The Wreck of the Emily G. Reed

In the town of Rockaway Beach, buried beneath the sand, rests the broken skeleton of a wooden barque called the Emily G. Reed. Over a hundred years ago, in 1908, she foundered in a storm and broke up, the pieces of her hull scattered from the north jetty to just south of St. Mary’s By the Sea, the local Catholic church. Most of the time her timbers remain hidden under the deep sand, and tourists play unknowingly upon the ship’s grave, but every once in a great while the forces of nature shift the sands and the old boards again appear.

The Oregon coast is home to many shipwrecks, and each has its story, but few can equal the drama in that of the Emily Reed. It began early on a Valentine’s Day morning, not long after midnight. Captain Kersel was endeavoring to sight Tillamook Rock in his journey northward from Australia to Portland with a load of coal. For several days the weather had been heavy, and he had to put much reliance on his chronometer, making mathematical computations to determine the longitude.

But then came the terrible realization: the chronometer was wrong. The ship was too far to the east, almost in the breakers. But this realization came too late. “We had scarcely a minute’s warning of breakers before the shock came,” recalled one of the survivors. The Emily Reed hit the beach bow on, and immediately began to break up. The first mate, Fred Zube, was forward, calling all hands on deck. The captain, his wife, and some of the crew were aft when the jolt came. A huge wave washed over the bow, smashing one of the lifeboats. Seamen Abilstedt and Jahunke, as well as the cook, whose name no one seems to have known, “came tumbling out of the forecastle with scarcely any clothing on their backs.” The three of them, led by Fred Zube, were unable to get to the other end of the ship, and their end was deep in churning water, so they quickly jumped into the remaining lifeboat and cut the lashings. Captain Kersel and the others, clinging to the roof of the aft-house, watched as a huge wave broke, and the lifeboat disappeared.

After witnessing this calamity, the captain ordered those who were with him to stay on the wreck until daylight broke. As the sea calmed, he sent his wife below, but he himself remained on the poop. When daylight came, low tide came with it. Some of the crew decided to see if they could swim ashore, first tying a rope to the wreckage. When they jumped overboard, they discovered that they could touch bottom and simply walk to land. The captain, his wife, his second mate, and the three other seamen who had survived all waded to shore.

Captain Kersel then had the sad duty of reporting the deaths of his crew. It was a long list, and most newspapers carried the headline “Eleven Lives Lost,” though, if the cook’s name were truly unknown, it seems the number was actually twelve:

First Mate Fred Zube (or Dubie)

Ship’s Carpenter Westlund

Seaman Sortzeit

Seaman Johnson

Seaman Dickson

Seaman Darling

Seaman Cohenstad

Seaman Gilbert

Seaman Ewald Abilstedt

Seaman Arthur Jahunke

Cabin Boy Hirschfeld

The cook

But then, three days after the wreck, in Neah Bay, Washington, nearly two hundred miles to the north, someone aboard the sloop Teckla heard by a feeble hail. The crew looked out and saw a steel lifeboat slowly drawing near. There were four figures in the boat, three just barely alive and one dead. Their tongues were so swollen from thirst that they could scarcely articulate. But after some much-needed food and drink, the leader of these men was able to tell his story.

They were, in fact, from the wreck of the Emily Reed, the lifeboat which the captain and the others had thought to be swamped. The wave, instead of swamping them, had swept the lifeboat to sea. They were alive, but without supplies. They had no food, no water, and only one oar. Fred Zube had a broken arm. A biting wind blew most of the time, and we know that Abilstedt, Jahunke, and the cook were barely dressed. The boat had been banged around in the wreckage, and had been punctured in several places, and the men had nothing with which to bale out the water.

They wore out their knives cutting away a compartment built into the boat, but once they wrenched it off they were able to use it as a baler. They set their course, clumsily managed with the single oar, away from shore, hoping to fall into the shipping lanes and thereby meet a steamship. The shore on this part of the coast they thought to be “desolate,” which wasn’t exactly true, but wasn’t much of an exaggeration, either.

On the second night, they saw lights on the shore, but it was too dark to chance venturing in. The cook declared he couldn’t stand the thirst anymore, and he took a drink of seawater. It was not long before he became delirious and lay down in the water at the bottom of the lifeboat.

The next morning, jubilation! There was a big steamer, and she stopped near them. One of the men shook the cook awake. “Don’t you want to be saved?” he asked, pointing to the steamer. The cook stood up, watching the ship. But apparently it had not seen them after all, for it was soon under weigh again. This seemed to break the cook’s spirit, and within a half hour he was dead.

The Tattoosh Island lighthouse appeared in the distance a few hours later, and they drew together their strength to steer the boat into the bay. “Sunday seemed the worst day we were out. We kept seeing all sorts of vessels passing back and forth but none of them would answer our hail. We were generally too far off to be made out plainly, I guess,” said Fred Zube. That is, until they finally met up with the Teckla.

With this news, the death toll of the wreck of the Emily Reed dropped from twelve to nine. Few people had seen the wreck, the area being largely uninhabited, but one Elmer D. Allen later described it thus: “Among the last of the proud, old sailing ships, she lay fast in the sand, broken in two with a pile of coal two stories high; masts, spars and sails toppled and her cargo of coal dumped to the center holding firmly the fore and aft. The beach was strewn with wreckage and coal.”

The area where it had met its fate, known at the time as Garibaldi Beach, soon changed its name to Rockaway, and settlers began to swarm in. The wreck on the beach awaited them, with its wealth of salvage. The pioneers stripped it of its copper, selling it for scrap, and after each storm collected the coal that washed up. The sands eventually crept over the old wreck, hiding it from view most of the time, but even today residents will sometimes find coal after a storm.

 

  

A few weeks ago the Emily Reed made one of its rare appearances, for only the third time within my memory. I took the opportunity to make the drive to the beach and take the pictures featured on this page, and the occasion became a spontaneous family reunion! My parents were there, and my uncle and aunt also drove down to see the reclusive shipwreck.

Selected Sources:

“Disastrous Shipwreck,” The Argus, 19 Feb 1908, p. 7, col. 8; digital images, Trove (http://trove.nla.gov.au/ : accessed 2 Apr 2017), Newspapers: The Argus (Melbourne, Vic.: 1848-1957).

“Eleven Lost on Emily Reed,” The Spokesman-Review, 15 Feb 1908, p. 17, col. 1; digital images, Google News (https://news.google.com/ : accessed 2 Apr 2017), The Spokesman-Review: Jun 16, 1889-Dec 31, 2007.

“Emily Reed Disaster,” The Sydney Morning Herald, 11 Jun 1908, p. 8, col. 6; digital images, Trove (http://trove.nla.gov.au/ : accessed 2 Apr 2017), Newspapers: The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW: 1842-1954).

“Perils of the Sea,” Barrier Miner, 6 Apr 1908, p. 6, col. 6; digital images, Trove (http://trove.nla.gov.au/ : accessed 2 Apr 2017), Newspapers: Barrier Miner (Broken Hill, NSW: 1888-1954).

Lori Tobias, “Shifting sands reveal 102-year-old shipwreck off Rockaway Beach,” The Oregonian, 29 Dec 2010, online archives at OregonLive (http://www.oregonlive.com/pacific-northwest-news/index.ssf/2010/12/shifting_sands_reveal_102-year-old_shipwreck_off_rockaway_beach.html : accessed 2 Apr 2017).

“Survivors of the Emily Reed,” Lewiston Evening Journal, 18 Feb 1908, p. 1, col. 5; digital images, Google News (https://news.google.com/ : accessed 2 Apr 2017), Lewiston Evening Journal: Apr 20, 1861-Jul 26, 1980.

 

Amanuensis Monday: Soil Stabilization District

This week I am transcribing an article which touches only briefly on my family history. Instead, my interest in the article stems more from a familiarity with the geographical area and its history.

First, the family history portion: Walter Underwood is stated to be the president of the Netarts and Oceanside Community club. I am not certain at this time whether it is Walter Underwood, Sr., my great-grandfather, or Walter Underwood, Jr., his son, but it is one or the other. They both had homes in Netarts.

The beach at Netarts, looking toward Happy Camp, August 2015

Group Urges Soil District

NETARTS, March 30. (Special)—Members of the Netarts and Oceanside Community club expressed a desire at a meeting of the club here this week for a soil stabilization district to extend from the one recently organized in the Sandlake area, north along the coast and taking in Bayocean.

With considerable sliding along the coast line, including extensive erosion on the Bayocean peninsula, it was felt a soil stabilization district is needed. Mich Provo, Netarts; Robert Brady, Oceanside; Bob Watkins, Bayocean, and Walter Underwood, Netarts, president of the club, were chosen to look into the matter of getting a soil stabilization district established.

Developments in the Cape Lookout area, including a state park under development, also were discussed. Mrs. Robert Brady of Oceanside was elected secretary to complete the unexpired term of Quentin Terry, Oceanside, who resigned from the office.

The article mentions “extensive erosion on the Bayocean peninsula,” which makes anyone with a knowledge of Bayocean history nod sagely. The town of Bayocean no longer exists. It was founded as a vacation resort town, but the building of a new jetty on only one side of the bar caused a change in the ocean currents, and the town was eaten by the sea.

At the time that this article was published, the natatorium had already been swallowed, but some buildings yet remained. The town was still a town, albeit a suffering one. The worst was yet to come. Eventually every building would fall, and the spit on which the town had been built would become an island.

Today, the spit has been reestablished as a spit due to the building of a second jetty, which caused the sands to re-accumulate. It is again connected to the mainland, but its glorious past is long gone. The only building on it now is an outhouse for the convenience of boaters and those who come to walk or ride their bikes up its single gravel road. It is now a county park, closed to vehicular traffic.

Walking down Bayocean Spit, August 2012

I also find the mention of “developments in the Cape Lookout area, including a state park under development” to be interesting. Nearly every summer a large group of friends and I enjoy the campground at that state park and hike the trail that runs to the bluff. It seems almost strange to realize that the park was still new in 1940.

The beach at Cape Lookout State Park one misty July morning, also in 2012

Citation:

“Group Urges Soil District,” The Oregonian, 31 Mar 1940, p. 26, col. 4; digital images, America’s GenealogyBank (http://www.genealogybank.com/ : accessed 23 Jun 2012), Historical Newspapers.

A Vision for the Garibaldi Smokestack

The Garibaldi Smokestack in April 2013

Imagine: an approximately 200-foot tall historic smokestack, the centerpiece of a small bayside nature park, complete with informative interpretive signs describing the history (both human and natural) of the area. Over here are some picnic tables, and over there perhaps a bird watching platform, and off that way are a few rustic campsites. This is part of the vision that my dad and I put together when we read in a recent issue of Tillamook county’s Headlight Herald that the iconic smokestack on Garibaldi’s waterfront is in danger of demolition.

It came as no surprise to us that the Garibaldi city council has been advised that the stack has “started to disintegrate and has become a safety hazard”; we’ve been observing its deterioration for decades (Wrabek A1). But a spark of hope was kindled when I read that “councilor John Foulk suggested fiberglassing the smokestack, as was reportedly done with the Astoria Column,” and I was not altogether disheartened at the suggestion put forth by others to demolish only a part of the stack and leave a portion standing (Wrabek A3). Moreover, the article reports that the property owner has offered to donate the stack and a small piece of the surrounding land to the city.

These possibilities got me envisioning what a lovely little park could be created around the smokestack. The article does not state how much land is included in the offer, but I think that our ideas could be adjusted to fit a smaller or larger park. If the city council were to put together a cohesive plan and explain the long-term vision, perhaps they could even raise the money to purchase more land, little by little, or come to an agreement with the property owner.

Naturally, our fondest hopes are that the smokestack might be saved, but the next-best option would be to preserve a portion of it. Even, if worst came to worst, just the remaining foundation could become an attraction. As suggested above, the smokestack (or its remains) would be the centerpiece of the park, with a series of interpretive signs or a kiosk explaining the history of the place. I thought that, given the historical value of the structure, it might be beneficial for the city to partner with the Garibaldi Historical Museum, which stands only a block or so down, on the other side of the highway. Perhaps the park could even be used as an extension of the museum. In fact, if a proposed Miami Cove shoreline trail goes through (see Garibaldi Connections Project), the locations could make a very interesting and appealing complex.

Dreaming even bigger, my dad tells me that a bike route has been proposed along the railroad tracks through Rockaway Beach. If that route were to be continued south through Garibaldi, a park by the smokestack could easily become a nice stopover for bicyclists riding down the Oregon coast. A campsite or two, with a drop-box for fees and donations toward maintenance, might be able to fit in a corner of our imagined park. Although the camp would be primitive, the view would be ample consolation.

The smokestack was built in 1927, the same year that the Hammond-Tillamook Lumber Co. took over the mill from the Whitney Co. Prior to that, two relatively short metal smokestacks served the mill. A photo printed in Jack L. Graves’ book “Now” Never Lasts shows the smoke-enveloped town, virtually invisible through the haze. Clearly the situation was far from ideal. It was decided that a taller chimney was needed to lift the smoke above the city and thereby improve air quality. The result was the now-beloved landmark. Originally built at a height of 225 feet, some of its height has been lost due to removal and deterioration, but it remains one of the tallest manmade structures on the Oregon coast (Graves 201).

Looking across Miami Cove at the smokestack and the Big G on the hill in the distance. Picture taken in April 2013.

Sources:

 

Garibaldi Connections Project Design Action Team. “Garibaldi Connections Project.” City of Garibaldi. Oregon Coastal Futures Project, Feb 2006. Web. Accessed 10 Apr 2013.

Graves, Jack L. “Now” Never Lasts. Bend: Maverick Publications, Inc., 1995. Print.

Wrabek, Joe. “No more smokestack?” Headlight Herald [Tillamook]. 27 Mar 2013: A1 & A3. Print.

A Little Netarts News

Last weekend I finally had an opportunity to spend a little bit of time at the Tillamook Library and go through a few historical issues of the local paper, the Headlight Herald, on microfilm. The purpose of my visit was to find obituaries or death notices for two of my family members who had resided in Tillamook county: “Aunt Sadie,” the sister of my great-grandfather, and “Uncle Alvy,” her second husband. Someday I will go back and look for more references to them and to my great-grandparents, but on this trip my time was limited. Since the newspaper is unindexed, I decided to stick to events for which I already had a definite date.

My results were not obituaries, but rather news briefs in “Netarts News,” the section devoted to the comings and goings of residents and visitors within the town of Netarts. Each community had its own section, and the tradition continues today (somewhat modified) in the Headlight Herald’s “Fencepost” columns. I printed out three of these “Netarts News” articles, and because they contain references not only to Aunt Sadie and Uncle Alvy but also to a number of other people, it seemed a good idea to share my results.

My first inclination was to retype and post the entire articles so that search engines could help find your ancestor’s name and you could see the reference with little trouble. However, in such a recent date as 1949 I believe I run afoul of copyright law. Therefore I will have to be satisfied with a list of names, and if you find a name of interest, you can either contact me or go to Tillamook yourself to see the article firsthand.

Unfortunately, I was in a bit of a rush when I found these articles, and neglected to note the page number. If you are at the Tillamook Library or Pioneer Museum looking through the microfilm for these specific articles, they should still be fairly easy to find. Just look for the “Netarts News” heading. It is always grouped with some of the other local news columns.

But enough preamble—you want to see the lists of names.

The first article I printed out, found in the 3 Mar 1949 issue, contains the nearest thing to an obituary that I have found for “Uncle Alvy,” whose real name was Walter Alvah MASON.  It mentions by name his wife, Sadie; his daughter Norma BURD; his “foster son,” Wallace KING; his “foster daughter,” Ilean NEILSON; and his sister Mrs. Laura HALE. A few paragraphs later, Mr. and Mrs. Ernest CROSS, Mrs. SCHOENBORN, and Mr. and Mrs. Frank CROSS are identified as coming into town for the funeral.

Other names found in the 3 Mar 1949 “Netarts News” are:

B. ALWINGER and son Leonard

Mr. and Mrs. Jack ARPS of Helena, Montana

Mrs. Betty BOTCHECK and daughter Martha

Mr. and Mrs. Austin BOWEN and Birdie

Mr. and Mrs. James BROWN

Miss Donna CORNETT

Mr. and Mrs. Ted CORNETT

Joan EARL

Mr. and Mrs. Clarence EDNER

Mr. and Mrs. Robert EDNER and their daughter Lynda of Portland

Harvey EVERHART of Aurora

P. D. GENY of Willamina

Mr. and Mrs. George HANSON of Portland

Mr. and Mrs. James HILFERTY

Mrs. JAGER of Portland

Mr. and Mrs. J. F. “Monte” JAGER

Mr. and Mrs. John JEANS and daughter Mary Sue of Palo Alto, California

Mr. and Mrs. Carl JENSEN of Gervais

Mr. and Mrs. Homer JOHNSON

Mr. and Mrs. Al KRENZ

Mr. and Mrs. Ed LAURS

Miss Carol LOOP

Mr. and Mrs. Ben MALKSON

Miss Sharon MALLOTT

Mr. and Mrs. MILLER and son Howard of Portland

Mr. and Mrs. C. J. OWEN of Portland

Mr. and Mrs. Laurance RICE

Mr. and Mrs. W. H. SOUSA

The second article is from the 3 Nov 1949 edition of the Headlight Herald, and reports the news that Sadie MASON is in the hospital. Actually, she had passed away on 1 Nov, two days before the release of this issue. However, as the Headlight Herald was, and continues to be, a weekly newspaper, the deadlines for columns arrive a few days before the release of the paper and therefore cannot be up to the minute. No longer residing in Netarts since the death of her husband, Sadie is identified as “sister of Walter UNDERWOOD.”

Other names found in the 3 Nov 1949 “Netarts News” are:

Mr. and Mrs. B. ALWINGER

Austin BOWEN

Mr. and Mrs. George COFFMAN

Donna CORNETT

Mr. and Mrs. John CORNETT

Ted CORNETT

David, small son of Mr. and Mrs. C. DeVRIE

Mrs. A. D. FISHER

Mr. and Mrs. Wayne GLENN and son Stanley

Mr. and Mrs. Earl GROSHONG

Mrs. ISHAIA (of Oregon City?)

Mrs. JACK (of Oregon City?)

Mrs. Nellie JOHNSON of Oregon City

Dee LUCKY

Jack MADISON

Jim MEANS of Portland

Mr. and Mrs. Ronald SALING and children

The following week, 10 Nov 1949, brought us the third and final article that I printed out, and which reports the death of Sadie MASON. Unfortunately, when setting the microfilm reader for printing I cropped too closely in and only part of the article is visible. My list of names on this one will be incomplete. Two of the names (noted in parentheses) are found in the paragraph that I cut off.

Other names found in the 10 Nov 1949 “Netarts News” are:

Mrs. COOK

Mr. and Mrs. Ernest CROSS

Mr. and Mrs. Clare EDNER (incomplete)

Mrs. Harry GROSHONG (incomplete)

B.C. KING

Mr. and Mrs. R. C. KING

Ernest PALINSKA and brother of Stanford, Conn.

Mrs. PALINSKA and baby

Mrs. Laura POLLOCK of Portland

Mrs. Caroline WELLMAN

If your ancestor is included in one of the above lists of names, the reference could be as mundane as “So-and-so was visiting such-and-such a place last week” or “So-and-so was a guest at this party.” It could also be as genealogically helpful as “So-and-so, who used to live in Netarts with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. This-name when they were doing this business, and now lives in such-and-such a place, was visiting These People.”

Sources:

“Netarts News.” Headlight Herald [Tillamook] 3 Mar 1949. Microfilm.

“Netarts News.” Headlight Herald [Tillamook] 3 Nov 1949. Microfilm.

“Netarts News.” Headlight Herald [Tillamook] 10 Nov 1949. Microfilm.