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Wednesday, September 5, 2012

THE WRECK OF THE EDMUND FITZGERALD

Hello all:  We're cruisin' along the Great Lakes, first Lake Superior and now Lake Michigan, and I can't help humming the tune to Gordon Lightfoot's song; "The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald."  When you start to see the scope of these lakes, the waves crashing to the beaches, no land as far as the horizon line on the opposite side, their sheer size makes Roosevelt Lake in Arizona look like a mud hole.  It suddenly becomes very believable that so many unfortunate ships like the Edmund Fitzgerald didn't make it across.  The pics below were shot at the very northern tip of Lake Michigan.  Can you hear the melancholy notes now?

  "The legend lives on from the Chippawa on down, 
of the big lake they called Gitche-gumee.
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead 
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more 
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty.
That good ship and crew was a bone to be chewed 
when the gales of November came early."


"The ship was the pride of the American side 
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most, 
with a crew and good captain well seasoned.
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms 
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ship's bell rang, 
could it be that north wind they'd been feelin'?"


"The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound 
and a wave broke over the railing.
And every man knew, as the Captain did too, 
twas the witch of November come stealin.'
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait 
as the gales of November came slashin.'
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain 
in the face of a hurricane west wind."


"When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck 
sayin,' Fellas, it's too rough to feed ya.'
At seven p.m. a main hatchway caved in, 
he said, Fellas, it's been good to know ya.'
The captain wired in he had water coming in, 
and the good ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when his lights went outta' sight 
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald."


"Does anyone know where the love of God goes 
when the waves turn the minutes to hours.
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay 
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind her.
They might have split up or they might have capsized, 
they may have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains are the faces and the names 
of the wives, the sons and the daughters."


"Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings 
in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams, like a young man's dreams; 
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario 
takes in what Lake Erie can send her,
and the iron boats go as the mariners all know, 
with the gales of November remembered."


"In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed, 
in the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral.
The church bell chimed 'till it rang twenty-nine times 
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippawa on down, 
of the big lake they called "Gitche-Gumee."
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead, 
when the gales of November come early."
          Written by Gordon Lightfoot


The difference between life and death on the lakes can hang by a real short thread up here when Mother Nature gets in one of her moods.  Later, friends.



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