The Oceanfront Refuge

Although I live inland, the sea is not far away.  It’s close enough for a day’s outing and is more-or-less on the way to my mother-in-law’s house.  Sand beaches, rocky outcroppings, small seaports, and lighthouses abound along the New England coast, and visiting them never grows old.  For many years now, we’ve made it our practice to stop at some coastal point on the way to or from visiting Miss Patty’s family.  The children developed several favorite spots, and all of us enjoyed these waterfront sojourns tremendously, often wanting to stay longer than our time allowed.  Because these seaside visits were neither long enough nor frequent enough, they have become a case of absence making the heart grow fonder.  Sometimes I yearn to just look at the ocean again, somewhat like wanting to visit an old friend or a close relative.

I’ve long thought it would be nice to live in a house set on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic.  I could see the ocean every day then.  Realistically, though, this arrangement would probably not always be practical.  In lieu of it, I content myself with day trips and vacations and the taking of photographs.  Seascapes have long been one of my favorite art forms, and they are frequently the next best thing to actually being there.  Accordingly, then, I’ve selected a batch of recent seaside photographs to share here.

On Thursday, July 28, 2022, Miss Patty and I stopped at Fort McClary in Kittery, Maine, on the way home from her mother’s house.  In this peaceful and pristine park that sits well off the beaten tourist path, we rested for a while and enjoyed the magnificent view of the entrance to Portsmouth Harbor.  In this photograph, Whaleback Light stands on the left in Maine; on the right is the better known Portsmouth Harbor Light in New Hampshire.  Beyond the two lighthouses lies the open Atlantic.  On the extreme right, Fort Constitution guards the channel.  Prior to the American Revolution, this facility bore the name Castle William and Mary in honor of England’s famous dual monarchs of the 1600s:

On our last voyage from New England to New York, made on Wednesday, October 5, 2022, I took this photograph of the fabled Plum Gut Light from the ferry Cape Henlopen.  Everyone in our family has sailed past this lighthouse near the North Fork of Long Island many times.  On this particular occasion, however, the colors of the land, sea, and sky combined to form a unique canvass that made this my favorite of all lighthouse photographs:

On Monday, October 9, 2023, we travelled to York, Maine, for a lunchtime rendezvous with my mother-in-law.  While the food was good, I was much more interested in the adjacent oceanfront.  A prominent feature of this oceanfront is the famous Nubble Light, situated on a small island across a narrow channel from Cape Neddick.  One of the most iconic of American lighthouses, it attracts legions of sightseers and photographers all year round.  Endowed by Nature with magnificent beauty, it is truly a sight to behold and by which to be inspired and edified.  In this photograph, we see Nubble Light surrounded by the elements of earth, sea, and sky, manifestations of the natural sciences of marine geology, oceanography, and meteorology, all fascinating fields of study and all included in varying degrees on the Merchant Marine license exams:

Just to the right of the Nubble, we see the open Atlantic.  If we zoom in with our trusty cell phone camera, we can discern Boon Island and its lighthouse on the horizon several miles offshore.  Often invisible from the mainland because of clouds or fog, the Boon Island Light has long been and still remains an important aid to navigation.  It is always a special treat to see this great sentinel of the sea on a sunny day with a clear atmosphere:

To the left of the Nubble lies Short Sands, one of Maine’s few bathing beaches.  The water here is quite cold, so wading and not actual bathing is more the norm.  Those who do go bathing or surfing usually dress in heavy wetsuits for protection from the cold.  One need not get wet to enjoy Short Sands, though.  I was quite content to remain on the beach and simply watch the waves:

Returning to Cape Neddick after several months on Wednesday, July 17, 2024, I was again delighted to simply stare at the ocean.  Here is a lovely calm stretch of the open Atlantic, much as I saw it many times as a young mate on the bridge wing of a cargo ship:

Two weeks earlier, on Wednesday the Fourth of July, we passed through Rye, New Hampshire, and stopped to take in this view from a rocky beach.  My granddaughter, Miss Lydia, was fascinated by the rocks and the water, and she asked many questions about both.  We would have been happy to remain there all afternoon but faced with the daunting task of wending our way home through a nightmare of holiday traffic, we reluctantly returned to the car and got underway.

Visiting Portland, Maine, on Thursday, August 1, 2024, with my son Steven, I could not resist examining the cruise ship Silver Shadow and the schooner Timber Wind, both docked downtown.  The weather that day was hot and humid, and this caused an impressive buildup of cumulus clouds that hovered over the ship:

At a nearby pier lay this unidentified cruise vessel.  Not even Steven, with his young and healthy eyes, could read her name.  More noteworthy, I thought, was this additional pileup of cumulus and borderline cumulonimbus clouds.  Not surprisingly, it rained later that afternoon.

Finally, we see the diminutive Spring Point Light at the end of the breakwater in South Portland in an unusual view from across the harbor.  When my children were young, this site served us well as the setting for several picnic lunches.  At the end of the long jetty, we had a magnificent view of Portland Harbor and Casco Bay, and we watched as a parade of oil tankers, cruise ships, pilot boats, and ferries passed in front of us.  On this more recent visit, there was little traffic on the water, but the view, even on a cloudy and hazy day, was still fantastic.  Once again, I would have gladly stayed there all afternoon, but duty called, and I had to go.

The duties of life have called me away from my waterfront “happy place” many times.  While it was always sad to leave the sea and attend to business, I’ve always been grateful to have visited the seaside, even if only briefly, and to have been uplifted and edified by it.  The oceanfront has long served me as a refuge from the commotion and contention of life.  It is a place of peace and serenity, a place to enjoy the primordial beauty of Creation, a place to seek and experience Divinity, and a place to “be still and know that I am God” (D&C 101:16). 

Transiting the Canal

The Mercury arrived at the Pacific entrance to the Panama Canal at 5:00am on Wednesday, June 25, 1980.  En route from San Diego, California, to Wilmington, North Carolina, she was fully loaded with a high-priority cargo for the U.S. Marine Corps, part of the American military response to the Iranian hostage crisis.  This cargo gave the Mercury precedence over several other cargo ships that lay at anchor waiting their turns to transit the canal.  Gliding easily through the placid water off the south coast of Panama, she slowed to take on pilots and linehandlers, and then proceeded into the canal entrance, past the port of Balboa, and under the large center span of the Bridge of the Americas.  Just ahead stood the Miraflores Locks.

This was the first of my two experiences with the Panama Canal.  I was very young and had a third mate’s license that was just over a year old.  Everything in Panama was brand new to me, and I found it all fascinating.  As the Mercury entered the Miraflores Locks, she was guided forward and into position by railroad locomotives called “mules” on the dock.  These were connected to both sides of the ship by heavy steel hawsers.  Then the lock gates were closed, valves were opened, and water gravitated into the chamber from the next and higher chamber just ahead of it.  Then the lock gates between the two chambers were opened, and the ship was eased forward into the second chamber.  This one was filled from Miraflores Lake, which lay between the Miraflores and Pedro Miguel Locks.  All this was orchestrated in a small Spanish mission style building adjacent to the locks.  After exiting the Miraflores Locks, the Mercury sailed the short distance across this intermediate lake to the Pedro Miguel Locks, and the process was repeated.  Here, though, there was only one step, that is, the ship passed through only one lock chamber, in order to reach the uppermost water level.

From the Pedro Miguel Locks, the Mercury transited the famous Culebra Cut through the backbone of the Latin American mountain chain.  Later renamed Gaillard Cut for the engineer who headed this feat of construction, it was a most impressive but also incongruous sight with jagged walls of rock towering along both sides of the ship.  After eight miles of this, the ship entered Gatun Lake, which stretched 23 miles across the center of the isthmus to the north.  Following a series of twisting and turning channels around islands and through the jungle, the Mercury at last arrived at the Gatun Locks.  Here the ship passed through three lock chambers in fairly quick succession and was lowered back down to sea level.  Seven miles later, she exited the canal at Limon Bay, next to the port of Cristobal.  After discharging the pilots, the vessel proceeded into the open Caribbean.  It was by now mid-afternoon; the transit had taken close to ten hours.  With Panama fading from sight, the Mercury increased speed and headed northeast into a strong wind and building waves.

Possibly unique among the world’s waterways, the Panama Canal was certainly distinctive in a manner that commanded my attention and has held my interest ever since.  On a shipmate’s recommendation, I later read David McCullough’s great book[1] about the canal’s construction, a tale replete with engineering, history, political intrigue, medical advances, and tragedy.  While the Panama Canal has been long and rightly recognized as one of the great man-made wonders of the world, it is sobering to consider the horrific price in human life that its construction cost.  We who benefit from the canal today owe an immense debt of gratitude to those who lost their lives building it.  Such thoughts came to me later in life, though.  When I was young, it just felt exciting to have even a very small part in something so famous.

My second experience with the Panama Canal took place a few years later aboard the Comet.  En route from New Orleans, Louisiana, to San Lorenzo, Honduras, she arrived off Cristobal and anchored there at 6:00pm on Monday, January 30, 1984.  The ship rested easily at anchor in very calm water, no wind, and stifling heat overnight.  Soon after breakfast on Tuesday the 31^st, a pilot came aboard, and the Comet weighed anchor and proceeded into the canal.  This transit was in the opposite direction of the Mercury’s, but was otherwise quite similar.

The pilot on this transit was an exceptionally friendly fellow.  I remember when the Comet passed from Gatun Lake into Culebra Cut he remarked to us, “Well, this is the part that God did not intend to be a canal.”  And he chatted with us about the difficulties of dynamiting a waterway out of a mountain range.  He also gave us tourist brochures complete with photographs and text that described the canal and its history and operations.  I still have this bit of memorabilia, which I found very informative.

At 5:00pm that day, after completing her transit of the canal, the Comet moored in Balboa for cargo operations.  I went ashore briefly and walked around the waterfront.  At the entrance to the docks, a taxi driver spoke to me in badly broken and heavily accented English.  He offered to bring me into downtown Balboa for “only $30.00.”  When I politely declined, he exploded angrily and cursed me out in very loud, completely fluent, unbroken, and unaccented English.  I found this performance rather amusing.

That evening, actually at 12:30am on Wednesday, February 1, the Comet sailed from Balboa.  Another pilot took her under the Bridge of the Americas and out to sea.  After he departed, the ship set a course for the coastwise run to Honduras, and I left the Panama Canal behind for the last time.

In the forty years since, many changes have come to the Panama Canal.  Foremost among these is the transfer to Panamanian ownership.  The erstwhile American colony called the Canal Zone has passed into history.  Equally important are the new and bigger locks, built to accommodate today’s gargantuan container ships and oil tankers.  The original locks, 1,000 feet long and 110 feet wide, were by the standards of their time enormous.  They are still used, of course, but supplemented by the newer and larger ones.  Additionally, two more bridges now cross the canal; the cargo ports of Cristobal, Colon, and Balboa have expanded; and webcams now monitor all traffic passing through the locks.  So I can watch all the action on a computer screen at home!

For many years I was the only member of my family that had gone to Panama.  This changed on Friday, January 8, 2010, when my son James entered the canal from the north aboard the cruise ship Zuiderdam of the Holland America Line.  This vessel transited the Gatun Locks and entered Gatun Lake, where James disembarked and then completed his transit from Gamboa aboard the ferry Tuira II.  From Balboa, he recrossed the isthmus by bus and rejoined the Zuiderdam at the Colon Cruise Terminal.

Next, my son Michael, while on a hitchhiking odyssey through Latin America, visited the Miraflores Locks, witnessed the passage of a ship through them, and then toured the adjacent Miraflores Visitor’s Center on Wednesday, December 7, 2016.

Then, Miss Patty saw the Panama Canal from an airplane on Tuesday, May 21, 2019.  She was traveling on Avianca Airlines to Brazil to assist with our newborn grandson David, and she changed aircraft in Panama City.  When she returned on Saturday, July 6, the view of the canal was unfortunately obscured by clouds and rain.

Little did I think in the 1980s that the Panama Canal would later become such a family affair!  I never imagined then that one son would sail on cruise ships, that another son would hitchhike from Pennsylvania to Panama, or that I would have family in Brazil.  Life is indeed full of surprises.  Through these surprises, though, the Panama Canal has served four of us well as a common interest and as a waypoint in our travels.  Time will tell if the rest of the family will also go to Panama.

In the preface to his great book, David McCullough pays tribute to the Panama Canal, describing its construction as

a profoundly important historic event and a sweeping human drama not unlike that of war.  Apart from wars, it represented the largest, most costly single effort ever mounted anywhere on earth…. It affected the lives of tens of thousands of people at every level of society and of virtually every race and nationality.[2]

Since its construction, the Panama Canal has affected the lives of hundreds of millions of people, including my own, as one of the world’s most vital transportation links.  More freight passes through Panama than most folks can imagine, and there is no end of it in sight.  Without Panama, the global supply chains and the world’s economies would be largely crippled. 

Finally, there remains in the annals of Panama Canal literature an additional, if tenuous, family connection.  My grandparents never travelled to Panama, but they owned an edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica which contains an article[3] on the Panama Canal co-authored by Colonel George W. Goethals, one of the chief engineers of its construction.  This prose, now in my possession, symbolically links the family, the sea, and the Panama Canal, and prompts me to recall many golden opportunities and happy memories!

Now, we have some photographs to consider: 

 

 

 

Two views of the anchorage taken from the Comet in Limon Bay off Cristobal near the north end of the Panama Canal on Monday, January 30, 1984.  I took more pictures than these, but my camera was malfunctioning, which I did not realize until later, and so only these two survived. 

The following photographs come from the tourist brochure which the friendly pilot aboard the Comet gave me.  I don't remember his name, but I remain very grateful to him for this gift.

 

In this first picture, we have an aerial view, looking north, of the Miraflores Locks and Lake Miraflores.  In the upper left corner, we can see part of the Pedro Miguel Locks.  

 

Next, we look the other way and see the canal's southern terminus, and beyond that, the Pacific Ocean.  In the center stands the Bridge of the Americas, a structure that dates from 1962.  On the left lies part of the port of Balboa.

 

Here, near the northern terminus of the canal, we see Limon Bay with its extensive anchorage and the finger piers of Cristobal.  The city proper of Colon lies to the right, just out of the picture.

 

This rudimentary map shows the basic layout of the canal, most notably its northwest to southeast layout, something that surprises many people.

 

Finally, this schematic profile, while not drawn to scale, illustrates the canal's elevated course through the mountainous terrain of the Panamanian isthmus.  A short but unlikely route for a ship!

---

[1] David McCullough, The Path Between the Seas: The Creation of the Panama Canal 1870-1914, New York: Simon & Schuster, Inc., 1977.  A truly outstanding book by one of my favorite authors.

[2] Op. cit., p. 11.

[3] George W. Goethals and Clarence S. Ridley, “Panama Canal,” in Encyclopaedia Britannica, London: The Encyclopaedia   Britannica Company, Ltd., 1941, v. 17, p. 171-177.   In 1941 Mr. Ridley was the governor of the Panama Canal Zone.

Departure Day

More childhood memories.  The passenger liner Independence of the American Export Lines was due to sail from Pier 84 on the West Side of Manhattan at 11:00am on Monday, October 31, 1966, bound for several Mediterranean ports.  My grandparents, Robert Burns and Julia Murphy, would be two of the vessel’s passengers.  In honor of the occasion, my brother and I did not attend school that day, nor did my parents go to work.  Instead, my father drove the entire family into the city, and we all took part in the traditional departure festivities.

My grandparents had been travelling to Europe regularly since 1953 for my grandfather to attend the annual international engineering conferences.  Sailing overseas back then was always a special occasion, and the passengers’ families and friends customarily came to the ship dressed in their best to see them off.  I remember their sailings that took place in the mid-1960s, such as their departures aboard the Atlantic in September of 1964 and aboard the Constitution in August of 1965.  Their sailing for Europe aboard the Independence on Halloween of 1966 was their last, as my grandfather subsequently retired in March of 1967.

When we arrived at the pier, my father let the rest of us out of the car.  Then he drove away to find a parking space, usually at a nearby gas station.  Longshoremen took the luggage.  Later it magically appeared in my grandparents’ stateroom.  Once my father had rejoined us, we all hiked up the gangway and boarded the ship.  My grandmother took care of the business of showing tickets and passports, settling into the room, and choosing a table in the dining hall.  In addition, we all toured the ship, posed for pictures, and joined in the general merriment of the morning.

Since we were free to roam around the ship at will, we made the most of the opportunity.  To a teenager and a small child, the Independence was an object of fascination, full of all sorts of interesting things.  To my young eyes, everything looked so very, very big, as if constructed on a gargantuan scale to add mystery to the fascination.  There were towering funnels, cavernous lifeboats, expansive public rooms, long passageways, high railings, and wide-open deck spaces, but a diminutive swimming pool.  While the pool was closed, the grand library was not.  I especially loved this room.  It had deck-to-overhead bookshelves fronted by glass doors, oversized windows for viewing the sea, plush couches and lounge chairs, and in the center, a large globe, probably four or five feet in diameter, that stood taller than I did.  I remember liking this shipboard library so much that I didn’t want to leave it.  For that matter, though, I liked the whole ship so much that I scarcely wanted to return ashore, let alone return to school!

Unfortunately, though, as sailing time approached, all the visitors needed to leave the ship.  White-coated men paraded through the passageways beating gongs and calling out repeatedly, “All ashore that’s going ashore!”  Naturally, my brother and I imitated this until the adults grew tired of the incessant repetition.  After we took leave of my grandparents, the four of us returned to the pier, and found a viewing space from which we could wave good-bye and watch the great ship depart. 

This was an exciting finale, as a carnival atmosphere prevailed over the crowd.  We spotted my grandparents at one of the large promenade deck windows and waved enthusiastically to them.  Other folks were less subdued and shouted valedictions across to their friends on the ship.  People threw streamers, waved pom-poms, let go of balloons, and generally raised a good-natured and celebratory commotion.  Somewhere in the background a band played, but this was hard to hear.  At the appointed time, the Independence blew her whistle and slowly backed out of her berth and into the mid-stream of the Hudson River.  Tugboats assisted her, whistles tooting in response to the pilot’s commands, and after the ship had gotten well clear of the pier, they turned her sharply to starboard and pointed her seaward.  Then the tugboats left, and the Independence proceeded downstream on her own.  A new atmosphere of quiet melancholy now prevailed.  With the ship passing out of view on her way to sea, the crowd dispersed.  My father went to retrieve the family car, and soon we were on our way home.

Since it was Halloween, I suppose I went trick-or-treating that evening, but I really don’t remember.  For me, visiting the Independence and watching her sail was the big event of the day.  Nothing else could compare to that.

Back in this earlier time, such bon voyage celebrations were standard practice when a passenger liner sailed.  Now, of course, all this festivity is a thing of the past.  For one thing, few people now have any interest in sailing to Europe when they can fly there overnight.  The golden age of the transoceanic passenger trade came to an end in the late 1960s, and airplanes have dominated the business ever since.  Families and friends could see travelers off at the airport, but it was not the same thing. 

Then, too, there came the matter of security.  Cruise ships now depart from the West Side piers.  Since the terrorist attacks of 2001, however, no one but passengers and employees are permitted access to these facilities.  The families and friends of those going to sea now say good-bye in the street in front of the piers, and the passengers must pass through modern-day airport-style screening before they are allowed to board the ships.  All of this was simply unimaginable in 1966.

Whether I like it or not, the world of my childhood and the world of today are vastly different.  It is tempting to view the age of the transatlantic passenger liners as the good old days, but the world had problems then, too.  I experienced this era with the innocence of childhood.  Later, I watched as my own children and eventually my grandchildren gazed in fascination upon big ships and jet airplanes with the innocence of their own childhood.  But there were restrictions by this time.  No longer could we just walk up the gangway and wander around the ship.  Blissfully ignorant of these new rules and the reasons for them, though, all the children and grandchildren had a wonderful experience.  Such a beautiful thing is the innocence of childhood!  Little wonder the Lord told his disciples,

Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not:  for of such is the kingdom of God….And he took them up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them (Mark 10:14, 16).

 

My childhood visits to the Independence and other passenger ships were very happy and special occasions, and in retrospect they have become sacred memories.  Viewed in the larger picture of life and against the backdrop of often cataclysmic world events, these bon voyage parties now represent an age of innocence, like the innocence of childhood, when embarkation was festive and gracious and not the logistical security nightmare it has since become.  Would that we could all “become as little children” (Matt.18:3) and return to such an Edenic state!

Now for some photographs from this happy time:

In one of my earliest attempts at photography at the age of nine, I took several pictures aboard the Independence, all of them off-center to the left.  First, we have the swimming pool near the stern.  The mile-wide Hudson River flows behind the ship.  The shoreline beyond that features the Palisades of New Jersey.

 

Next, we see one of the funnels.

 

Now, part of a row of lifeboats.

Then, a life ring, stowed upside-down.

 

As the ship sailed away from the pier, I tried a dramatic shot and achieved this ungainly result.

Fortunately, my father owned a better camera and took better photographs.  Here, he caught me unaware as I came down these steps.

He also took this picture, which looks much more professional than my humble efforts.

Finally, I include this three-generational portrait because it's one of my favorites.  My father actually took this aboard the Constitution on Wednesday, September 13, 1961, when I was not quite four years old.  My mother stands next to her father and my grandfather, who stands behind me with his hands on my shoulders.  In the several family pictures taken that day, my grandfather has his hands on my shoulders in all but one of them.