Stranded (6 page)

By 7:00 p.m. most passengers were cleared to begin embarking the
Princess Sophia
. This was where Juneau Customs Collector John Pugh came in. He almost always went by Jack, and was both well-known and well-liked in Juneau, Skagway, and beyond. Enormously popular, he likely knew many of those embarking on
Princess Sophia
. With daylight now gone and the temperature dropping, the coolness of the October air nipped at Pugh as he went about his business, checking papers, and greeting old friends.

Before the ship could sail, one final very important piece of cargo had to be loaded. It was left until nearly the last moment, when the docks had been cleared and most of the guests had embarked. Few had seen it arrive; fewer still even knew of its presence on board the
Princess Sophia
.

The Wells Fargo Banking Company had been serving Alaskan communities since 1883, but in 1918 the United States government had taken control of the company's express service as a wartime measure. Wells Fargo, meanwhile, was in the midst of withdrawing their operations in Alaska to focus on their business farther south.
[10]
,
[11]
This could partly explain the presence on board
Princess Sophia
of a Wells Fargo safe containing $62,000 in gold bars
[12]
— roughly $960,000 in modern currency.
[13]
Because of its highly sensitive nature, it's likely that the safe was personally signed for by Purser Charles Beadle. Since the
Princess Sophia
lacked a dedicated specie room for valuable cargo, Beadle directed the safe to be placed in the ship's chart room, where gold had been stored on past voyages. Along with the safe, four additional bags of mail were also loaded on board the
Princess Sophia
. But these weren't filled with letters and Christmas toys for the kiddies; instead, they contained another $70,000 in gold. They were placed alongside the safe in the chart room, where the ship's officers could keep personal watch over such valuables.

With all the necessary cargo and provisions on board and the passengers gradually settling into their staterooms, things on board
Princess Sophia
were drawing to their inevitable conclusion as paperwork was wrapped up and well-wishes given. To prepare for departure from Skagway, Captain Locke had Chief Engineer Charles H. Walker bring up the steam in the ship's boilers. Walker was filling in for
Princess Sophia
's first engineer, Archibald Alexander, who was granted permission at the last minute to miss the roundtrip sailing from Vancouver when his wife telephoned from Victoria to say that both of Alexander's young children had come down with influenza, and his daughter was not expected to live. Walker, along with two other engineers, would cover Alexander's watch rotations.

Looking north down Broadway Street in Skagway, around 1900. Note the rails running down the centre of Broadway for the White Pass & Yukon Route trains.
Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, LC-DIG-ppmsc-02005.

Now Walker was doing just that. With a thin jet of black smoke beginning to pour from her funnel, Princess
Sophia
was finally ready to set sail at 10:00 p.m. — three hours behind her scheduled departure time of 7:00 p.m.

Before she departed, Lewis Johnston, Canadian Pacific's man in Skagway, briefly stepped on board
Princess Sophia
's warmly lit deck to confer with Purser Charles Beadle. Both men agreed the process had gone as smoothly as could be reasonably expected, and Johnston wished him a pleasant trip south before ascending one deck to the navigation bridge. There he found Captain Locke readying
Princess Sophia
for departure. Johnston had known Locke for over a decade, and the two men took the chance to catch up, however briefly, and discuss the voyage ahead. Locke was satisfied with how things had gone, both in terms of the newly replaced crewmembers and the loading and offloading of passengers and cargo. At five minutes past ten, Lewis Johnston shook Captain Locke's hand and left the navigation bridge.

Clearly Locke had no issues with the evening's embarkation or the voyage ahead. Lewis Johnston was the last man down the gangway that night. Stepping out into the cold, Johnston hiked up the collar of his greatcoat and exchanged waves with the crew as the gangway was removed from the
Princess Sophia
. He wished them a pleasant season and a safe journey south before he turned his back to the ship and slowly, quietly made his way back up the dimly lit expanse of Broadway Street. The night air chilled him, and he felt exhausted after a long day of work. He returned to his offices on Broadway just long enough to send a message to Captain James Troup, Canadian Pacific's superintendent for the British Columbia coast, stating that
Princess Sophia
had departed shortly after 10:00 p.m. local time with two hundred seventy-eight passengers, twenty-four horses, and five tons of freight on board.

At ten minutes past ten
Princess Sophia
slipped away from the pier on her last voyage south. Her itinerary was an active one. The next day she would call on both Juneau and Wrangell before setting sail for Ketchikan and Prince Rupert, where she would arrive on Friday, October 25. On Saturday the 26th she would come alongside in Alert Bay, and finally, on Sunday, October 26, 1918, she would dock at Canadian Pacific's Pier D at the foot of Granville Street in Vancouver. From there connecting passengers could transfer to the inter-coastal steamers bound for Victoria and Seattle.

For the passengers who were hearty enough to line her rails that night, few tears would be shed as Skagway slowly disappeared off the stern of the
Princess Sophia
. With so many passengers travelling on one-way tickets, they were looking forward to the journey ahead and delighting in the relative novelty of spending their first night on board a ship. By the time she had made her first turn to port and entered into the Taiya Inlet proper, most of
Princess Sophia
's passengers had retreated indoors, lured by the glowing lights of the ship's public rooms and the warmth of their own staterooms. Those who remained on deck would have experienced a sudden blast of cold wind that slammed into her superstructure as she made the turn; a moment all too common for ships sailing south toward the vast expanse of Lynn Canal. Gradually, these few hearty stragglers also retreated back inside.

The
Princess Sophia
pulls away from Pier D in Vancouver, bound for Alaska.
City of Vancouver Archives AM1535-: CVA 99-1185.

Sailing Lynn Canal from Skagway, bound for Juneau. In 1918 the driving snow and fierce winds likely kept most passengers off
Princess Sophia
's open decks and hid the mountain ranges from view, but those departing aboard
Star Princess
in 1995 would have enjoyed a similar view and weather conditions before retiring for the night.

MONDAY, JUNE 19, 1995

ON BOARD
STAR PRINCESS
IN SEWARD, ALASKA

Nearly seventy-seven years after the Canadian Pacific Steamship
Princess Sophia
had set out from Skagway, a larger, much more modern ship was preparing to do the same. On the evening of Thursday, June 22, 1995, Princess Cruises'
Star Princess
was just pulling in the last of her lines after a successful visit to the famous gold rush town. Her bow lines splashed into the water and were hauled up along the side of her hull, dripping water into the harbour as they went.
Star Princess
was a little over a month into her Alaskan cruise season, which would last until September of that year. For many of her guests the week-long voyage from Seward to Vancouver was a
once-in
-
a
-lifetime experience; an escape from the everyday. However, for the crew of the
Star Princess
this southbound voyage was normal and routine. It wasn't an escape from the everyday; it
was
the everyday.

Built in 1988 for Sitmar Cruises as their
FairMajesty
,
Star Princess
would never actually sail for them. Sitmar was put up for sale following the death of the company's founder, Boris Vlasov, in November 1987. Princess Cruises' parent company P&O Cruises snapped up Sitmar in July 1988, and had officially acquired all of their ships — including the still-unfinished
FairMajesty
— by September 1 of that year.
FairMajesty
was renamed
Star Princess
and was formally christened by actress Audrey Hepburn in Miami on March 23, 1989.

High-profile actresses like Hepburn weren't typically known for christening cruise ships at the time, and the news that Hepburn not only performed the traditional ceremonial blessing and the breaking of champagne against the hull, but also spent a week on board her maiden voyage as she sailed around the Caribbean, put
Star Princess
in the public consciousness. Even better for
Princess
, she proved to be a popular and commercially successful ship. While she would operate a variety of voyages over the next six years,
Princess
typically had her winter in the Caribbean and spent her summers cruising the photogenic waters of Alaska.

The voyage had begun innocuously enough. On Monday, June 19, 1995, the 810-foot
Star Princess
came alongside in the small town of Seward, Alaska. Named after Secretary of State William H. Seward, who negotiated the purchase of Alaska from Russia, the town of 3,000 inhabitants served as Princess's northern “turnaround” port on their Alaskan voyages. After a weeklong “northbound” journey from Vancouver, passengers would be disembarked and the ship cleaned and made ready to embark the next set of guests that afternoon. They would spend a week on board as
Star Princess
sailed her third southbound voyage of the season, with an itinerary that called on Prince William Sound, Glacier Bay, Skagway, Juneau, and Ketchikan before their scheduled arrival in Vancouver on Monday, June 26.

Throughout the afternoon, passengers continued to embark the ship. Many had been on pre-cruise land trips that had taken them through Alaska's beautiful Denali National Park, while other guests had chosen to fly in to Anchorage on the day of the sailing. They would be making the long journey from Anchorage International Airport to the piers in Seward, roughly two and a half hours by car. By late evening they would all be on board, settling into their staterooms and ambling up to the pool deck for a cocktail to toast the “midnight sun,” which wouldn't set until 11:42 p.m.

By 8:00 p.m. 1,568 passengers were on board. On this voyage
Star Princess
carried with her 639 crew members, for a grand total of 2,207 souls on board. It was a relatively good passenger complement; full double-occupancy was 1,621 guests, meaning only a few staterooms would be sailing empty on the voyage south to Vancouver. That was good news for Princess; they would be making money on this voyage.

The captain of the
Star Princess
held the mandatory lifeboat drill for all those on board. At fifty-four years of age in 1995, Captain Emanuele Chiesa had been at sea for over thirty years, and held both unlimited Italian and Liberian master's licences — essentially the golden ticket on the path for mariners looking to obtain their own command. But while Captain Chiesa oversaw all aspects of the
Star Princess
's every being during the lifeboat drill, many of the navigational choices while in Alaskan waters had to be deferred to two very important individuals, both of whom were already on board.

Because the itinerary operated by
Star Princess
would remain exclusively in Alaska until after the ship departed Ketchikan for the Canadian waters off the coast of British Columbia, two Southeast Alaska Pilots Association marine pilots would share navigational duties while the
Star Princess
remained in waters designated as compulsory pilotage. They were there to assist the captain and his officers by offering up localized knowledge and expertise to ensure the safe navigation of the vessel in Alaskan waters.

Pilot Ronald Kutz began his maritime career in the 1940s on tugboats, before graduating to the criss-crossing ferry network in Puget Sound and the San Juan Islands aboard the forest-green ships of Washington State Ferries.
[1]
In 1962 he took the next logical step and graduated to the role of master with the Alaska Marine Highway System; a network of ferries sailing year-round between Alaskan ports, British Columbia, and Washington State. Covering over 5,000 miles of routes and ports between Bellingham, Washington, and Dutch Harbor, Unalaska, it is one of the largest ferry networks in the world. Kutz was also fortunate to have gotten in on the ground floor of the newly formed ferry company, landing a plum appointment as master of the
Taku
before graduating to the
Wikersham
and the
Columbia
in 1974. Kutz spent the next twenty-four years of his life sailing through the often-treacherous waters of Alaska, finally becoming a marine pilot with the Southeast Alaska Marine Pilots Association upon his retirement from the Alaska Marine Highway System in 1987.

Pilot Kutz hadn't been aboard the
Star Princess
in four years, but it didn't take him long to reacquaint himself with the ship's navigation bridge. Like most cruise ships built in the late 1980s, the bridge of the
Star Princess
was comprised of an enclosed wheelhouse containing the ship's main communications and manoeuvring consoles clustered around the forward-facing windows that look out over the ship's bow. Slightly behind them were two additional consoles. The first was a safety console, displaying information relating to the ship's watertight doorways, electrical systems, smoke detectors, and fire doors. The safety console was located on the port, or left, side of the bridge. The second console was located on the starboard, or right, side that consisted of a navigation table where charts showing the exact routes and waypoints of the
Star Princess
were placed. Pencils weren't far from reach — and neither was a hot cup of coffee; the navigator's secret weapon. An auto-pilot computer was placed on the left side of this navigation table, with an additional radar screen to the right of it.

On either side of the enclosed wheelhouse were the ship's bridge wings. Exposed to the elements, they were separated from the wheelhouse by a sliding wooden door that could be latched open or shut as needed. Extending out over the side of the ship, each wing had a console containing all the necessary rudder and propulsion controls to manoeuvre the ship. While the bridge wing isn't commonly used to navigate unless a ship is coming into or going out of port, lookouts can be stationed on either wing to better see what lies ahead.

Five days earlier, just before five in the morning, Pilot Kutz had jumped from the pilot boat through the open shell door of the
Star Princess
as she neared the Point McCartey Pilot Station near Ketchikan. He was beginning a multi-week stint on board with a colleague who had joined the ship in Ketchikan. But Kutz's colleague would only be on board for a few more days. In just two days' time, on June 21, 1995, Pilot Kutz would be paired with a new colleague who would help him guide
Star Princess
on her journey through Lynn Canal. That decision would have significant consequences.

————
—

THURSDAY, JUNE 22, 1995

SKAGWAY, ALASKA

Fifty-seven
-
year
-old Alaska State Pilot Robert K. Nerup was a captain in his own right. Beginning his career in the United States Navy in 1956, Nerup served in active duty at sea for nearly two decades. By the time he retired from the navy in 1980 he was a commanding officer aboard a tugboat. He went on to a civilian career as a marine pilot, joining the Southeast Alaska Marine Pilots Association. His qualifications didn't end there. Nerup also held a U.S. Coast Guard master's licence that he had just renewed the previous January, and an Alaska State Pilot's licence that he renewed in December of 1994.
[2]

Just the day before, June 21, at quarter to eleven in the morning, Pilot Nerup had boarded the
Star Princess
as she cruised through Glacier Bay, Alaska. While her guests were on-deck admiring the splendour of their surroundings and waiting with baited breath for their first glimpse of the towering face of Margerie Glacier, Pilot Nerup made his way through the myriad of corridors and public rooms up to the ship's navigation bridge. There he met his colleague and fellow pilot, Ronald Kutz.

Having been on board for several days already, Kutz brought Nerup up to speed on what had, up to that point, been a rather uneventful voyage. Both men agreed that it would be prudent to split their shifts evenly down the middle for the remainder of the voyage, with a
six-hour
-on,
six-hour
-off rotating schedule. Pilot Nerup got to work immediately, taking the 12:30 to 18:30 shift, followed by the 00:30 to 06:30 watch. Pilot Kutz would handle the hours between 18:30 and 00:30, and 06:30 to 12:30 — as he had for his entire duration on board.

During this brief introduction period, Pilot Nerup also met Captain Emanuele Chiesa. At least, he should have. Captain Chiesa would later testify that he and Nerup talked about what would “happen” during the voyage; a vague description that probably entailed going over arrival and departure times and other crucial navigation concerns. Robert Nerup, however, would later claim the meeting had never taken place.

Like most men who have lived for nearly six decades on this planet, Nerup was not without his faults. For the previous eight years he had been treated for depression; an affliction that had snuck up on the experienced pilot in his late forties. It wasn't entirely without cause, either. For Nerup, 1987 had been a disastrous year, which he would likely rather forget.

His problems had begun on March 21, 1987, when a small vessel he was piloting collided with a log raft in Hobart Bay, just north of Petersburg. A little over a month later, on April 28, Hobart Bay would once again play a crucial role in Robert Nerup's life, as another vessel under his pilotage ran aground there.

The knock-on effect of these two accidents was a defining moment for Nerup. Prohibited from piloting a vessel in the state of Alaska until 1989, he was required to attend additional training and skills classes in order to reinstate his licence. He fulfilled all the requirements and was granted his licence. He returned to the waters of Alaska ever so briefly, from 1989 to 1990. But trouble had a way of finding Robert Nerup. Just two years after having his marine pilot's licence reinstated, he was involved in another, much higher profile, accident involving a ship under his command.

On May 27, 1991, just before seven o'clock in the morning, Nerup was piloting Princess Cruises' 553-foot
Island Princess
as she came into Skagway Bay. Except for the strong winds racing down Lynn Canal — which weren't so unusual — it was shaping up to be a brilliant morning. Not a trace of cloud could be seen in the sky and plenty of sunshine was already bathing the ship's open decks.

At the same time that the
Island Princess
was gliding along the sunlit sea, Regency Cruises'
Regent Sea
was also steaming slowly across Skagway Bay. At 631 feet in length, the rugged ex-ocean liner had nearly one hundred feet of length on the
Island Princess
. But having been built in 1957, and lacking the built-in thruster propulsion added to the bows of newer ships, she was being guided into port with the assistance of a tug boat. The
Island Princess
, built in 1971, was able to manoeuvre into port on her own thanks to a bow thruster that made lateral movements possible.