CAPTIONS: #1. Approaching typical lock and dam, lock doors closed, on Mon River trip..
#2. Author inside lock chamber sercuring boat after motor stalled.
[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 third of a series, he reaches the port of McKeesport.] --Ed.
By Russell L. Barnes
I left Lock 3 at 3:45, went through Elizabeth and under the Elizabeth Bridge. Winds were still high and the waters were the roughest of my journey. The waves had white caps and the bow of my boat went so high each time I crested one that, for a few seconds, I couldn't see the river.
Then, as the wave came down, the hull would crash down with a spine-crushing thud. I sat high in the boat to get maximum visibility when the bow was up.
Mills Are Awesome
In spite of bad conditions, I knew I was within striking distance of Pittsburgh. Only about 20 miles and one lock to go. I was exuberant.
I rounded the bend at Clairton to see the monstrous steel mills spewing smoke, flame and liquid waste. The mills are just simply ugly. But cruising between them, their flaming stacks towering above me just as the high, wooded cliffs had up river, inspired awe.
At Pine Run opposite Glassport, I docked and straightened my line for the next lock. Also, I took account of the condition of the boat.
Somehow, I had lost one of my bumpers and one of the side handles was falling off. The engine was idling rough. It had stalled on occasion, but always started again.
Doubts Spring Up
Probably because I was both exhausted and tense from the responsibilities of the day, I fell into a depression. My nerves were shot. I lost faith in my pilgrimage.
Would the approach to Pittsburgh from the river really be what I had been expecting. Or would it be an anti-climax?
No one I talked to could understand the value of such an approach. I began to doubt the value myself. But I was going to see the thing through. That was for sure.
I continued past were the Youghiogheny River joins the Mon at McKeesport and approached Lock 2, the last lock before Pittsburgh, at about 6:30 p.m.
Past that lock it would be clear sailing 11 miles into Pittsburgh. When "The Pack" dropped to the lower level, she would have dropped 63 feet from Lock 7 at Point Marion. That's quite a drop for 90 miles of river.
Stalled In Lock
I got the signal to enter the lock and thought, "This is it!" When I was about a quarter of the way into the entrance chamber, my engine stalled. That had happened at idling speed several times that day, but there was never any difficulty in starting again. This time there was. I was stuck in the entry chamber of the lock. I kept trying to start the engine until I was sure I had worn down the battery. Finally, a hostile and surly lockmaster called to me, "What's wrong with it?"
The engine won't run!" was my very accurate diagnosis. The lockmaster responded by waving one arm in disgust at me and turning his back as if to say, "I want nothing to do with this deal."
He disappeared. Soon the gates began to shut. I had no idea what to do.
Then the boat began to drift sideways toward the gates. I don't know whether it was because the current was sucking it down toward the gate or whether the wind was push me, or both.
Where was the lockman? I needed advice. If "The Pack" got hung up on the doors, would he open them (they opened out) and crush her?
Failure Faced
I reached down and whipped up an oar. A motorboat as heavy as "The Pack" is difficult to move with a single oar. But I was able to steer her to the side and feather her up against the wall where there was a recessed ladder.
I held tight to one of the rungs of the ladder. It was covered with gunk that blackened my hands.
One of the regulations in locks is that the boater is not permitted to climb any ladders. Another is that no boat may be tied to anything.
So what I did was slip a single turn of line around a rung of the ladder and hold the boat fast that way. The drift toward the doors was still strong.
I stayed in that position for a full half hour not even catching a glimpse of a lockman. I had no idea what was going to happen or whether the lock people would ever come to my rescue.
I was afraid my pilgrimage had failed. And so close to Pittsburgh. I just hung on to the line, waiting and hoping.
Wait For A Tow
There was a huge factory alongside Lock 2. And to add to the agony of the wait, it would occasionally let off some sort of noxious steam through a piercing whistle. It shattered my ears and made my skin creep.
Finally, after a half hour, the lockmaster came over and looked down at me. "What should I do?" I yelled.
"Someone will be coming through the other side in a while, I think. Have him tow you," he said.
Fifteen minutes later, the lock doors opened. I had been stuck in the lock for about an hour. A small boat with a man and two youths in it came toward me. I threw them a line. "Where do you want to go?" they yelled.
"Nearest dock," I responded. They towed me back out of the lock. This is the end of it, I thought. Now, I'll never make it to Pittsburgh.
For a captain to sit helplessly in his boat as it is being towed by someone else is a humiliating experience. It's like seeing an old sweetheart walk down the street with a man two feet taller than you.
"The Pack was towed back to McKeesport dock. Luckily, it was the Mon Valley Boat Club dock, a friendly place. Someone on the dock yelled as we approached, "That's a heck of a way to spend an evening boating."
I said, "Yeah, it's too much like work." Then I insisted that the skipper who had towed me allow me to fill his tank with gas. After that, I hoisted the engine cover. Soon the dockmaster, Bill, came over and asked me, "What's wrong?"
Night In McKeesport
"I don't know," I said, "But I do know that the battery needs to be charged before anything else can be done.
"No problem there," said Bill. He went to the clubhouse and wheeled out a battery charger. It was about 8 p.m. He recommended putting a slow, overnight charge on the battery and trying it again in the morning.
I asked Bill whether there was a place around where I could stay the night.
"Not within walking distance," he said, "but I'll drive you to a place in town."
When I handed the hotel registration form to the receptionist, he looked at it and said, "Sir, you need to indicate here the make, model, and license number of your car."
I said, "I don't want you to think I'm giving you a hard time, but the truth is I didn't get here by car. I came by boat. I had some difficulty with it and have to stay here for the night."
This explanation didn't even seem to register with him. The hotel was so much like thousands of others in this country that the people who worked in it probably didn't even know that the mighty Mon flows right past their front door.
Blanks Left Blank
The receptionist said sourly, "But these blanks have to be filled in."
"Well, I could give you the make model and license of my boat," I said. That way, I thought to myself, if I try to get away without paying my bill or if I steal all the towels in my room, you could always send out the Coast Guard to apprehend me. He finally decided it was best to leave the blanks unfilled.
I washed up and then fell exhausted on the bed. Later I went down to the restaurant in the hotel.
I confess that, while eating the bland roast beef, I eavesdropped on a conversation taking place near my table.
A man and his wife from New Orleans were talking to a man sitting at another table, also from New Orleans, but originally from Brownsville. They were in the Pittsburgh area on business.
The man with his wife was in the Astro-turf business and had sold Astro-turf to Three Rivers Stadium. The man who was alone was in the restaurant business.
The Astro-turf man said, "Oh, we come here to McKeesport all the time. We enjoy it here."
"Why? asked the restaurant man. "I try to stay away from here as much as possible."
Fun In Tube City
"I don't know," answered the Astro-turf man. It's just the damnedest place. Crazy things happen. Alot of interesting characters. Ever hear about that Greek mayor? Ha, ha!"
Characters. That's what another outsider, the political science professor from Oxford, had talked about.
"Hey." said Mr. Astro-turf, "did you ever visit the "Passion Pit" back in the old days?
"No."
"Well, that was some place Ha, ha! There were good times in that place, some good times."
Can you imagine that? A man from New Orleans comes to McKeesport for good times, a man from the home of the Mardi Gras.
Good times, I thought, that's it. That's on of the things that makes the Pittsburgh area so interesting.
I walked out of the hotel and toward the river. The wind was still strong and bent the flames from the stacks located up ands down the river. It was certainly a different sight from the one I had seen the night before at Fredericktown.
I looked past the fires and lights and saw a sharp, dark river bend. There is only one bend like it in the world, I thought. There's only one river like this one in the world -- flowing its crazy course from south to north. Tomorrow, I thought, I really want to get the feel of that bend right down there.
[TOMORROW: A Dream Fulfilled.]
Go to Russ Barnes Biography