History Blog
|
|
March is a good time to celebrate the Irish cultural and historical heritage of the Catskill Mountains. What had been fondly called “Ireland’s 33rd County,” the Irish Alps, or Irish Catskills, was the prime summer destination for thousands of Irish immigrants living in the dense cultural neighborhoods of New York City. Many would take refuge in the lush, rolling green hills of the Catskills away from the heat and dust of NYC summers. Whether by bus, train, or car, hundreds of Irish New Yorkers would make the annual trip to the Catskill Mountains from the 1920s to the early 1970s. The PBS documentary, “The Irish Catskills: Dancing at the Crossroads,” referenced for this blog post, takes viewers on a tour of not only Irish cultural heritage but a sweeping history of the annual migration of Irish-American families to keystone towns of the Irish Catskills, like East Durham, Leeds, and South Cairo. The Catskill Mountains became synonymous with summertime and the leisure of the middle and upper classes by circuitous means. According to Michele Herrmann, writer of “The Borscht Belt Was a Haven for Generations of Jewish Americans,” for Smithsonian Magazine, Jewish aid societies in New York created programs that encouraged Jewish immigrants to earn a living via agriculture as a way of supporting Jewish communities in the States. The Catskill Mountains, however luscious in its greenery, are not conducive to farming given their rocky terrain. New inhabitants of the area quickly learned that they were better off using the land to attract borders for the summer months. The mountains were a major draw for New Yorkers, initially, as doctors at the time often advised tuberculosis patients to get fresh mountain air and (literal) breathing room; the disease was easily contracted in the tightly packed neighborhoods and tenement houses of New York City. Advertising also helped direct attention to the Catskills’ resorts and hotels, such as the guidebook series “Summer Homes” published by New York and Ontario Railway. As Herrmann writes, “...one Jewish farmer named Yana “John” Gerson listed one of the publication’s first advertisements for a Jewish boarding house in the 1890s.” As tens of thousands of Irish immigrants made their way to the United States, they sought a lucrative opportunity to renovate old barns and boarding houses (previously owned by German immigrants up until World War II) into modest hotels for the typical urbanite looking for the fresh mountain air of upstate New York. Many Irish immigrants were also motivated by homesickness, and sought out the familiar surroundings, familiar accents and cultures that made home not feel so far away. The Irish Echo, the oldest Irish-American Newspaper in the United States, established in 1928, and later the Irish Voice were written for Irish audiences, as well as word of mouth, may have advertised these Irish-founded bars, restaurants and hotels bolstered the weary Irish-American city-dweller to explore upstate New York. Hotels like O’Neill’s Cozy Corner in East Durham, NY, later named The O’Neill House, were among the first Irish-owned establishments in the area and sported the latest trends in hotel hospitality. Far more humble than the free wi-fi and complimentary gym access that are the bare minimum of hotel standards today, hotels in the 1920s and 1930s were still writing the “blueprint” that the hospitality industry uses today. A top choice hotel like O’Neill’s Cozy Corner would include such amenities as private toilets, hot and cold running water, electric lights, and East Durham’s first concrete swimming pool. Converted barns acted as dance halls for patrons who would dance along to the musical styles of famous Irish musicians living in New York City who would come up to East Durham and play traditional Irish music. A fun night out in the Irish Catskills would be incomplete if it didn’t have “Stack of Barley/ Little Stack of Wheat,” playing at least a few times that evening. The newfound leisure of the working class came on the heels of harsh working conditions of Irish transit workers in New York City, who worked primarily in subway, bus and railroad industries. At this time in American history, there were no laws that dictated the quality of working conditions or for how long people worked or whether or not they were allowed to take time off, so work hours depended upon the generosity of one’s boss, who was usually not very generous. It was common for a transit worker to have 12 hours-long, grueling shifts, every single day with no vacation time. In fact, transit workers were regularly fired for taking off on a Sunday to go to church. That is, until Michael J. Quill, from County Kerry in Ireland, co-founded the Transit Workers Union of America in 1934. He advocated on behalf of over 34,000 transit workers for higher wages, a 40-hour work week, and paid vacation time. These changes introduced leisure time to the lives of many transit workers and their families. With higher wages and paid vacation time, Irish families could now afford to travel and stay at resorts and hotels for extended periods of time. Predominantly working class families could now experience rest and what it felt like to be waited on for a change. Of the over 40 Irish-owned hotels and resorts in the Catskills at the height of their popularity, only a handful are in business today. As one contributor reflects in “The Irish Catskills” documentary, “Air conditioning, airlines, and assimilation were the three A’s that killed the Catskills.” As the 1960s and 70s came to a close, the majority of Irish immigrants were no longer working class but were upper middle class. They could not afford the luxury of their own backyards and larger homes that made escaping to the mountains redundant. When the Irish Catskills first came into prominence, most immigrants could not afford to go back home to Ireland, which is what made resort life in the Catskills feel so welcoming. Around the time of the Catskills’ decline in popularity, upper middle class Irish-American families could afford to travel to the real Ireland whenever they wanted, so an analogue of Ireland was no longer necessary. Air conditioning went from a luxury to a summertime necessity, so spending one’s free time in a hot wooden cabin in the middle of the woods was no longer as appealing as it once had been. However, there are places in upstate New York that are doing their part to keep the Irish musical and cultural history of the Catskills alive. Shamrock House, an inn/restaurant/bar holds Traditional Irish Sessions every Sunday afternoon, in which musicians can bring their own instruments and play alongside each other, or simply come and be a joyful spectator. Annual events like Irish Arts Week have also taken on the mantle of maintaining Irish traditional music and dance for the next generation of young artists. Each summer, famous musicians teach middle school and high school aged kids the traditions and cultures that have become synonymous with the Catskills Mountains and Irish communities abroad. External Links: To watch the full “Irish Catskills” documentary: WMHT Specials | The Irish Catskills: Dancing at the Crossroads | PBS
AuthorCarissa Scantlebury is a volunteer researcher at the Hudson River Maritime Museum. She graduated from Hunter College with a degree in Classical Archaeology. She loves getting lost in a cozy fantasy novel, watching Doctor Who (David Tennant is her favorite), and learning new languages. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
0 Comments
Experiencing maritime travel during the reign of the steam engine in the Hudson River Valley was a vastly different experience for women than it was for men. Especially during the 1800s, it was quite rare to find both men and women traveling in the same spaces, such was the case in most forms of transportation, including steamboats on the Hudson River. The standard for the time was that men and women, when traveling, should be separate from each other. Matthew Wills on JSTOR Daily writes, “The Victorian segregation of men and women into separate spheres was quite rigorous in hotels, trains, and steamboats by the 1840s. Escorted and unattached ladies – ladies being very much a middle and upper class designation – were kept apart from unattached men (whatever their social status) via separate entrances, rooms, cars, and cabins.”[1] Mind you that the vast majority of these women traveling on steamboats on the Hudson River were of moderate to high wealth. To find steamboats or any other form of transportation without separate spaces for men and women was rare. It was very common to see women traveling with a suitable male escort, and rare to see women traveling without one. While women and men could meet each other in saloons and dining rooms, women would not permanently stay in these areas, and had access to their own separate space that only women could access. These separate spaces, at least on a Hudson River steamboat, were called “Ladies Cabins.” These spaces acted as their own separate saloon or parlor for women to relax and socialize with each other on journeys up and down the Hudson River, including everything women would need right down to their own bathroom facilities. Even the Rondout’s hometown steamboat, the Mary Powell, “Queen of the Hudson,'' had a ladies cabin. These ladies cabins would be managed by a female member of the steamboat’s crew. Such was the case with a Miss R. White, who was in charge of the ladies department on the steamboat L. Broadman.[2] Another example that depicts a woman being in charge of a ladies department of a steamboat is the story of the steamer Chief Justice Marshall. This unfortunately unnamed woman became a hero during a trip along the Hudson. The Newburgh Gazette reported on May 7th, 1830 that during a routine trip on the Hudson a boiler aboard the steamer Chief Justice Marshall exploded leading to boiling hot steam spreading across the ship. Immediately reacting, the unnamed woman quickly shut the door leading to the ladies cabin, and thoroughly secured it. This prevented the boiling hot steam from entering the cabin and scorching the women within the cabin alive.[3] While it is quite unfortunate that this woman was left unnamed, she is nevertheless responsible for saving the lives of all the women who were located in the ladies cabin of the steamer Chief Justice Marshall. Another woman that worked aboard a steamboat was Fannie M. Anthony, a stewardess aboard the famous steamer Mary Powell in its “ladies cabin.” As a woman of color, Fannie would clean and maintain the cabin, along with assisting passengers with requests. As a stewardess, her job would be similar to that of a housekeeper of a wealthy family. She would serve aboard the Mary Powell for decades before retiring in 1912. Interestingly, she was celebrated in local newspapers, uncommon at the time due to the fact that she was a woman of color, whose experiences are usually disregarded and forgotten throughout history. For example, an 1894 issue of the Brooklyn Times Union, quoting the Newburgh Sunday Telegram, celebrates Fannie Anthony in an article titled “Compliments for a Jamaica Woman.” It reads, “Mrs. Fannie Anthony, the efficient and obliging stewardess on the steamer Mary Powell, is about concluding her twenty-fifth season in that capacity. Mrs. Anthony enjoys an acquaintance among the ladies along the Hudson River that is both interesting and highly complementary to the amiable disposition and cheery manner of the only female among the crew of the favorite steamboat. Mrs. Anthony travels over 15,000 miles every summer while attending to her duties on the boat. She seldom misses a trip and looks the picture of health and happiness.”[4] You may notice that the article refers to Fannie as a Jamaican woman, they are not saying she is from the island of Jamaica in the Caribbean, she is actually from Jamaica, Queens in New York City. There are many other articles just like this one that reference Mrs. Fannie Anthony and talk about her in a positive way. While she was only a stewardess aboard the Mary Powell, it seems that through her enjoyable personality, the excellence of her service, and longevity in the time she served aboard the Mary Powell, she managed to overcome many of the immovable obstacles that faced most women of color at the time. Like the steamboat Mary Powell herself, Fannie achieved a measure of fame not usually afforded ordinary people, much less a woman of color. These three women all played vital roles in ensuring the successful, enjoyable, and safe travel of steamboats along the Hudson River. These women dedicated themselves to the people they served in their respective “ladies cabins.” In the case of Miss R. White and Mrs. Fannie Anthony, that was to serve their passengers with distinction and dignity. In the case of that unfortunately unnamed woman who worked in the “ladies cabin” of the steamer Chief Justice Marshall, she was a hero who saved the lives of everyone in the ladies cabin from being boiled alive from the steam that escaped the engines of that steamer. [1] Wills, Matthew. Separate Spheres On Narrow Boats: Victorians At Sea. Jstor Daily, November 22, 2021. https://daily.jstor.org/separate-spheres-on-narrow-boats-victorians-at-sea/ [2] Rockland County Messenger. Welcome Steamer L. Boardman. Haverstraw, New York. March 21, 1878. 1878-03-21 [3] The Newburgh Gazette. 1830-05-07 [4]https://omeka2.hrvh.org/exhibits/show/mary-powell/staffing-the-mary-powell/african-americans/fannie-m--anthony AuthorJack Loesch is a senior at SUNY New Paltz majoring in the field of History, with a minor in If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
Originally built in 1839 of granite Robbins Reef Lighthouse is located between Staten Island's North Shore and the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor. The spark plug style lighthouse warns mariners to avoid a rocky reef. The solar powered light, blinking every six seconds is maintained by the US Coast Guard. The Noble Maritime Collection maintains the structure. Before the days of automated lights, lighthouse keepers and their families lived in the lighthouses and maintained the lights. The Robbins Reef lighthouse has six levels from the cellar where the cistern was kept for fresh water up to the the lantern gallery above the fifth level balcony. The kitchen was on the first level, the sitting room and office on the second floor with bedrooms on the third and fourth levels. Katherine Walker maintained the light for 33 years following the death of her husband Captain John Walker. from pneumonia in 1890. The lightkeeper's duties included: checking the light throughout the night to be sure the lens was clean so the light could be seen - this was especially important on frosty winter nights. A foghorn, powered by an engine in the basement, sounded every three seconds. When it failed, the lightkeeper had to hammer on a bell at the top of the tower until help came from the mainland to repair the engine. Detailed records were required as was meticulous cleaning of the lens and windows. Rescues were an important part of Kate's duties as she took her rowboat out to aid mariners in trouble. The American Seaman's Friend Society maintained a library boat that provided reading material. Learn more about the Noble Maritime Center, Kate Walker and the Robbins Reef Lighthouse here. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
Editor's Note: This article was by Raymond A. Ruge and originally published in the March 1945 issue of "Yachting". magazine. The language, spelling and grammar of the article reflects the time period when it was written. For information about current ice boating on the Hudson River go to these websites: White Wings and Black Ice here. HRIYC here Hudson River Ice Yacht Preservation Trust website here THE FALL of 1943 found me in Edmonton, Alberta, most northerly of Canadian cities (almost 800 miles northeast of Vancouver, BC), which enjoys the same long summer days — and the same cold winter — as does Moscow and the Scandinavian Peninsula. I was there on an assignment for the Army, but we did have one day off each week. Throughout the summer nearly every Sunday was devoted to 14-foot dinghy sailing with the Edmonton Yacht Club, and red hot sailors they were, believe me. But now the dinks were laid away and the nights were clear and frosty. By the end of October, it was freezing every night and early duck hunters reported up to two inches of ice on sloughs a few miles to the north. One day, as if by magic, a thumbnail sketch of an ice boat appeared on my desk pad. It went into an envelope with the brief message: “If this interests you, call me up for lunch” and was dispatched to Dr. T. F. MacDonald, commodore of the Edmonton Y.C., figure skater, twice president of the Alberta Fish & Game Association, a real sporting man. The phone rang next day before noon. The good doctor was not only interested, he was enthusiastic. “But,”said he, “no plywood, no dural, no fittings, no this and no that, how in the world can we build a decent ice boat now?” And the question certainly seemed sensible enough. But there was the lake, ready to freeze; there was the sail boat’s rig, ready to use; there were the tools and the shop to work in. So we just decided to start in and see how far we could get. Within a week, the plans were drawn, with simplification and substitution the keynotes of the design. We settled on a simple type of bow-steering boat, similar in basic construction to Icicle (see YACHTING, December, 1936). For the backbone, we had to revert from the modern built-up box fuselage, involving much aircraft plywood and Sitka spruce, to a simple solid stick; in this case, a 20’ piece of 3” by 10” Douglas fir. This was kept full size at the mast step, tapering to 3” by 5” at the bow and 3” by 6” aft, where it rested on the runner plank. All taper cuts were taken off the top, leaving the bottom perfectly straight. This stick was so stiff that no bobstay was rigged and no deflection could be observed even when sailing in a stiff breeze. The design called for a 24’ backbone, so we pieced out our 20’ stick with a ‘‘boomkin” made of two pieces of 34” by 6” screwed to the sides of the main timber and cocked upward at the proper angle to receive the after ends of the shaped side rails. These side rails were two pieces of 3/4’’ by 10” by 14’ spruce; they started from the backbone at the mast step, swung out 17” on each side at the seat, and met again at the extreme after end of the boomkin (or extended backbone). A floor of 14” pine boards was screwed to the under side of the center timber and the rails for 48” from the seat back to the forward spreader which also served as a footrail when sailing. To cut out what might have been a most uncomfortable cold breeze through the cockpit, we floored the rest of it forward of this spreader with the only plywood -available— 3/16” poplar, supposed to be for drawer bottoms, etc. If it doesn’t stand up, it can always be replaced since it is entirely non-structural and serves only as a wind-stopper. The seat back, framed of ¾” stuff, was shaped to a smooth curve from railtop to railtop and was carefully reinforced to take the pull of the sheet. A strip of 1⅛” by 2” maple was securely anchored to the seat back at the center of its upper edge and ran back to the tip of the boomkin, where it formed the center filler of a five-ply ‘‘squeeze”’ consisting of itself, the two pieces of the boomkin and the two side rails. This strip of hardwood acted as a ridgepole for the after deck covering but its main function was to serve as a secure anchorage for the sheet blocks. The “dashboard” (for lack of a better name) was cut from a wide birch board of 1” stock. At each end, it was screwed to a filler block which in turn was securely fastened to the side rail by screws and waterproof glue. From the center of this curving member another ridgepole, this time of pine, ran forward to the mast step block. This served only to carry the forward deck and hence didn’t have to be of hardwood. The mast step was simply a birch block, slotted for the heel of the spar, and screwed to the top of the backbone timber. With the curved seatback and dashboard and their two ridgepoles (running aft and forward respectively) as its only support, 6-ounce canvas was stretched and tacked to the above members and to the top outside edge of the side rails. A small hardwood molding covered the tacks in the rails, and those on the ridgepoles were hidden by arranging the cloth as shown in the sketch. The two-way stretch possible only with fabric enabled this canvas “deck” to take a most pleasing trumpet-shaped curve as it swept up to the dashboard. With no finish whatever, this canvas gave perfect satisfaction for one entire season, and should last for many years. It is easily renewable at any time. The steering gear had started life in a small car of predepression vintage and was obtained from a local auto wrecker for a small consideration. It was mounted directly on the side of the backbone by a couple of 3/8” bolts running through that member. The gear was hung so that the pitman arm swung in a horizontal arc directly under the backbone. A similar arm, complete with ball fitting, was welded to the rudder post just above the fork, and the two were connected by the car’s original drag link, lengthened by cutting and welding in a piece of 3/4” pipe. The steering column was clamped to the underside of the curving dashboard in true automobile style and the entire assembly gave fingertip control and perfect service. Cutting away one section of the steering wheel’s rim gave a bit more room when getting in or out of the cockpit but we decided it wasn’t a good idea after all, because the sheet tended to get fouled in the cutaway wheel when sailing. Incidentally, to get a left turn by moving the top of the wheel to the left — as in a car — it was necessary for the pitman arm on the gear and that on the rudder post to project on opposite sides of the backbone. This meant that the long drag link crossed under the backbone from starboard to port when the rudder was set straight, and that it went through a peculiar twisting motion when in action, but it worked perfectly — so don’t worry if it happens to you! The rudder post bearings were simply two pieces of 3" steel channel let into the top and bottom of the backbone and drilled for a good fit on the rudder post. They were held in place by 1/4" bolts passing horizontally through their flanges and the backbone. They were used in place of the more usual flat plates because of the unusually narrow backbone timber. The rudder post was a short length of 3/4" shaft with a simple steel fork and the above-mentioned pitman arm welded on. A pair of heavy truck valve springs were slipped over the shaft between the pitman arm and the under bearing plate on the backbone; they gave a little shock-absorbing action that seemed to work well. All this miscellaneous ironwork was dug out of the scrap pile at a local junk yard. We had a lucky break on the runner plank, finding two clear spruce boards 1 1/2” by 12” and 16’ long at a local lumber yard. These were glued together with about 6” crown when the clamps were set. After removal of clamps, the crown came back to about 4". The two boards were tapered to 1” thick at the ends before gluing, giving the plank a built-in taper which looked quite professional. The sections between side rails and runner chocks were then shaped out to a streamlined profile. Runner chocks were simply 11” pieces of 3” by 5” by 3/8” angle bolted to the plank. Because structural steel angles are not exactly true right angles, the under side of the plank was carefully planed so that the standing sides (the 5” ones) of the chocks would be parallel and give a good fit to the runners. These angles, too, came from the junk pile. The plank was attached to the backbone by a single U-iron or gammon strap, of ⅝” rod threaded on both ends and bent into a U that just slipped over the after end of the backbone timber and passed through two holes in the plank. There was no attachment of the side rails of the hull to the runner plank. For runner blades, we dug around some more in the junk yard until we unearthed some old T-section steel which looked as if it might have been a rolling door track in better days. It was about 1 1/2” by 2” by 5/16” in cross section. We had the top drilled and countersunk on 4” centers for No. 10 flat head wood screws, and the edge was rough-ground on a wheel to a 90° V. Later dressing with a file was tedious but proved to be feasible in spite of much advice to the contrary. The runner tops were made of oak, 1 3/4” by 4 1/2” in cross section, 53” long for main runners which had 48” shoes, and 41” long for the 36” rudder blade. The tops were doweled with machine bolts spaced 9” apart, running right through the oak from bottom, where the heads were countersunk, to top, where the nuts (with washers) were drawn up tight. These bolts prevent peeling off the runner shoes in a bad skid, and should be tightened up before each season, as the wood dries out and shrinks during the warm summer months. The blades were then screwed on, using 1 1/2” No. 10 steel screws. The sharp section of the blade was kept down to a mere 10” or so directly under the riding bolt. From there, running both forward and aft, the edge was made more and more dull, which served to put a slight rocker into it and also to give an easy entrance and exit, vital for speed. A blade without rocker can’t be turned and one that is sharp for any great distance forward of the riding bolt will grip and cut down speed a lot. All runners rode on 5/8” machine bolts, which were drilled for cotter pins. The hollow sail boat mast had no shrouds below the forestay, and the unsupported spar between the step and this point was too long to be trusted. Accordingly, a simple spar band with three projecting tangs was cut from 1/8” metal and held in place by a single 1/4” bolt running straight through the mast. The extra set of shrouds was made from odds and ends such as are usually at hand in any sailor’s slop chest, and ran from a point half-way between forestay and mast step. All stays terminated in rope lanyards, led to big 3” diameter iron rings attached to plank and backbone by eyebolts. Rope lanyards are not only a cheap and foolproof substitute for turnbuckles, they are also an easy way to piece out the sail boat rigging for the extra length that will be needed on the ice boat. Blocks, like spars, were borrowed from the sail boat but we decided against light summer canvas and had a sail made. A local tent and awning maker undertook the job and did a surprisingly good piece of work. By designing the sail as a flat surface, with a roach on the luff and another on the foot, as well as the usual one on the leach, we succeeded in getting a fine-setting sail which was not too difficult to make. Full-length batten pockets were run parallel to the boom, and track slides were borrowed for the winter from the regular sail boat mainsail. Battens were ripped from a flat-grained two-inch oak plank at a local mill. This gave us edge grain in the battens, which were a full 1/4” thick at the after end, and were planed down to about 1/8” thick at the mast. Since most broken battens are caused by the whipping of the sail when coming about, we taped the three lower ones thoroughly from 1 foot to about 4 feet from the leach. The upper battens don’t get the whipping, and rarely break. Throughout the first winter of use, the sail boat mast stood up beautifully until sundown of the last day of the season, when it somehow contrived to come unstepped and broke when it struck the ice. A new spar was built for the sail boat and a letter received the other day informs me that the doctor has built a typical streamlined ice boat spar for the winter sailing. This stick has a groove plowed in its after edge to recess the sail track and improve the airflow, and it will be stepped on a trailer ball and hardwood socket to permit proper pivoting. The sketches show a typical cross section of the new spar and also the arrangement of the ball-and-socket step. Several factors combine to give an ice boat mast far heavier punishment than is met by a sail boat spar carrying the same area of canvas. In the first place, the speed of the airflow over the ice boat’s sail may easily run from two to four times as fast with the same wind velocity, simply because the boat is able to move so much faster. This means development by the sail of four to sixteen times as much-power and, as a result, four to sixteen times as much induced compression in the mast. Practically. every ice boat mast that “goes” (from causes other than capsizes), buckles and “explodes” from excessive compression. Secondly, the boat cannot heel to every puff; it takes a really hard one to make her hike and, even then, the relief afforded the spar by the heeling action is negligible. Both shrouds and spar should be sized for stresses that may run a good ten times higher than those in a sail boat of comparable sail area. By the same token, the sail should, if possible, be made of heavier canvas and headboard and clew should be most thoroughly reinforced. The entire pull of the sheet, which is nearly always sweated in taut, is transmitted through these two corners of the sail. This is one advantage of the train of single--sheave blocks now standard equipment on ice boats, the sheet pull is spread along the boom and not concentrated at one point. The raked mast with tunnel or “Swedish track” contrives to spread the pull along the mast a bit instead of leaving it all to the headboard, as is the case with a vertical spar and sail track. In addition, raking the mast shortens the length of the leach, thus making it possible to keep the leach taut. The advantage when turning to windward is tremendous. To return to our Canadian boat from this brief digression into ice boat design: In setting up the boat, backbone and runner plank were placed in position and joined by the U-iron (“gammon strap”). The two whisker stays running from bow to runner plank were then set up snug, using a steel tape to check the distance from bow to runner chock on each side until we were sure the plank was square with the backbone. The whisker stays should not be drawn more than snug taut, for they will bend the runner plank and cause the runners to toe in if set up too much. Next, the mast was stepped and the ‘shrouds’ set in approximately the proper position, with just one turn of the rope lanyards. Then the sail was bent and hoisted and the headstays adjusted until the boom had just a slight rise from mast to clew when the sheet was sweated in taut. Shrouds were then set up, but not more than just enough to take the excess slack out of them. Tight-set shrouds simply bend the runner plank, throw constant stress into stays, plank and mast, and may actually cause a broken spar in action on a puffy day. Ice boat rigging always looks sloppy to the racing sail boat man but rest assured, it isn’t that way by accident or from carelessness. That’s the way it should be. The lee shrouds are always very slack when sailing and here is another place where rope lanyards are superior to turnbuckles. The lanyards won’t kink when they go slack, as a turnbuckle or shackle will, and it shouldn’t be necessary to point out that they won’t strip threads or crystallize no matter how far the thermometer drops. Final clincher in these days, is the fact that you can always get some sort of line for lanyards but try to buy a turnbuckle! Thanks to an exceptionally snowless winter, we had a fine lot of sailing with this boat, starting on November 21st and continuing, off and on, until Easter, April 9th. We wound up the season on the last day by sailing the entire twelve-mile length of the lake and back in a fine southwest breeze with the thermometer in the forties. One night of sailing by the illumination of a really exceptional display of Northern Lights was a thrill I shall never forget. Based on our experience, it seems a safe bet that, given some assorted rigging, a lumber yard, a well-stocked junk yard and a little determination, War Babies like this one are entirely feasible. They sure are a lot of fun! If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
Editor's Note: This article was by P.S. Wood and originally published in the US AIR magazine January 1985. The language, spelling and grammar of the article reflects the time period when it was written. For information about current ice boating on the Hudson River go to these websites: White Wings and Black Ice here. HRIYC here Hudson River Ice Yacht Preservation Trust website here For thousands of enthusiasts, the high-speed excitement of iceboating is a habit that no one wants to break. Oh, you could always think of something - like running triathlons or climbing Mount Everest without oxygen. But of all the self-flagellating activities pursued in the name of sport, few can be more baffling to outsiders, and more compelling to those who are hooked—6,000 at latest count—than iceboating. Some miscreant once likened it to "driving a truck at 90 miles an hour in sub-zero weather down a steep, rutted hill without brakes and with bits of broken windshield flying in your face.” Get one alone, in a reflective moment, preferably in the fall when anticipation is high, and he may tell you what it's really like - or try to: The adrenaline is flowing and there is no cold; with the ice racing past you just inches away, the sense of speed is incredible; on smooth, black ice there is a silence given depth by the whoosh of the wind through the rigging and over the hull. So simple, so pure, so fast, one feels he must be approaching the outer edge, where the worldly crosses the boundary to the intergalactic. What else could bring Charles Edward (Rock) Hildreth at the age of 48 to lay down his hammer and saw (he builds houses in the Hamptons, on eastern Long Island, where his family has lived for ten generations) a little early last Friday - or next Friday, or the Friday after - and hurry home to load up his 1977 Chevy station wagon? On a roof rack go the spars, planks, and hulls of two identical 12-foot DN iceboats. Sails, riggings, runners, sharpening equipment, other tools, and extra clothing are piled inside, until there is just room enough in the front seat for Hildreth and his similarly afflicted buddy, Tom Halsey. Halsey, like his brother John, whose whole family sails, is a potato farmer with 11 generations on the land. (Potato farmers with names like Hildreth, Halsey, and Topping still are well represented in the membership of the local Mecox Bay Ice Yacht Club, but besides the present Commodore, David Lee Brown, who is a sculptor, there are also painters, bank executives, test pilots, doctors, and writers. ABC anchorman Peter Jennings just bought a boat last year and joined the club.) His car loaded, Hildreth then calls a special number and listens to a recording telling him where the action is that weekend—to wit: what lakes have ice and no snow (like as not somewhere deep in New Jersey). Then it's rising at 3:00 a.m., driving for five or six hours, unloading the station wagon, setting up their boats, racing all day, piling into a motel room somewhere for Saturday night, racing all day Sunday, and then driving home. And doing it, often, under arctic conditions that keep the saner segment of the population home by the fire. An affliction. In North America the true ice belt is no more than 150 miles wide. The sport has no true center. It hangs in a shallow arc from Cape Cod on the Eastern Seaboard out to the Great Lakes. On its way it passes through southern New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania, the major eastern areas. Midwesterners congregate on the wide-open lakes of Michigan and Wisconsin, where winds sweeping off the plains are relied upon as much as winter thaws to keep the ice open. Europe's ice belt begins in Sweden, and reaches through Germany, Poland, and into the USSR. Four out of the past seven years, Poles and Latvians have won the World Championship - the Worlds, as they are known, sailed in alternate years in North America and Europe in the same DN design boat that Hildreth and Halsey race. With iceboating, as with icebergs, there is a lot below the surface. A great deal, for instance, goes on in Hildreth's basement. It is almost axiomatic that an enthusiast like Hildreth built his own boat. And along about Christmastime it was in his cellar that he set it up for this season - sharpening and aligning the runners (to a tolerance of a few thousandths of an inch), checking all the fastenings, touching up the varnish. In fact, like most ardent iceboaters who have pursued the sport for a decade or more, Hildreth has built a series of boats (six DNs in his case, and he is already planning a seventh, because there's a slight weight refinement he would like to make). Although it is possible to buy a ready-made DN (cost with mast and sail runs about $2,500, but $1,000 should buy a serviceable second-hand boat), a large part of the challenge and pleasure of the sport is in the building, whether it be within the strict limits of the DN design (more on this later) or some imaginative aberration. Hildreth actually started when he was 12 - not just with the traditional bed sheet, broom handle, boards, and old ice skates, but with hand-me-down parts from his older brothers' and their friends' boats. Today there are dirt bikes and snowmobiles and weekend trips to ski country to sate a young boy's appetite for thrills, but when Hildreth was starting out, just after World War II, there wasn't much a kid could do outdoors in winter on the flat eastern end of Long Island except take an iceboat out on Mecox Bay when it froze. The boats Hildreth and his confreres sailed then - they called them A boats - were larger than DNs. They were gaff-rigged, usually carried a couple of passengers, and by today's standards were clumsy. But when wind and ice were just right, they went like the blazes and produced enough excitement to hook a kid for life. Editor’s Note: Wikipedia has an illustration of Gaff sail parts labeled. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaff_rig The A boats are pretty much gone now, relegated like horse-drawn carriages to the backs of barns. Their progeny have developed along two distinct lines, skeeters and DNs. Skeeters are to iceboating what formula one racing cars are to the automotive world. The sole design specification is sail area, 75 square feet. Beyond that they represent the cutting edge of iceboat development. Anything goes, so that a skeeter regatta may produce an assemblage as varied and colorful as the Westminster Dog Show. And the boats really fly, reaching speeds of up to five times that of the wind, which translates to a top speed of 80 or 90 mph. The smaller DNs (62 square feet of sail), on the other hand, belong to a strictly regulated class. Weight, materials, and configuration are all specified to knife-edge limits. And still there is enough difference between boats to make the building and tuning of them as important as - or perhaps more important than - how well their skippers handle them out on the ice. In hull streamlining, the tiniest bit helps. It is better to paint the name of the boat on the side rails than to mount two projecting mahogany name boards! It is just this sort of "ridiculous" extreme in streamlining which makes that unaccountable difference in speed, especially to windward. Then, in 1933, a design breakthrough occurred as important to ice-boating as rocketry was to the aeronautical industry. Walter Beauvois from William Bay, Wisconsin, built what was, by the standards of the day, a mere toy. It had a 13-foot hull and a single, stiffly battened sail measuring 75 square feet. But the significant difference was that Beauvois sailed her backwards. That is, he turned the sail and runners 180 degrees so that now the steering runner was out front. The harder she was driven the more firmly her front runner held the ice. No flicker, though like any iceboat she still might hike a windward runner. And though far smaller than other iceboats of the day (and thus less expensive, more easily transported, and able to be sailed singlehandedly), Beau Skeeter, as he named his creation, outraced all comers. Here was a boat - the skeeter, as it would universally become known - that any man might aspire to own. Four years later, at the height of the Depression, this democratization of a hitherto rich man's sport was completed with the appearance of the "DN." The letters stand for Detroit News, the newspaper that published the plans, following a contest for an easy-to-build, inexpensive iceboat of minimum size. The design - 12 feet long, 62 square feet of sail, single-handed - has become the world standard for racing. The only significant inhibiting factor that keeps an iceboat from accelerating steadily until it reaches the speed of light and disappears into a time warp is what aeronautical engineers call drag. Drag builds with speed through a liquid or gaseous medium. It is the negative force that acts on the trailing edge of any surface, be it a car or a falling rock. Streamlining reduces drag. Even the most perfect airfoil, however, is subject to drag. When drag builds to the point that it equals the forward thrust, the iceboat has reached terminal velocity. It can't go any faster. What is intriguing to soft-water sailors is that on ice this natural speed limit is so much higher than in water. Even for a little DN, this may be as high as 80 or 90 mph, which, when one is skimming along on one's back only inches over the ice, gives an illusion of speed that transcends the supersonic, many times the six-mile distance. But the speed is real. Races, which begin with a running start, are three times up and down a mile-long course, set by a single leeward and windward mark. That is six miles by the tape, but a race may be over in minutes, even though the boats, dashing out on wide tacks, upwind and down, will cover many times the six-mile distance. If you enjoyed this post and would like to support more history blog content, please make a donation to the Hudson River Maritime Museum or become a member today!
|
AuthorThis blog is written by Hudson River Maritime Museum staff, volunteers and guest contributors. Archives
February 2025
Categories
All
|
GET IN TOUCH
Hudson River Maritime Museum
50 Rondout Landing Kingston, NY 12401 845-338-0071 [email protected] Contact Us |
GET INVOLVEDRESEARCH
|
stay connectedABOUT
|