The tug was dead! The black and rust stained hull of TID172 sat in the water at her mooring off Shotley. The droppings from the seagulls increasing her appearance of isolation and neglect. The next day we were planning to steam to Dordrecht aboard this fifty year old, oil fired steam tug; it would take about 18 hours to bring her back to life.
Dordrecht in Holland holds a biennial steam festival "Dordt in Stoom" which attracts participants and visitors from all over the world. TID172 has attended the last 5. Preparations are now beginning for her return trip to Holland in 1998
Lighting up a steam engine which has been left to grow cold is a time consuming occupation if you don't want to do untold damage to the boiler. Everything on board this little harbour tug is steam driven - the main engine, windlass, fuel and auxiliary pumps. Even the electrical supply on board is produced by a steam driven generator. But first you have to have steam which means hand pumping the fuel oil from one of the bunkers to feed the burner flames, maintaining the oil pressure at about 100psi.
The fuel oil has to be heated on its way to the burners, once in steam this is done by the fuel oil feed running through a steam calorifier. Initially a petrol engined generator is used to run an electric heater to warm the oil and ensure combustion at the burner nozzle. The two burners are used alternately to slowly increase the temperature of the water in the boiler to the point at which steam is produced.
When the pressure reaches 40psi the fuel pumps can be used to pump the oil to the burners, leaving the crew free to indulge in some of the weak beer that the tug abounds in. Once the tug is in steam, the fire is put out so that the heat can slowly dissipate evenly throughout the whole of the boiler thus preventing any uneven expansion.
After about 6 hours, the fire is relit for a further 6 hours of steady heating, again using burners alternately. The working pressure of 140psi required to power the main engine is finally and safely achieved, a total of 18 hours after first lighting up. Smoke pours from the tall funnel and the tug comes alive once more.
Having successfully got up steam, we listened carefully to the shipping forecast - Force 4, occasionally Force 5, moderating Force 3, sea state moderate. It looked as though we had found our window in the weather; if we were going to go to Holland, now was the time to do it.
Having let Harwich Harbour Radio know our intentions and received the best wishes of the operator, our skipper rang half ahead on the telegraph . The telegraph and voice pipe for communication with the engine room stand in the corner of the wheelhouse within easy reach of the helmsman, they gleam from 50 years of polishing.
The tug moved sedately away from the mooring at Shotley and then out to sea via the recognized yacht track. Anyone who knows this part of the East coast of England will also know that there are an awful lot of sand banks out there. Our course was taking us past Cork, Shipwash, Inner and Outer Gabbard Sands; shallow water with resultant lumpy seas. As we steamed further away from the coast the tug began to be picked up and moved sideways by the quartering sea, rolling heavily. Sea spray from the bows was thrown up and dried in white flecks all over the black funnel. The low after deck of the tug periodically disappeared in white water as waves broke across her stern. We reassured ourselves that the weather forecast remained favourable and steamed on.
As the tug rolled, steering became physically hard work requiring both strong arms and stomach. The steering position is forward, high off the deck in the wheelhouse from which an array of cogs, chains,pulleys and rods running down both sides of the vessel transfer the drive to the quadrant mounted on the rudder post. With water running in through the scuppers, flooding the rear deck with frothing water the chains were being lubricated with sea water instead of the usual grease making the wheel more difficult to move than usual.
In rough water, steering requires that you stand in front of the 4 feet diameter wheel, both hands grasping it firmly, with feet splayed as wide as possible to prevent any unorthodox and painful movement towards the chart table or (even worse) out of the door of the wheelhouse. Looking behind at the wake the tug was creating it was clear for everyone to see that the tug was scribbling her way across the sea a bit like a 2 year old with a crayon and the new wall paper to practice on!
After standing my spell on watch, I gratefully went in search of my bunk. Used to the cramped accommodation aboard modern sailing yachts, the aft accommodation of the tug appears enormous. It is reached by a 9 feet long, steep companionway and stretches across the whole width of the tug - 17 feet. Around the walls are fixed benches topped by vinyl covered cushions to sleep on. Fifty years accumulation of nautical debris covers all available surfaces, paraffin steaming lamps jostle for place beside a huge boat hook, elderly life jackets peep out from behind the stanchions which support the sides of the tug, a portable pump sits in pride of place on the lino covered floor. All this paraphernalia is tinged with black from a fine covering of fuel oil and soot.
Clearing myself a space to put out my sleeping bag, I settled down to rest. As the tug was designed for the relatively calm waters of a harbour, there are no lee clothes to protect the sleeper from being thrown out of his bunk; the next best thing seems to be wedging oneself in the corner and barricading the gap with soft items, just in case you begin to slide. Cold sea water was pouring into the cabin; when the tug rolled to port water cascaded in through the gaps around the hatch, rolling the other way caused water to slosh in through the ventilation shaft. The floor was awash; a pair of trainers floated disconsolately backwards and forwards with the vessels movement. The noise was horrible. Waves hitting the steel sides of the tug caused the whole boat to reverberate with sound. There was no escape from the all pervading noise and damp.
The only cheering factor was the knowledge that, being an ex-admiralty vessel, it was possible to pump water from any part of the ship to another. This had been admirably demonstrated to us when Mike, our chief engineer, having completed a particularly dirty task, decided to have a shower. A bellow of rage had erupted from the heads where the shower was fixed when, instead of getting a steady stream of warm, clean water from the hot well, Mike had been showered with a dirty, cold water / oil mix, straight from the bilges. Well, worse things happen at sea! With the power of steam to the pumps we were unlikely to sink from the few inches of water sloshing around in the aft accommodation.
Four hours later, the "peace" was rudely broken by the sound of the rusty hatch being shoved open. Gray light trickled in around the head of John, a hand came down offering a steaming mug of tea. The bad news was that it was 0400 and time to get up, the good news that we were being escorted by a school of harbour porpoises which had been swimming around the tug for the last half hour. Knowing that these animals were now extremely rare in the southern North Sea, I managed to get out on deck in record time. As dawn gave way to daylight we watched in fascination as the porpoises playing around the bows easily kept up with the stately progress of the tug. Then they were gone!
Cup of tea time. The galley of the tug is equipped with a standard domestic gas stove with no fiddles to hold the pots and pans in place. The high level grill comes into its own when the weather gets rough as the handle of the large old fashioned kettle gets tied onto the grill to prevent the kettle falling onto the floor while heating water for the crew's tea. Lurking in the corner of the galley is the oxyacetylene burning gear - you never know when it may come in handy. It is now lashed down securely having allegedly broken free on a previous crossing and terrorised the cook.
To fuel the boiler, oil is used alternately from the bunkers on each side of the vessel so that the volume of oil in each bunker stays about the same. Get it wrong, the trim is soon affected and the vessel achieves a pronounced list.
From here to Dordrecht was another 40 miles of inland waterway. Our navigators had got the tide times right and we passed rapidly up the River Spui our speed enhanced by the strong flow. The terrain looked foreign, flat even by East Anglian standards; the banks of the river were steep, dotted with cows munching at the brilliantly green grass, everything appeared neat and tidy, every bit of land in use.
From the Spui we passed into the Oude Maas, one of the busiest waterways in the world. What appeared to be a continuous stream of laden barges were being pushed rapidly up the river by pusher tugs with raised wheelhouses that can be lowered to go under bridges and then raised again so that the helmsman can see over his load. TID172 chugged slowly up the river keeping as far away from the commercial traffic as possible - all the crew were now awake and we kept a very good lookout; this equaled crossing the shipping lanes for nail biting excitement, vessels were on the move everywhere you looked.
One last hurdle and we had negotiated the immensely complicated lift
bridge at Dordrecht. Elated, we moored up alongside the picturesque waterfront
30 hours after leaving Harwich having burnt 900 gallons of oil. The crew
were tired and dirty, happy that the tug had found her way, under her own
steam to "Dordt in Stoom 1996". Past experience told us that 2 days of street
partying were now in the offing starting with the parade of steam vessels.
But that's another story....