CAPTIONS: #1. Slag piles and little town of Vestaburg are sites for river travelers.
#2. Author relaxes on river.
[Uniontowner Russell L. Barnes--obsessed with the concept that the only way to approach a great city is by water--did just that. He embarked from Point Marion and putted down the Monongahela. During the first day, he reached Fredericktown, near Brownsville. In this second of a series of articles, Barnes sets sail for Charleroi, McKeesport and other exotic Mon ports.] -- Ed.
By Russell L. Barnes
I awoke at 7:30, determined to make Pittsburgh that day. It had rained hard during the night and, though the rain had stopped, the sky was still overcast and threatening.
Bartoletti's restaurant wasn't open; so I decided to go one mile down river to Packrall's Bay and have breakfast. As I worked at organizing my things on the boat and my line for locking through, I chatted with a nearby fisherman who was having some luck. "Use bread for bait," he said. "Nothin' works better."
"I always heard fishing was bad on the Mon," I said. "Thought it was too polluted."
The fisherman held up a line with two hefty bluegill on it. "Got these in just an hour," he bragged. "Fishin' gets better here every year. It's them pollution laws, you know. Why, just this year, they figured out it was clean enough to stock new fish in here.
"The Pennsylvania Fish Commission put 160,000 muskies in from here on up to Point Marion. Know how they put 'em here? Dropped 'em in by helicopter."
Ready To Go
After breakfast, I filled the boat up with gas, which is scarce and expensive on the river. On an average, it costs about 80 cents a gallon.
I left Packrall's about 9:15 a.m. in spite of the threat of rain. The Mon is a highly commercial river and commercial towboats with barges are almost always in sight.
The names of the towboats are especially romantic. I made a list of some I passed along the way: The Arkwright, Texas, Mathies, Tom Jr., Mysala H., Shannopin, Steel Ranger, Seneca Chief, Cotton Queen, Spike Cain, Dallas R, and the one which has been in the news lately because she was shot at, The Sailor.
According to the Pittsburgh Corps of Engineers, the amount of freight handled on the Mon River in 1972 was 38,624,403 tons. That makes the Mon one of the busiest rivers in the world and has given Pittsburgh the reputation of being the "largest inland port" in the United States.
I was careful to steer clear of these big boats. Even so, I was to have a run-in with one of them.
I approached Maxwell Lock, the Cadillac of the Mon Locks at 9:25 a.m. It was a 45 minute wait. While I drifted just outside the lock, I decide that every boat needs a name.
So I christened mine, "The Pack." Finally, I was given the signal to come through. This time I was prepared for what was to happen and, even though I did a few clumsy things, got through with no special difficulties.
As soon as I got out of Maxwell Lock, a stiff wind developed that would last the rest of the day and cause choppy water. As I approached the famous river town of Brownsville, it began to rain. I slowed down to idling speed, struggled to put up my top, and eked my way through Brownsville.
In the 19th century, Brownsville was an important river town. It was even said Pittsburgh would never amount to anything because it was located too close to Brownsville. As I sailed through Brownsville, it looked shabby. But a few turquoise bulbs on top of Byzantine Catholic and Greek Orthodox Churches scattered on each side of the river brightened the scene considerably.
When I passed through California, Pa., it was still raining and I was still traveling at idling speed. Soon after, the rain slowed to a drizzle. I took down the top and sped down to Charleroi where, at about 12:35, I docked "The Pack" at the Charleroi Boat Club, 44 miles away from Pittsburgh.
I was hungry. I intentionally did not bring any food because I wanted to see what facilities were available for boaters on shore.
The Charleroi Boat Club was, of course, private; so I knew I couldn't eat there. But I thought I'd ask some of the people sitting around where I could eat.
I asked them, "Could you tell me where I could find a place to eat that's within walking distance? There were about a half dozen of them and they just stared at me. Finally, one of them grunted, "Huh?"
So in clearest, most distinct English I could command, I repeated my question.
Again the answer was, "Huh?"
Charleroi sounds like a French name, I thought. Maybe they don't understand English here. So I said, pointing at my mouth and said in an angry tone, "I'm hungry."
That second day on the river had done something to me. I was beginning to develop the personality of a boat captain. Captains have always been noted for being selfish and cantankerous -- maybe even a little imbalanced in their pursuit of some crazy destination.
Well, I had fought to get my boat, I had been out on the river fighting the elements, I had my goal of reaching Pittsburgh, and when a bunch of "land lubbers" couldn't understand that I needed lunch, I became downright grouchy.
Barge Spells Danger
But my expectations weren't met. When I stomped back to the boat club, I got the same blank states. Finally, one fellow took me in his truck to a road side stand. I ate two foot-long hot-dogs with mustard and onions. It wasn't exactly high civilization complete with beautiful young maidens, soft music, and flasks of wine, but it did fill the ache in the pit of my stomach.
Thus nourished, I embarked from the Charleroi Boat Club about 1:30. Ten minutes later, I approached Lock Four. I locked through without too much difficulty in about a half hour.
The winds were still high and the water, choppy. The Mon had changed its appearance again. Very few coal tipples now. The riversides were a marvelous blend of gigantic steel mills and forest-covered banks. I passed along the industrial cities of Monessen, Donora and Monongahela.
I approached Lock Three in Elizabeth at 4:30. There was a barge there waiting to go through, the good old Tom G. I relaxed in the waters just above the dam, waiting. The falls kept pulling me toward it and several times I had to start the engine and move farther back.
When the Tom G. was through, I cruised up to the lock and blasted the signal that I wanted entry. Shortly after, the lockmaster gave me the danger signal. A lockman walked out toward me and waved up river. I looked behind me and saw a barge steaming toward me. Commercial traffic has priority over pleasure boats at locks. I had to move "The Pack" out of the way -- fast!
Lock Three is located on the right bank; so I move way over to the left bank. To my surprise, the barge which I thought was approaching the lock gave five deep throated blasts: two long and three short, and began pointing her bow toward me. "What's going on?" I thought. "I moved out of the way, didn't I? Is this towboat after me?"
After a long delay, I could see that the danger signal wasn't meant for anyone else but me -- although I couldn't understand why. Nevertheless, I sped way back up river just in time. The towboat slid into my former spot and tied up. Then I saw that another barge was coming through from down river and that's why I had been given the first warning. After a wait, I heard one short blast from Lock Three -- the signal to permit craft to leave the landward lock. The towboat chugged out and soon her wake was rocking my boat sideways. I cruised up the lock and signaled for entry. I got two long blasts -- the signal to enter the riverward lock.
[TOMORROW: Mechanical failure delays voyage.]
Go to Russ Barnes Biography