats. It looked
like a Jr. High after-school fistfight, and reality was not far from
the illusion. "That's a push-off," said Rob Heay. " Those guys
are feeling their leather and hot metal. The race is all about going
fast, but for a lot of these boats there are more bragging rights at
stake in a push-off. If you have the horsepower to push your competitor
astern while he's motoring into you attempting to do the same, it's
a lot like the strong bull showing up the weak bull. Getting beat in a
push-off can be pretty embarrassing."

We watched as a tug pulled between us and a boat belonging to one of
its rival companies. We could see a crewmember with an evil grin
holding a partially charged fire hose that was spraying into the bay on
our side of the newly arrived tug.
"I think the guy with the fire hose is up to no good," speculated
Rob. He was right.

As the tug lay alongside its rival, the fire hose mysteriously,
somehow, traveled from the port side to starboard, where it immediately
began drenching the decks (and everyone on the decks) of the other
"Class B" tug. Despite the angry assurances that the boat getting
hosed wasn't actually aflame, (and some rude suggestions for
extremely unorthodox hose handling techniques), the dousing continued
until the dripping tug steamed away.

"Clydesdale" doesn't have a fire hose. "I think we need at
least a big squirt gun," suggested Wes.

The "Chief Seattle" fireboat led the parade along the waterfront,
and we were joined by the "Virginia V" steamship. The Class C boats
paraded first, followed by the larger vessels. The bright orange Coast
Guard inflatable patrolled the area, with a 50-cal machine gun on a
mount in the bow to remind us that while we were racing and partying in
Elliot Bay there were men and women having a lot less fun and doing an
important duty elsewhere.

We drifted in the bay while several of the tractor tugs performed
intricate maneuvers for the amusement of other boats and the spectators
lining Pier 66. We noted that Crowley's tractor tug might be lacking
the latest technology in some basic areas. High above the waterline, we
noticed a pilothouse window on the Crowley tug was propped open with a
wooden stool!

Some of the large Class B tugs had the entire populations of small
villages aboard.
For some of the tug companies, the race is a corporate social event
with husbands, wives, kids, friends, distant cousins, and friends of a
friend's friend all invited aboard for a day of kegging and cruising.
One such party barge drifted over near "Clydesdale", and a young
blonde woman came to the rail and said, "I like your boat! I mean,
isn't that just the cutest little thing!"

"You're cuter!" replied Rob, in a strange tone that sent her
scampering away. Rob said, "I can think of a couple of times when a
man doesn't want to hear a woman say, 'isn't that just the cutest
little thing,' and one of them will always be when she's talking
about his tugboat!"

Our "Class C" race began at 1400. The race instructions stated
"The starting line
bears 223-degrees true from the southwest corner of the west wing of
Myrtle Edwards Park fishing pier, to a Crowley tug, our stake boat,
lying 300 yards seaward. The finish line bears 223-degrees true from
the southwest corner of Pier 62/63 to the 'Virginia V', the finish
boat, lying 300 yards seaward. The fairway is 1.8 nautical miles long
by 200 yards wide, bearing 313-degrees true from the starting line to
the finish line. Minimum separation from the pier ends is 100 yards.
Orange buoys mark the seaward edge of the fairway."

As we gathered at the line for our standing start, we noticed that the
Race Committee and taken certain liberties with the "Class C"
designation. Apparently some relatively slower boats that had competed
in other classes in the past had been allowed to "step down" in
search of a victory. We lined up with small tugs like "Reliable",
"Texada Fir", "Ironman", "Newt", and some much larger boats
as well. "Island Wind", off our port side, had three times our
waterline length and probably 4 times the horsepower. The "Carole
B", out of Alaska, stretched the definition of "tug boat" as well
as the limits of "Class C"- she was far larger than any of the yard
tugs and obviously rigged for crabbing. "Olmstead" was another
large boat apparently stepping down in class for this race. To my
personal relief, one of the smaller tugs proved to be named
"Hornet". When viewed from less than optimal angles, there was some
question regarding the last letter in her name. Prior to realizing that
the final letter had a flat top and was a "t", I was thinking,
"what an odd name for a boat!"

Last minute preparation for the race included clearing the folding
chairs from the aft deck and lashing the cooler in place. Everyone
found a grab rail or a safety line to hang onto, with the exception of
Jim Wood who initially thought he would spend the race sitting atop the
ice chest. (Jim reconsidered very shortly after the starting whistle).

The whistle sounded, the gearboxes were engaged, and all the tugs went
to full throttle. A chaos of exhaust smoke, roaring engines, and
churning props resulted in the (expanded) Class C boats plowing away
from the line in general unison.

"Iron Man" immediately to starboard gained an initial advantage off
the line. "Texada Fir", "Reliable" and "Newt" were
trailing. "Clydesdale" was running fairly evenly with "Island
Wind" and beginning to gain on "Iron Man" when "Iron Man"
came across her bow. Captain Rob backed off to avoid colliding with
"Iron Man", and that allowed "Island Wind" to pull ahead.
"Iron Man" and "Island Wind" pulled ahead of "Clydesdale"
and then came close abeam to eliminate any chance for "Clydesdale"
to pull between. If Rob were going to overtake these boats, he would
have to go around to port or starboard to do it, and we were contesting
with "Carole B" for third place.

If you're not the lead boat in a tugboat race, the view seldom
changes. Green water was churning on all sides as the wakes collided
from the leading boats. We shipped some water onto the deck, and
estimated that the confused "seas" were averaging about 4 feet.
As the smallest vessel in the race, "Clydesdale" had to back off a
bit to safely manage the wakes, and the larger "Carole B" edged
into undisputed third.

Coming up strong closest to shore was the "Olmstead," threatening
to overtake the leaders.

The greater the number of large tugs in front of us, the more severe
the sea conditions became. We soon had 5-6 foot chop, rather than
4-foot, and we began shipping green water over the bow. Anne jumped
aside as half a foot of water came racing down the sidedeck past
completely overwhelmed scuppers. My comments on the micro-cassette
recorder were decidedly less than properly nautical,
("Yeeee-haw!").

It appeared that we might be able to regain third or fourth from
"Carole B", but Rob had to back off the throttle when
"Clydesdale's" bow just simply disappeared in a solid wall of
frothing chop. Darn.

The race aboard "Clydesdale" will be one the most memorable 1.8
nautical miles of my life. We finished fifth, but Wes observed that we
had finished ahead of every boat that had ever been in "Class C" in
the past, and actually made better time in this race than in previous
years where "Clyde" had placed better or won.
Rob asked me, "Well, what did you think?"

"It was a blast! Can we run again?"

"Well, there is an 'open' class at the end of the day where
everybody can compete, but there will be some extremely big boats in
that one," said Rob.

"I'd be up for that!" I enthused...

And just about that time, some much more responsible person discreetly
removed my adult beverage.


Thanks to Rob Heay, and shipmates Wes, Anne, David, and Joan for
hosting Jim Wood and I at the tugboat race. We may not have been first
across the line in our class, but I will guarantee that nobody had
anymore fun than the crew of the intrepid little "Clydesdale."

--
John H

"All decisions are the result of binary thinking."

wrote:
The Great Testosterone Race, "Yeeee-haw!"

Tugboats are manly craft. Not that they cannot be captained, crewed, or
maintained by women (and many are), but there's a certain machismo in
any mission where work is accomplished by the artful application of
brute force.

You must remember 'Tugboat Annie'...expertly mimicked here by our own
'Karen of Oz'.

wrote:
The Great Testosterone Race, "Yeeee-haw!"


Tugboats are manly craft.

snip...

Chuck..tell your buddy our tugboat is cuter than his.
http://www.theodoretugboat.ca/index.php

On Mon, 16 May 2005 13:05:00 GMT, Don White wrote:

wrote:
The Great Testosterone Race, "Yeeee-haw!"

Tugboats are manly craft. Not that they cannot be captained, crewed, or
maintained by women (and many are), but there's a certain machismo in
any mission where work is accomplished by the artful application of
brute force.

You must remember 'Tugboat Annie'...expertly mimicked here by our own
'Karen of Oz'.

No ugly talk necessary in this thread, Don. It was nice as it was!
--
John H

"All decisions are the result of binary thinking."

You must remember 'Tugboat Annie'...

***************
Tugboat Annie was inspired by a real life character, a woman from
Tacoma, Washington

Back a hundred years or so ago, this woman and her family lived in a
ramshackle cabin on the Tacoma waterfront. In an attempt to make ends
meet, our heroine (Thea) put aside a few cents fro the grovery budget
each week until she eventually accumulated enough money to buy a small
rowboat. She put up a sign, "rowboat for rent", and put aside all the
rental income until she could afford to buy a second rowboat.
Eventually she was renting an entire fleet of
rowboats, and the family built a two story building with a boathouse
below and living quarters above. Eventually she acquired a little power
boat, (probably a steam launch), and began accepting work pushing and
dragging stuff around Commencement Bay.

Thea's enterprise flourished, and survives to this day. While it's no
longer headquartered in Tacoma, the citizens down there renamed "City
Waterway" after this ambitious businesswoman a few years ago. The
waterway is now known as "Thea Foss" waterway, and the company she
founded? Foss Tug and Barge.

The Tugboat Races are part of the Seattle Maritime Festival. That's an
annual event sponsored by the Propeller Club of Seattle, and the Port
of Seattle. They do a lousy job of promoting the event to the general
public, and most of the publicity seems to be directed to the
professional maritime community.

The Festival Administration this year was handled by Philips Publishing
Group, and you could phone them at 206-284-8285 and find out the dates
for next year's race.

There will be a tugboat race at the Harbor Days festival down in
Olympia this fall.

Great article Chuck.


Now, where's the freakin' pictures?!? :)


***********

I have just a few good shots, but I am relying on my buddy Jim for most
of the photos.
I ran the tape recorder, (tough job-hold it in your hand), and took a
few snapshot quality pictures with a small point and shoot digital. Jim
brought the better photo gear. No way to
post photos to the NG, however, and I don't have a personal website to
link to. It's "use your imagination day" for the photos. Before this
goes to print it we'll add a sidebar from Jim and pick out the best
group of photos we can assemble between our two groups. Send me a
private email right after press day, (June 8), with an address where
you can receive mail and I'll shoot you a free copy of the magazine-
photos and all. :-)