Stranded

by Aaron Saunders

  On board the Princess Sophia darkness was becoming a common theme, enveloping the corridors and public bathrooms and making the ship’s interior staterooms on the awning deck impossible to be in for any length of time. Moving between decks was still easy to do; Princess Sophia’s forward grand staircase was topped with an oversized skylight that illuminated much of the forward parts of the promenade and awning decks. But in less than three hours what little light remained outside would be gone. The thought of spending another evening on the darkened ship, twisting and wrenching in the storm, was probably more than most could bear to think about. Passengers congregated in the observation lounge and smoking room to be near the large picture windows that lined the walls. Some passengers who were lucky enough to have cabins with windows or portholes retreated inside them, eager to be near natural light and out of the ship’s darkened interior passageways. Deep within the bowels of the ship, the three-man engineering team worked in near-total darkness to restore the ship’s electrical power. The men wished they had the help of First Engineer Archibald Alexander, who had missed the voyage at the last minute to be with his sick children in Victoria.

  Around 4:00 p.m., on board the Cedar, Captain Leadbetter poked his head into the wireless room to ask operator Elwood Miller if he’d heard from the Princess Sophia recently. Miller hadn’t, and tried unsuccessfully to raise the ship. Miller didn’t think much of the unanswered wire; he told Captain Leadbetter than Princess Sophia’s wireless operator, David Robinson, had messaged him a few hours earlier about having a lie-down until conditions moderated. Elwood assumed that Robinson was still sleeping. With the daylight hours quickly drawing to a close, Leadbetter needed to know what the plan of action was. He had wireless operator Miller continue to try to contact the Princess Sophia.

  Captain James Miller from the King & Winge was on board the Cedar as Elwood Miller, no relation, tried to hail the Princess Sophia. A short message finally came through, around 4:30 p.m., from Captain Locke, stating that everything was all right on board the ship. Miller was swinging his legs over the side of the ship to get into his boat and head back to the King & Winge when the message arrived. Captain Leadbetter, looking down at Miller from the deck of the Cedar, shrugged and told Miller that Locke said everything was all right on board the stricken ship. It seemed like more of a question than a statement. Leadbetter’s black officer’s greatcoat was becoming crusted with snow even as he spoke, and the wind whipped painfully at his face.

  In his boat, Captain Miller grabbed the oars. He nodded his assent to Leadbetter, agreeing that in all likelihood those aboard the Princess Sophia were in no immediate danger, other than the somewhat uncomfortable prospect of having to spend a second night on board the ship as she twisted and groaned on the reef. Neither man said anything else; in all likelihood, with the snow swirling around them and the weather continuing to deteriorate even in their sheltered cove, both were probably uncertain as to what “all right” really meant. With a wave to Captain Leadbetter, Captain Miller began to row himself back to the King & Winge. As he did, he could hear the Cedar’s cook ring the dinner bell. It echoed off the land around them and reverberated into the growing darkness.

  At 4:50 p.m. the wireless waves suddenly crackled with a staccato burst of noise on board the Cedar. David Robinson, wireless operator aboard the Princess Sophia, was urgently tapping out a message. It was notable for both its brevity and its urgent, pleading tone:

  FOR GOD’S SAKE HURRY; WE ARE FOUNDERING ON REEF.[19]

  On board the Cedar, wireless operator Miller jumped out of his chair and raced to the bridge, where he relayed the message to Captain Leadbetter. “I hauled my anchor up and asked Captain Locke to put some lights out, or sound his whistle, if possible, so as to give me the location of the reef so I could find him,” said Leadbetter. “We got no answer that he received that message.”[20]

  On the King & Winge, Captain Miller was just stepping on board when he heard two sharp blasts from the Cedar’s whistle. He turned his head, but could not see the ship due to the snow and fog. Why is she raising her anchors? he wondered.

  Her anchor had barely cleared the water’s surface when the Cedar began to move forward. Captain Leadbetter brought his ship alongside the King & Winge and asked them via megaphone to begin manoeuvring to the wreck as soon as the weather allowed. It was a startling turn of events from the conversation the two captains had shared barely twenty minutes earlier. On the deck of the King & Winge, Captain Miller replied that he would relieve the Cedar in one hour. With the storm intensifying by the minute, neither of the men could afford to take any chances.

  Half an hour had passed since they received the initial SOS from the Princess Sophia, and Captain Leadbetter drove his ship full speed through the worsening storm, which had turned into a full-on blizzard. The heavy seas were making it difficult to keep the Cedar on a straight course. Snow obscured Leadbetter’s view as it raced across the windows of his wheelhouse. Although he was steaming past Sentinel Island as quickly as he could, Leadbetter himself would later admit that the storm was already wreaking havoc. “It was impossible to hear the fog signal on Sentinel Island,” he would later say, “or see the light.”[21] The experienced mariner guessed he was between five hundred yards (an eighth of a mile) off the island, but had no way of knowing for sure. At that moment he couldn’t even see the bow. Still, he commanded his ship on through the night. “I could not tell or state just how far we had run, or what my position was, and I could not see anything or hear anything.”[22]

  At 5:20 p.m., another frantic message came from the Princess Sophia:

  FOR GOD’S SAKE HURRY, THE WATER IS COMING INTO MY ROOM.[23]

  There was more to the message, but it was garbled and cut off. Tossed around by the heavy seas, Elwood Miller tapped away at his key in the wireless room on board the Cedar, reassuring Robinson on the Princess Sophia that they were coming to their aid. “I talked to the operator for a few minutes on his battery until it went weak,” Miller would later say. “I told him not to say anything more, only what was absolutely necessary, and to save his battery.”[24] A weak, garbled signal came back from the Princess Sophia:

  ALRIGHT, I WILL, BUT YOU TALK TO ME SO I KNOW YOU ARE COMING.[25]

  For such a simple message, it carried a tremendous amount of weight. Elwood Miller could practically taste David Robinson’s fear. Miller quickly responded, once again assuring the Princess Sophia’s wireless operator that they were steaming to the scene as fast as they could.

  He waited for a response. It never came.

  0143 HRS, JUNE 23, 1995

  ON BOARD STAR PRINCESS IN LYNN CANAL, NEAR POUNDSTONE ROCK

  Asleep in his berth, Relief Alaska State Pilot Ronald Kutz was jolted awake at 01:42. He felt the floor of his stateroom shake and rattle, almost as if the ship had struck a rogue wave. Realizing something was amiss, he sat up in bed and quickly dressed. In mere minutes he stepped out of his stateroom door into the brightly lit corridor. Running on adrenaline, he made his way to the navigation bridge.

  Pilot Kutz wasn’t alone. The grounding had awakened Star Princess’s master, Emanuele Chiesa, along with the other deck officers, the chief engineer, and the assistant engineer. Captain Chiesa immediately emerged onto the bridge, where Pilot Nerup informed him that the vessel had struck Poundstone Rock. Without being told to, the chief engineer and assistant engineer simultaneously made their way to the engine room to await further orders, in keeping with the emergency procedures that have been established by Princess Cruises.

  Captain Chiesa quickly assessed the situation. During the minutes immediately following the collision, Star Princess had lost a substantial portion of her forward momentum. Dropping to a speed of just barely 3.5 knots, the ship had also run off course and was drifting on a heading of 150°T. Following orders, the helmsman immediately brought the ship around to 155°T to straighten her out, and her speed was doubled. Propellers churning in the ink-black water, the Star Princess slowly increased her
speed to 7.6 knots.

  At 01:43 Pilot Nerup radioed the United States Coast Guard to advise them of the grounding. Less than a minute later, the Fair Princess finally passed the Star Princess on her port side. Fair Princess was roughly half a mile off the Star Princess, but no one on the bridge team seemed to care. Instead, Captain Chiesa asked off-duty Pilot Ronald J. Kutz where the Star Princess could be beached to prevent her from sinking.

  It fell to the off-duty Pilot Kutz to deliver the crushing blow: the water in that part of Lynn Canal was too deep to beach the ship. Instead, Kutz recommended that Captain Chiesa sail for Auke Bay — some fourteen miles to the southeast of Poundstone Rock. There, she would be sheltered from any weather that should develop, and the shallow waters should prevent the vessel from foundering.

  With the decision to head to Auke Bay made, Captain Chiesa asked the staff captain to go sound the ship. The staff captain did so and reported that the ship was not taking on any water. Because of the force of the collision, Captain Chiesa was doubtful. He had the staff captain make a second, more thorough, inspection. This time, the report that came back was far from good: seawater was entering the ship’s double hull on the starboard side. Four tanks were flooding, and the ship’s starboard propeller shaft was losing lubrication oil.

  If he needed it, Captain Chiesa had plenty of help in the area. Within a fifteen-mile radius were five other cruise ships, including the Fair Princess, Glacier Bay Explorer, Golden Princess, Universe Explorer, and Norwegian Cruise Line’s Windward. Preferring to call on a company ship, Captain Chiesa radioed the Golden Princess and asked if they could come and rendezvous with his stricken vessel. Sailing south of the Star Princess on a northbound course, the Golden Princess agreed to meet up with Star Princess as soon as possible.

  At the same time, the first officer aboard Star Princess had determined that while the ship had taken on enough seawater to increase her draught by five inches she was not in any immediate danger of sinking. He reported his findings to Captain Chiesa, who made an announcement over the crew public address system at 01:55 to inform them of the situation.

  The master’s message was stern but clear: the ship had hit an obstruction in the water, but the situation was not all that serious. Still, he advised the crew to remain calm and at the ready, and he urged them to stay awake in order to listen for further updates on the condition of the vessel.

  He also imparted one final piece of information: while the vast majority of the Star Princess passengers were asleep, a few remained up in the ship’s public rooms and lounges. Captain Chiesa told the crew that if they encountered any guests up and about, they were to quietly advise them of the current situation.[1] Not wanting to unnecessarily alarm the guests with a situation he felt he had under control, Captain Chiesa decided not to make any announcements over the passenger public address system, nor did he activate the general emergency alarm. He was concerned that any announcement made shortly before two in the morning would unnecessarily alarm his passengers.[2] With the ship’s stability no longer in question and the Star Princess steaming for Auke Bay, Captain Chisea chose to keep his guests blissfully unaware.

  Still, Captain Chisea decided to prepare for any and all eventualities. To that end, he immediately ordered that the ship’s lifeboats be readied for possible launching. This involved swinging them out on their hydraulic davits and lowering them down to the promenade deck for possible embarkation. Captain Chisea knew each of the Schat-Harding lifeboats could accommodate one hundred and fifty guests apiece. Together with all the lifesaving apparatus on board, that was more than enough for every single passenger and crew member — if it came to that.

  Meanwhile, the officers on the bridge of Star Princess busied themselves with administrative work necessitated by the change of plans. Captain Chiesa requested and received permission from authorities in Juneau to proceed into Auke Bay. While the process had been greatly expedited, the navigation bridge was a flurry of activity. Every senior officer was awake and at their designated command post. Commands were being issued, phone calls made, faxes sent and received. What had been a serene wheelhouse just moments earlier became a crowded beehive of activity.

  Curiously absent from these proceedings was Alaska State Pilot Robert K. Nerup. The man who was largely responsible for the grounding faded into obscurity during the ensuing barrage of orders. His trust evaporated, Nerup went nearly unnoticed by every senior officer for the next several hours. At 02:30, a little over forty-five minutes after the collision, he was relieved by Pilot Ronald J. Kutz. Kutz had navigated in Auke Bay before; Robert Nerup had not.

  During the next hour, Star Princess sailed silently through the night. To the casual observer on deck, it would have only appeared as though the ship were sailing slightly slower than normal. Her deck lights still burned brightly and her passengers were, for the most part, asleep. In fact, the only sign of anything out of the ordinary was the lights of the Golden Princess, which were just visible in the distance off the side of the ship.

  At 03:30 Star Princess entered Auke Bay harbour. Located north of Juneau, not far from Juneau International Airport, Auke Bay is a sleepy little town that contains a handful of shops and restaurants, a single school, and the prerequisite church. Cruise ships of any size sailing into the harbour are an uncommon sight, but ships the size of Star Princess are positively unheard of. The only craft regularly seen are pleasure boats and the blue-and-white hulls of the Alaska State Ferries that tie up at the nearby terminal. The town’s residents would awake in a few hours to find their lazy seaside view had changed somewhat during the night.

  The sound of her anchors shattering the stillness of the night, Star Princess finally came to a stop in Auke Bay nearly two hours after the accident had occurred. The ship was still afloat, and Captain Chiesa allowed himself a small sigh of relief that they had reached Auke Bay and the relative safety of Juneau. Passengers would have to be offloaded and put up in hotels in Juneau — or even flown home — that much was clear. What remained unknown was exactly how much damage had been done to the ship’s hull. Clearly there had been a breach. The question was: how bad?

  At 04:37 the first underwater dive teams approached the Star Princess. Over the next two hours, until nearly seven in the morning, they meticulously inspected every inch of the hull from stem to stern. The prognosis was clear: Star Princess could be repaired, but she’d need to go into dry dock for more permanent repairs. That meant disembarking her current passengers and finding a suitable (and available) dry dock space farther south, either in Esquimalt, Vancouver, Seattle, or Portland.

  The damage to the hull was extensive. Both the keel and the double-bottomed hull had been impacted, the latter of which has suffered two tears from Poundstone Rock, each measuring eight inches wide and up to one hundred feet long, on the starboard side of the ship. Damage to the inner hull ran mainly along the centreline of the ship. Poundstone Rock evidently scraped and bounced its way along the length of the ship:

  Night falls on Juneau. Star Princess was bound here in 1995, destined to tie up at the docks at centre.

  blades from the ship’s starboard propeller sustained damage significant enough for them to need to be replaced. Star Princess carried a spare set of blades that could be attached, but the damage to the rest of the hull was so extensive that they could only be fitted once the ship arrived in dry dock. In all, twenty-two fuel tanks, ballast tanks, and cofferdams were damaged. There was also evidence that she had been leaking oil from her damaged fuel tanks, and within hours a containment boom was set up around her hull. A total of twenty litres, or five gallons, mixed in with the waters of Lynn Canal near Poundstone Rock.

  As the morning went on, passengers awoke to discover that the ship was not in Juneau as they had expected. Instead, they were nestled in a small cove with just a few buildings visible off in the distance. Unless they had visited Alaska before, few likely knew they were just a few miles north of Juneau. Here Captain Chiesa made a curious decision: despite t
he fact that regular services like breakfast began around six in the morning, he waited until 9:18 a.m. to broadcast an announcement over the ship’s public address system.[3] Nearly eight hours after the accident with Poundstone Rock, passengers learned of the situation on board — and that their voyage had come to an abrupt halt. Captain Chiesa knew that getting 1,568 passengers and their luggage off the vessel in a bay without an actual dock would be a challenge. Though he didn’t tell them this, it would take two full days to disembark every guest on board the Star Princess using the ship’s own tender boats and private launches.

  For the foreseeable future, the Star Princess’s 1995 season in Alaska had come to an unexpected close. On the evening of June 27, 1995, Star Princess raised her anchors and sailed without any guests out into the Pacific Ocean, bound for the shipyards in Portland, Oregon. She would not return to Alaska for nearly two months.

  5:20 P.M., FRIDAY, OCTOBER 25, 1918

  ABOARD STAR PRINCESS ON VANDERBILT REEF, ALASKA

  FOR GOD’S SAKE HURRY, THE WATER IS COMING INTO MY ROOM.[1]

  What happened in those final minutes aboard the Princess Sophia is anyone’s guess. Divers would later discover many of the victims clustered in the ship’s social hall, forward of the main staircase. Each wore their lifebelt, suspending them in one final dance, forever frozen in time. In fact, most who were recovered from inside the wreck were wearing their lifebelts. If orders hadn’t explicitly been given by Captain Locke, passengers took it upon themselves in their final moments to affix their lifebelts and gather their personal belongings.

  Some passengers were gathered in the ship’s public spaces when the end came. In the observation lounge Louise Davis stood alone while chaos ensued around her. A few either retreated to their staterooms, or were simply caught off guard and never had a chance to escape the rushing water as Princess Sophia slipped stern-first off Vanderbilt Reef. In Cabin 35 Sarah O’Brien was in the midst of comforting Ilene Winchell, who was travelling alone, when the ship shuddered violently and began her plunge.