Did you know that if you take your boat around Chippewa Bay, you can still see the waterline where on June 23, 1976, 300,000 gallons of Crude Oil No 6 spilled into the River? I did not know that, but I do remember the oil spill and anyone who was on the River then, will nod their heads in agreement.
But what about those that were not here – or worse – those who think these environmental disasters will never happen. Or never happen here.
Author Nicholas Quarrier was here then and his book, River Rescue is one that this editor highly recommends.
Nick and I met via Facetime soon after I read his book. We exchanged stories and I learned that he is one of those River people who truly is inspired by our surroundings, and luckily for us he is able to capture them on paper. So, before we go any further – he has given me permission to share CHAPTER TWO of his book. Enjoy – and then meet me at the end.
CHAPTER TWO
One Saturday morning Mark awoke early. He had been dreaming he was working in the engine room of a big freighter. The smell of diesel fumes woke him. After a second or two of not knowing where he was Mark turned his head towards the open window and sniffed. The smell of oil permeated his nostrils. This was not a dream. He climbed up on the bed to look out the window. Across the room, Jeff was in bed snoring heavily.
"Jeff! Wake up!" Mark yelled. "Something is wrong! I smell oil! Come on, wake up."
Jeff rolled over and rubbed his eyes.
"Oh, come on man, go back to sleep, it's too early."
"No, really, Jeff, something is wrong. You gotta get up." Mark peered out the window at the water below. He jumped down from his bed and threw on his shorts and tee shirt. He ran over to shake his brother.
"Okay, okay," Jeff said sitting up slowly and yawning. All of a sudden, with a look of concern, he jumped out of his bed and ran over to the window.
"You are right Mark, I smell oil." Looking around outside. "I don't see anything." Mark raced over to the bedroom door. "I'm going down to check on the boats."
Quickly donning his clothes, Jeff agreed and joined him.
It was common for their old boat's motor to drip drops of gasoline into the river, but this didn't smell like gasoline. As expected, their one small metal boat and their dad's fiberglass speed boat were well tied and jostled in the river ripples. There was no sheen of gas on the surface water surrounding the boats. The water was clear.
The two boys went outside to the swim area sniffing the air like dogs following a scent. Jeff turned to Mark.
"I don't get it. It sure smells like oil. We don't have any oil on the island.
"Yeah, I know," Mark replied as he walked out onto the large granite swim rock.
This rock protruded from the downriver corner of the island and served as a great place to dive into the river and also to lie on for sunbathing. The river was very calm as it often is early in the morning. All was quiet. There was no human noise coming from any neighboring island, such as a workman running a smelly chainsaw. Oddly enough, it was very eerie. There was no wildlife noise, as well. There were no visible terns, seagulls, Canadian geese, cormorants, loons, ducks or birds. This was very odd - especially at this time of day. The sky was clear, and the rising sun lit through the old willow tree.
"I don't see or smell smoke, only a strong odor of oil." Mark commented while peering out towards the Canadian horizon. Jeff had left the swim rock and was heading up the steep climb to the big house.
"Come on Mark, let's check the house and the other end of the islFitand."
They searched under both houses and climbed out to the end of the island where a burn barrel sat.
Weekly trash was burned there and perhaps someone had dropped in a can of oil accidentally. There was no sign of oil to be found. The boys gave up their search and decided to fix breakfast. While Jeff lit the ancient stove in order to scramble some eggs, Mark grabbed some bread and headed out to the dining room to use the old toaster. While waiting for the toast to pop up, Mark turned on the transistor radio on the counter. This was common practice in order to hear the daily weather reports.
After a brief noise of static, Mark quickly turned up the volume dial:
......... it is not known how much oil is leaking into the river. The Alexandria Bay Coast Guard has been notified. The only information we know at this time is that overnight an oil barge named NEPCO 14() ran aground between Clayton and Alexandria Bay. It was carrying 300,000 gallons of crude No 6 oil. It is reported that large amounts of oil are rapidly leaking and spreading downriver. It is unknown how badly damaged the barge is.
Mark yelled to Jeff. Jeff had heard the tail end of the report and quickly scooped the eggs onto two plates and ran into the dining room. They were speechless. While eating their breakfast, both boys listened intently to the news report over and over again.
Jeff, putting the last bite into his mouth, said, "let's go check this out. We can take the tin boat."
"But it grounded upriver from Alex Bay, our boat would take a long time getting there," Mark complained.
Discarding his plate and pan in the sink Jeff said, "who cares. I'm going, if you want to join me." Mark wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve and followed his brother.
Ignoring the dish cleanup Jeff ran out of the kitchen and down the rock with Mark tailing him. They untied the tin boat, jumped in and Jeff started the motor as Mark sat in the bow seat and helped push the boat free from the slip.
On the calm water, the little boat raced effortlessly out of the bay and towards the channel heading up river. Once in the channel the little motor fought the river current. Heading towards Alexandria Bay, the river narrowed and the current increased causing the channel buoy markers to tip, creating little eddies as the river flowed by. Their island was located in a large bay about one mile from the channel and the river widened greatly there. Thus there was little river current within the bay. During the excursion the smell of oil intensified. Mark rubbed his irritated eyes.
Nearing Alexandria Bay Mark yelled for Jeff to stop the boat. Peering into the water Mark reached overboard and immersed his hand into the cold river. He quickly withdrew it and rubbed his fingers together.
"Look at this! He held his hand out to Jeff. Slimy and black!"
Jeff quickly turned the tin boat around and accelerated back the way they came.
"We have to get out of here! This is really bad. We gotta get back to the island before the oil flows into the bay." Besides the smell in the air and Mark’s oily hand, the river looked blue heading downriver. Even the wake left behind was white, not revealing any evidence of oil.
As the boat raced back to the island Jeff appeared deep in concentration. Upon arriving he sped the boat into the boathouse decelerating and throwing the motor into reverse seconds before ramming the dock. The bow arched upwards and slammed downward as the back wash from wake rolled under the hull.
Mark grabbed the painter and leapt out of the boat.
"What the heck?, Jeff, you scared the hell out of me."
Mark leaned over and wrapped the line around the cleat. Jeff had already jumped out and tied up the stern.
"We have little time, Mark. We have to protect the island from the oil. We have to work really fast!" He ran over to the other end of the boathouse where a large stack of wood planks were piled. Mark scratched his head, and stood still wondering what Jeff had in mind.
"Come on Mark. Get over here!" He yelled as he pulled planks from the pile and dropped them to the floor. "Run up to the big house and get that roll of twine in the kitchen, and grab the hammer and bring a bag of nails down. Now run!"
Without questioning his brother Mark ran out the boathouse and sprinted up the rock to the big house.
He had no idea what Jeff planned to do with rope and nails. Upon his return he found Jeff dragging the long planks out to the swim area.
Jeff grabbed the twine from Mark. "So this is what we're going to do. We're going to lash these planks together and float them around the island creating a barrier so the oil won't touch the island." He pulled a length of twine from the rolled up ball.
You forgot scissors! Go get them!" He commanded Mark.
"But you never told me " Mark hesitated then ran back up the rock.
Within a couple of hours Jeff and Mark had floated planks from the swim area around the diving rock and around the entire boathouse. Every available board was used. If they had more they would have floated further, but that was the best they could do. A small boat drove by and it's wake washed over the boards and smashed against the dock where the boys stood.
"Well, the barrier didn't help any," Mark lamented. He sat down with his legs dangling over the water and leaned back onto his hands. It seemed like a good idea in order to stop any oil from reaching the island, but now he felt floating the boards was a futile attempt. Jeff remained standing with his hands in his pockets staring out into the river. He then spoke loudly to Mark, "but we have more work to do! We need to hoist up Dad's boat so oil won't touch it." He ran into the boathouse and yelled for Mark to help find the hoisting straps. Diligently, both boys worked rapidly floating the straps under the bow and stern and attaching them to the chain falls. The boat was then quickly lifted and secured above the water.
"We can leave the tin boat in the water so we can leave the island. It's an old boat and maybe the oil don't ruin it."
Mark looked out towards their neighbor island. "Maybe we should go over to the Johnson's and help hoist out their wooden boat."
"Great idea, Let's go."
Once again they untied the tin boat and jumped in. "Wait!" Mark yelled over the noise of the motor. "First we have to undo a part of the barrier to get out." Jeff nodded and shut down the motor. "Good thinking. You get out and unlatch the far side while I paddle the boat over to it and pull it through." In time the boys got their boat out from the barrier. The water was still clear with no sign of oil. They then motored over to their neighbors place.
The Johnson's were an older retired couple. They too had smelled the oil in the air and had heard the news and worried about the oil eventually flowing into the bay and to their island. The boys told them about the barriers they floated and that still waves washed over them. The Johnson's didn't have anything to use for barriers but agreed that lifting out their boat would be a good idea.
They owned a beautiful old wooden Garwood twin cockpit inboard. Every island owned hosting straps and chain falls for end of season haul outs. Mr. Johnson and the boys went to work and pulled out the "Woody". The neighbors also owned a beat up tin boat that they felt didn't care if it got oily and to leave it in the water.
While preparing to return to their island they looked over at the other neighboring island and could see the Newcombs hoisting out their fiberglass boat. It appeared that the oil spill news was out and everyone feared the oil would penetrate the bay and were taking precautions.
Back on their island, Mark turned to his brother. "How long do you think it will take for the oil to get here?"
"No idea," he said as he turned and walked down the dock scanning the horizon.
The rest of the day the boys moped around in anticipation. They did odd jobs such as mowing the lawn and washing windows. The smell of oil became stronger and permeated the house. Their eyes watered with the strong odor. There was activity on the river as neighbors sped by. For the most part, the wood barrier held as wakes pounded them. At one incident, a super large wake separated a section and Jeff waded out with a new nail held in his mouth and repaired it. Regardless, the wakes and waves just rolled over the boards.
So, there you have it. Yes, the pungent smell of oil will stay with you forever. The art of writing is such that if you can tell a story and simultaneously capture your imagination, then I think the author is a good one.
The book's disclaimer reads: All characters are fictitious. But the stories are all real. In fact, there were real muckers, and a real foreman. Plus those driving boats and supplying engines are all real people. These characters, though with different names, are real people many of us know living in River communities today.
However, THE EPILOGUE part of the book is factual. That is the section that I would love to include because it will make you stop and think – actually, maybe stop and perhaps get annoyed.
THE EPILOGUE tells the real story, such as “The cleanup cost over 8 million dollars and lasted over 16 weeks . . .” “The oil penetrated marsh lands affecting all sorts of wildlife and plant life . . .” “Nearly every dock, pier, and piling not protected by booms was covered with black oily sludge. . .” “More than 700 workers were employed for 14 weeks . . .” The devastating impact of the oil spill on the environment is a stark reminder of the urgent need for environmental awareness and action.
Who paid the costs? Who were the players involved? Well, THE EPILOGUE details these facts. So head over to your computer and order this online or from your favorite bookstore.
You may like to give it as a gift to some of your children or grandchildren – they will not only find the reading easy to follow as the two protagonists are young college-age brothers, but that is the generation that needs to be reminded that our River is fragile and we must work hard, like Mark and Jeff did, to keep it clean and pristine – always.
Nicholas Quarrier lives in the North Country, splitting time between his home in Clayton and on his family’s island in Chippewa Bay, NY. The island was bought by his great grandfather in 1890. Nick and his brother were on the island during the oil spill of '76.
River Rescue is available online or you may order it from your favorite bookstore.
By Susan W. Smith, infor@thousandislandslife.com
Posted in: Volume 19, Issue 10, October 2024, Book review, Current
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