The Curse of the Lakes

Huron. Ontario. Michigan. Superior. Erie. The Five Great Lakes. Their glistening waters beckon boaters, fishermen and swimmers on those warm summer days when the sun is just right. But don't let them fool you. The shimmering Great Lakes harbor secrets-deadly secrets. Over the past 300 years, they've claimed thousands of ships and countless more men. Many consumed by the legendary Witch of November.

Collisions, explosions, and fires have all caused shipwrecks on the Great Lakes, but it's the sudden, lethal storms that are most feared. Measured only by their wind speed, gales are declared when winds are clocked between thirty-nine and fifty-four miles per hour (mph). Gales with greater wind speeds are upgraded to storms-the highest rating given on the lakes. Since 1835, twenty such storms with winds blowing more than seventy-three mph have wreaked havoc across the lakes, with the fiercest one gauged at 103 mph. In the oceans, they would have been classed as hurricanes, but on the Great Lakes, they are simply storms, no matter how deadly they turn. Nineteen of these twenty tempests battered the lakes during November--the month the sailors call cursed.

Almost 150 years ago, The Keystone State fell victim to November's wrath. At approximately 300 feet long and thirty-four feet wide, she was one of the largest ships on the lakes. Her exact age has been disputed over the years, but sailors reported that she was in desperate need of repair when she disappeared during a wicked winter storm that roared across Lake Huron on November 9, 1861. Since she carried no lifeboats, all thirty-three people on board were lost. Ten days later some of her wreckage washed ashore. The great ship herself has never been found and, with no survivors or witnesses, exactly what happened to the Keystone State remains unknown. She is believed to rest at the tip of Michigan's 'thumb'.

In 1883, Captain John McKay was one of the most respected skippers on Lake Superior. He commanded the Manistee, a passenger and freight steamer that traveled the 150 mile route between Duluth, Minnesota and Houghton, Michigan. Built in 1867, and completely overhauled twelve years later, she was one of the oldest steamers still sailing the lakes. On November 10th, McKay and his crew left Duluth traveling toward Houghton when they encountered a blinding snowstorm. The captain wisely headed for the closest harbor at Bayfield, Wisconsin to wait out the storm. Five days later, with the weather still raging, McKay inexplicably set sail. Perhaps it was pressure from the ship's owners or the impatience of his passengers. Maybe he was simply misinformed about the weather. Whatever the reason, his judgement proved fatal. The Manistee never made it to Houghton as Lake Superior claimed her. After several days of drifting in the violent, freezing waters, a lifeboat carrying three of her crew washed ashore. The survivors described the high seas and strong southwest winds that tore their ship apart sweeping all of the other lifeboats away. They spoke of McKay who gallantly declared: "I am captain of this boat, and if she is a coffin for anybody, she will be my coffin." The Manistee served as a coffin, not just for McKay, but twenty-two others as well. The following spring, the steamer's wreckage washed ashore all along the Wisconsin and Michigan coastlines.

The Clemson passed through the Soo Locks in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan the morning of November 30, 1908. She disappeared that same day as she headed north straight into a winter gale taking twenty-four men with her. Wearing a life preserver, the lone body of watchman Simon Dunn washed ashore eighteen miles west of Whitefish Point. Sometime later, pieces of the ship's cabin, hatch covers and three more bodies were found as rescue workers combed the shores between Grand Marais and Whitefish Point in Michigan's upper peninsula. What really happened to the Clemson remains unclear. Her hatch covers may have failed during the winter gale allowing water to flood the holds or she may have actually broken in two. The only sure thing is that she sank without warning trapping most of her crew inside.

Sometimes, the Witch of November isn't satisfied with just one wreck. She wants more. The Great Storm of 1913 raged over four days beginning on November 11th. When the storm finally ended, twenty ships had gone down and dozens more were badly damaged. Casualties exceeded 250. One of the lost ships was the Regina. Built in 1907, she sank at the south end of Lake Huron with twenty men on board. Her wreck was discovered in 1985 and has since become a favorite diving spot. Local diver, Mark Hurst, has made three trips down to the Regina. "She's eerie," he says as he describes how she lies upside down, partially crushed, eighty feet below the surface, "You can see the old equipment--her deck cranes and winches. You can look in her portholes." An eerie feeling indeed.

More recently, the Carl D. Bradley, a steel freighter, sank in Lake Michigan during a deadly storm on November 18, 1958. The Bradley ran into 60 mph winds barely giving the crew enough time to radio for help. In Charlevoix, Michigan, a radio operator on duty that day remembered their call: "Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!…We are in serious trouble!…The ship is breaking up!" The Coast Guard launched a major sea and air search. Fourteen hours later, two crewmen were found floating on an open life raft. Ironically, one of them, First Mate Elmer Fleming, had made the call for help. He later explained that he had been working in the pilothouse when he heard a loud thud and the sound of an alarm bell, "I spun around and looked back aft down the deck. I saw the stern of the boat was sagging and knew we were in trouble." He quickly sent the distress signal, and then went on deck. The ship rolled tossing him into the water miraculously alongside the raft. Three other sailors managed to climb aboard.

Fleming described the nightmare that unfolded before them as the Bradley battled thirty-foot waves, "We looked back at the ship and saw the stern go straight down. There was an explosion when the last part of the stern went under." Two of the four survivors were lost that night when their raft flipped over bringing to thirty-three the total number of men who perished with their ship.

Eight years later, the Daniel J. Morrell disappeared without a word in the early hours of November 28, 1966 while heading north on Lake Huron. Two days later, a body was found wearing a life jacket bearing the name, Morrell. That same day, a Coast Guard helicopter spotted a life raft that had washed up on shore just south of Harbor Beach. Four men were on it, but only one was alive. Dennis Hale, a twenty-six year old watchman, was the sole survivor of the Morrell. He described how the ship broke in two clean across the middle during a violent storm. It was later determined that the electrical cables snapped and with no emergency back up power, it was impossible for the crew to signal for help.

The Edmund Fitzgerald was the largest freighter ever lost on the Great Lakes. She went down on November 10, 1975, seventeen miles northwest of Whitefish Point, taking all twenty-nine men with her. Bound for Detroit, The Fitzgerald left Superior, Wisconsin on the afternoon of November 9th, carrying 26,000 tons of iron ore. Following about fifteen miles behind the Fitzgerald was the Arthur M. Anderson. At 7:00 p.m., a gale warning was issued for the lake and as the hours passed, the weather worsened dramatically. The Soo Locks shut down reporting winds of almost 100 mph. In radio contact, the Fitzgerald and the Anderson decided to head for the safety of Whitefish Point. At 3:10 p.m. on the afternoon of November 10th, Captain McSorley of the Fitz radioed Captain Cooper. "Anderson, this is the Fitzgerald. I have a fence rail down, two vents lost or damaged, and a list…Will you stay by me 'til I get to Whitefish Point?"

About an hour later, the Fitzgerald reported that the treacherous winds had snapped their radar antenna and the ship was sailing blind. That evening, the Anderson contacted the Fitz inquiring about their condition. McSorley reported, "We're holding our own."

Minutes later, the Edmund Fitzgerald completely disappeared from radar. Several ships in the area, including the Anderson, braved the raging storm in the hopes of saving the distressed freighter, but the Fitzgerald had vanished. The next day, parts of her surfaced-including pieces of her lifeboats. Four days after she sank, sonar detected the wreck. Somehow, the ship had broken in two and her bow plummeted 535 feet to the bottom of Lake Superior causing her to snap in half. Her stern rolled over and came to rest upside down on top of the ship's midsection. The Edmund Fitzgerald sank leaving no survivors and no witnesses. She remains one of the lakes' greatest modern mysteries immortalized by Gordon Lightfoot's ballad, "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald."

On those warm summer days when the lakes want to play, it's hard to imagine the Witch of November and her wrath. But she shows no mercy and grants no favors. Taking what she wants with a vengeance, she keeps secrets about her dead. Her ruthless nature strikes fear in the bravest of sailors. Superstition? Maybe, but the fact remains that many a ship and her crew have been lost when the Witch of November emerges.