The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Great Lakes
Capt. Jeff

There are few yacht owners who don't respect the power of the sea, and there are even fewer who have not heard of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Of the thousands of shipwrecks on the Great Lakes, the Fitz is the most well-known and the most controversial. Next year marks the 40th anniversary of the sinking, and there is still no definitive answer to the cause.

The ship

The SS Edmund Fitzgerald was christened in June 1958 and when launched was the largest ship on the Great Lakes. She was built as a bulk freighter carrying taconite iron ore pellets from the mines of Minnesota's Iron Range north of Lake Superior to the steel mills of Michigan and Ohio. Powered by a steam turbine and a single propeller almost 20 feet in diameter, the Fitzgerald carried 30,000 tons of iron ore in the cargo hold of her 729-Foot hull.

Since Great Lakes freighters are built for freshwater, they have a life expectancy of over 50 years. By the end of 1975, after 17 years of service, the Fitzgerald had completed almost 750 round trips from Duluth to Detroit or Toledo. Many years of profitability were still expected by the ship's owner, Northwestern Mutual Life Insurance, and its Chairman of the Board and ship's namesake, Edmund Fitzgerald.

The Final Run Down the Lakes

On the afternoon of November 9, 1975 the Edmund Fitzgerald cast off her lines from the docks at Superior, Wisconsin (just across the bay from Duluth) with Capt. Ernest McSorley at the helm. She had a full load of taconite pellets to feed the blast furnaces of Zug Island just south of Detroit. McSorley, a veteran Great Lakes master, intended to retire at the end of the shipping season. That afternoon, the National Weather Service predicted a storm would pass over Lake Superior and the Fitzgerald's route the following day.

Joining the Edmund Fitzgerald down bound Lake Superior toward the Soo Locks was another ore freighter, the SS Arthur M. Anderson. They sailed in tandem about 10 to 20 miles apart.

At 7 p.m., the weather forecast was upgraded to gale warnings for all of Lake Superior. Five hours later, in the early morning of Nov. 10, the National Weather Service issued a storm warning predicting northeast winds 35 to 50 knots with waves 8 to 15 feet. Just before that storm warning was broadcast, the Fitzgerald noted winds out of the north-northeast at 52 knots, with seas of 10 feet.

As the weather and sea conditions deteriorated the two vessels left the regular shipping channels to seek the safety of the lee shore on the Canadian side of the lake to the east, a standard practice. The morning and afternoon of November 10 wore on, and the storm center passed overhead, snow began to fall and the Anderson lost sight of the Fitzgerald some 16 miles ahead.

At about 3:30 p.m., Capt. McSorley radioed I have a fence rail down, have lost a couple of vents, and have a list. The Fitzgerald also advised that two bilge pumps were running and she would slow down to allow the Anderson to catch up.

A half-hour later, as the sun was setting amid the snowstorm, McSorley radioed the Anderson again. Fitzgerald had lost both radars and was effectively blind as darkness approached. He asked that Anderson provide navigational assistance to help her steer toward the safety of Whitefish Bay.

At 5:30 p.m., using radar, the Anderson fixed Fitzgerald at 35 miles northwest of Whitefish Point. At about the same time, McSorely spoke on VHF radio to the northbound Swedish freighter Avafors. He remarked that am taking heavy seas over the deck in one of the worst seas I have ever been in. During this period, Anderson experienced wind gusts from 70 to 75 knots with waves between 18 and 25 feet.

At 7:10 p.m. McSorley told Anderson that Fitzgerald was holding her own. Ten minutes later, the Edmund Fitzgerald had vanished from the Anderson's radar screen. Concurrently, visibility from the Anderson had increased and lights on shore were clearly seen 20 miles away. The lights of the Fitzgerald, only 10 miles away, should have been visible but weren't. The Edmund Fitzgerald sailed no more, and all 29 souls on board were lost at sea.

The Wreckage

Four days after the Edmund Fitzgerald sank, a U.S. Navy search plane discovered the ship about 17 miles from Whitefish Bay in 530 feet of water using magnetic detection equipment. The following spring, in May 1976, a U.S. Navy unmanned submersible was sent down to the lakebed to take a look. There lay the Edmund Fitzgerald, broken in two. The bow section, 276 feet long, rested upright in the mud. The stern section, 253 feet in length, sat upside down and askew of the bow section 170 feet away. The remaining 200 feet of midsection was a jumble of taconite and twisted steel.

What Caused the Sinking? Theories Abound

The Cargo Hold Flooding Theory:

In July 1977, The U.S. Coast Guard concluded that the loss of the Fitzgerald was a result of ineffective hatch closures that caused gradual flooding of the cargo hold when green water was shipped on board. That report also implied that the crew members did not fasten or maintain the hatch clamps properly. The following year, the National Transportation Safety Boards report disagreed with the USCG's findings and determined the probable cause of the accident was the sudden massive flooding of the cargo hold due to the collapse of one or more hatch covers.

The Waves and Weather Theory:

The U.S. government funded a computer simulation in 2005 to re-create the wind and wave conditions on the day before, the day of and the day after the accident. The simulation produced significant wave height over 25 feet which would have caused the Fitzgerald to roll heavily in sustained winds over 60 knots, with gusts up to 75.

The Rogue Wave Theory:

The captain of the Anderson reported that a series of two or three waves 30 to 35 feet in height struck his ship at 6:30 p.m. causing severe damage to a lifeboat and burying the deck in heavy seas. This train of rogue waves then continued on in the direction of Fitzgerald and would have struck her about the time she went down.

The Shoaling Theory:

The Lake Carriers' Association, which represents owners and operators of U.S. flagged ships on the Great Lakes, believes that the Fitzgerald grounded on an unknown reef near Six Fathom Shoal north of Caribou Island about four hours before she sank.

The Structural Failure Theory:

A maritime historian thinks that the design and subsequent modifications to the Fitzgerald after she was built led to a weakened structure that was susceptible to fatal stress fractures caused by the continuous pounding of waves in heavy seas.


Beginning in 1980, a number of privately and publicly funded manned underwater surveys have taken place, but none of these dives have proved or disproved any of the theories of the sinking. And we will probably never know the reason. However, a series of salvage dives in 1995 recovered the ship's bell, which has been restored and is on display at the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum as a tangible memorial to the loss of the captain and crew aboard the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does any one 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 15 more miles behind'er. They might have split up or they might have capsized; they may have broke deep and took water. And all that remains is the faces and the names of the wives and the sons and the daughters. Gordon Lightfoot, from The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Capt. Jeff Werner has been in the yachting industry for over 25 years. In addition to working as a captain on private and charter yachts, both sail and power, he is a certified instructor for the USCG, US Sailing, RYA and the MCA. He is also the Diesel Doctor, helping to keep your yacht's fuel in optimal condition for peak performance. For more information, call 239-246-6810, or visit MyDieselDoctor.com. All Marinalife members receive a 10% discount on purchases of equipment, products and supplies from Diesel Doctor.

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Hurricane Hunters

Hurricanes are nature’s grandest, most ferocious storms. They fascinate us, and they repel us. As a radio news and weather reporter in Miami for 30 years, my grandfather was obsessed with hurricanes. (Confession: I am, too.) Using colored pencils and a wooden ruler, he meticulously plotted their paths onto an enormous paper map tacked up on the wall of his study. It was a beautiful and mesmerizing record of these ferocious and complicated storms that somehow feel alive as they zigzag and wobble across the ocean like drunken sailors.

Science has improved dramatically since my grandfather’s era. A fleet of Earth- observing satellites providing real-time data now help thousands of scientists around the world answer three age-old questions: Where and when will the hurricane hit and how strong will it be? Modern forecasts are pretty accurate. Long gone is the day when a storm could sneak up and hit without any warning. Here are the stories of three men who helped pave the way.

Three Who Paved the Way for How We Track & Predict Hurricanes Today

Father Hurricane

When the regime of Queen Isabella II of Spain collapsed in 1868, many who supported her thought it wise to flee the country. Father Benito Viñes, a Jesuit priest and educator, was one of them. He emigrated to Cuba and found a position as director of the meteorological observatory in Havana. Shocked by the damage hurricanes regularly inflicted upon the island, he made it his mission to learn everything he could about them.

Within five years of arriving, Father Viñes knew more about hurricanes than any living person. He was the first to discover that the cloud pattern and the behavior of the wind well in advance of a storm could be used to track it accurately. Using this information, he designed the “Antilles cyclonoscope,” a kind of slide-rule that could estimate from a considerable distance the current position of a hurricane and calculate its likely path. Up until then, weather observers could tell when a hurricane was coming but not where it was going.

His first forecast was published in a Havana newspaper on September 11, 1875 — two days before an intense hurricane ravaged the southern coast of Cuba. Many lives were saved because of the timely warning. Throughout the 1880s he exchanged hurricane information with other weather observers across the Caribbean via telegraph. It was the first hurricane warning system and a model the United States. Weather Service later emulated it. Father Viñes was so well-respected that for a short time hurricanes were even called Viñesas and identified numerically. The pronunciation, however, was difficult for Americans, so the practice ceased. Father Viñes died in 1893.

The Aerial Acrobat

Len Povey

Len Povey was a self-taught pilot who flew with the new U.S. Army Air Service until 1922 when he left to pursue a more “colorful” career testing race planes, flying bootleg liquor and barnstorming over the Great Lakes as a headliner with a flying circus. His aerial acrobatics at the All-American Air Maneuvers show in Miami in 1934 caught the eye of a Cuban Air Force official who hired him to train Cuban pilots and serve as the personal pilot for Fulgencio Batista, the chief of the armed forces and later president and dictator of the island nation.

When Cuba’s Weather Service detected a storm intensifying several hundred miles east of the island in early September 1935, Len Povey volunteered to help pinpoint the location and movement of the storm. He jumped in his Curtiss Hawk II, an open cockpit biplane, and flew over the Straits of Florida where he located the hurricane farther north than predicted and moving northwestward toward the Florida Keys. The Cubans dispatched a warning, but it was too late. Later that same day, the storm roared ashore at Islamorada, FL, with winds of 200 m.p.h. and a 20-foot storm surge that drowned more than 400 people, mostly Army veterans who were building the Overseas Railroad.

Povey later joined the faculty at Embry-Riddle, a private Florida college focused on aviation and aerospace programs, where he was a tireless advocate for aerial hurricane patrols. However, the type of reconnaissance mission he envisioned didn’t happen until July 1943, when Air Force Colonel Joe Duckworth flew a plane directly into the eye of a hurricane churning toward Galveston, TX. Len Povey died in 1984. His obituary claimed he survived a mid-air collision and an encounter with a turkey buzzard that sheared off a portion of his plane’s wing.

The Data Cruncher

One of the most recognized voices on hurricanes in the late 20th century emanated ironically from a mile-high lab at Colorado State University. That voice was Dr. William Gray, a professor of tropical meteorology from 1961 until 2005.

Bill Gray grew up in Washington, DC, wanting to be a baseball player. He was a standout pitcher for George Washington University until he hurt his knee. During service in the Air Force, he turned to a career in climatology. He once told the Los Angeles Times he was inspired to study hurricanes after he flew a plane through one off the east coast of Florida in 1958.

Dr. Gray was an outlier when it came to hurricanes. He eschewed computer modeling, focusing instead on observational science: historical storm data, old maps featuring storm patterns, and statistics on wind speed, water temperatures and other meteorological factors. He was the first to determine that the intensity and frequency of storms in the Atlantic was cyclical and that likelihood of a hurricane reaching the East Coast of the United States depended on a variety of factors including the amount of rainfall in Africa and the impact of El Niño (the periodic warming of the Pacific Ocean that produces powerful winds that shear off the tops of storms developing in the Atlantic). In short, he figured out Mother Nature’s recipe for powerful storms.

In 1984 Dr. Gray unveiled the first Atlantic seasonal hurricane forecast and quickly became a hurricane superstar and media darling. He, however, considered his greatest legacy the students whom he taught and mentored, many of whom went on to become leaders in weather research and forecasting. He died in 2016.

Check out Marinalife's recent article about How Hurricanes Get Their Names.

Hurricane Tracking Apps for Your Phone

You don’t need all six of these apps, but we’re certain you’ll find one here that you like. All are available on Google Play and the Apple App Store.


Rain radar, storm tracker and severe weather warnings help you prepare for hurricane season, as well as storms and heavy rain. Monitor live radar updates, an hourly rain tracker, storm radar news, and local weather forecast on the go. Free. Available in English and 30 other languages.


Official data, custom graphics, updates and maps from National Hurricane Center (NHC) experts. Considered the grandparent of all hurricane trackers. Free. Available in English and French.


Reliable, real-time and hyperlocal forecasts combining data from 250,000+ personal weather stations and a proprietary forecast model provide an incredibly accurate local forecast. Interactive radar and customizable severe weather alerts. Free. Available in English and 30 other languages.


Previously called NOAA Radar, this is a good hurricane tracker app, because it lets you overlay rain, radar or satellite images on top of the tracker. This gives you a detailed look at what’s happening in the storm. Add multiple locations to the map to get alerted if you’re in the path of a hurricane. Free. Multiple languages. Paid upgrade packages available.


If you’re willing to spend some money on an app favored by weather nerds and professional storm chasers, then check out RadarScope. The learning curve is steeper than with others, but it features high-resolution radar data sourced from NOAA’s next generation radar and Doppler Weather Radar. Available in English, French, German and Spanish.


Monitor conditions in your area or throughout the storm track, prepare your family and home, find help and let others know you are safe. Free. Available in English and Spanish.

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How Hurricanes Get Their Names

Historically, hurricanes in the United States were referred to by their time period and/or geographic location, e.g., the Great Galveston Hurricane of 1900. In the West Indies, they were named after the particular saint’s day on which the hurricane occurred. A colorful Australian weatherman named Clement Wragge began assigning Greek and Roman mythological names to Pacific cyclones in the late 19th century. He later began naming them after politicians he particularly disliked.

During World War II, U.S. Air Force and Navy meteorologists plotting storms over the Pacific needed a better way to denote tropical cyclones while analyzing weather maps. Many began paying tribute to their wives and girlfriends back home by naming the cyclones after them. In 1954, the National Weather Bureau officially embraced the practice of giving hurricanes women’s names. Because America led the world in weather tracking technology, the practice was adopted elsewhere.

In response to pressure from women’s groups, the National Weather Service and the World Meteorological Association began using both men’s and women’s names starting in 1979. More recently, the lists of names, which are predetermined and rotate every six years, have been further diversified to reflect names used in the many regions where tropical cyclones strike. Names of devastating storms, such as Katrina in 2005, are permanently retired.

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The Fishy Side of Ocean City, MD

With its sandy beaches and boardwalk attractions, Ocean City is the quintessential family summer vacation destination. It’s also a popular spot for sport fishermen and boaters traveling up and down the East Coast. But it wasn’t always that way. 

Ocean City was established on a barrier island called Assateague that extended 60 miles from the Indian River Inlet in Delaware to Chincoteague, VA. The section of the island belonging to the State of Maryland had no outlet to the sea, and early visitors came to bathe in the surf and take in the fresh ocean breezes. These travelers arrived by ferry boat from the mainland until 1876 when a wooden trestle train bridge was built. 

In its younger days, Ocean City was half resort town and half fishing village. The fishing was “pound fishing,” a style I’d wager few people today have ever seen. It was practiced originally by Native Americans and became popular in the 19 century along the East Coast from Maritime Canada to the Carolinas.

Pound fisherman used wide nets attached to wooden poles to catch fish. They drove these tall poles into the ocean floor about a half mile from shore, creating permanent structures called pounds. When fish entered the open end of a pound, they were then corralled by the nets and couldn’t escape. 

With no passage into the Atlantic, crews of Ocean City fishermen needed to launch 40-foot boats from the beach directly into the ocean and row out to the pounds. To harvest the fish, the crew would remove the ends of the nets from the poles and pull them up by hand. The fish were then brought back to shore, carted across the island, packed in barrels of ice and shipped via railroad to fish markets in Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York.

It was laborious work, and for years local businessmen petitioned state and federal agencies to create a manmade inlet to connect the bay directly to more fertile fishing grounds farther off the coast.

A Fierce Storm Carves Out a New Inlet

In August of 1933, a hurricane came ashore in Norfolk, VA, and then tracked up the center of the Chesapeake Bay, bringing up to 10 inches of rain per day and flooding the back bays to the west of Ocean City. Oceanside, wind and waves destroyed homes, hotels and businesses on the town’s boardwalk. 

When the storm subsided, the railroad bridge and fish camps had been washed away, replaced by an inlet 50 feet wide and eight feet deep that formed when built-up water driven by high tides rushed east over the barrier island from the swollen back bays to the ocean. Mother Nature did what governments wouldn’t do, and it changed Ocean City forever.

It didn’t take long for officials to take advantage of this event and enlarge the inlet to ensure its permanence. As a result, a commercial harbor, marinas and docks began sprouting up around the inlet and across the bay on the mainland. Most fishing was commercial in those immediate post-hurricane years, but a few captains realized the recreational fishing potential in the shoals and fertile canyons offshore that were teaming with billfish and other species. During World War II, a lack of fuel and the presence of German U-Boats in the Atlantic virtually shut down offshore fishing. Things picked up after the war, and by the late 1950s and 1960s more and more fishermen were coming to Ocean City. 

But it was the white marlin that really put Ocean City on the sport fishing map. A challenging fish known for its beauty, the white marlin wows anglers with its speed and jumping antics. These fish travel in packs and are prevalent in Maryland waters in late summer and early fall. 

Sport fishermen have been chasing white marlins off the coast of Maryland since 1934 when President Franklin Roosevelt visited and caught two of the feisty billfish. To celebrate this exceptional fish and attract more attention to Ocean City, local fishermen launched the White Marlin Open in 1974. Fifty-seven boats entered that first year. By contrast, the 2021 Open drew 444 boats, more than 3,500 contestants – including NBA superstar Michael Jordan – and awarded $9.2 million dollars in prize money making Ocean City the undisputed “White Marlin Capital of the World.”

Ocean City today counts eight marinas, 20 fishing tournaments and numerous charter boats. According to the city council, boating and sportfishing are significant economic drivers bringing tens of millions of dollars annually to the local economy. 

So, whether you’re a hardcore sport fisherman, casual angler or a boater who simply enjoys a cocktail dockside at sunset, there’s something for everyone “Goin’ downy O, Hon!” as native Marylanders like to say about a visit to their beloved Ocean City.

Check Out Three World-Class OC Fishing Tournaments

Ocean City Tuna Tournament
July 8-10, 2022

Entering its 35th year, this has become the world’s largest tuna tournament with more than 100 participating boats and a record payout that eclipsed $1 million in 2021. 

White Marlin Open
August 8-12, 2022

First held in 1974, the WMO is inarguably the highlight of the Ocean City fishing tournament calendar. Now the biggest and richest billfish tournament in the world, the WMO drew 444 boats and 3,500+ contestants last year.

Poor Girls Open
August 17-20, 2022
Launched in 1994, this is the largest ladies-only billfish release tournament benefitting breast cancer research. Despite its charitable overtones, the tournament is all about the fishing, and the hundreds of boats and hundreds of competitors take it very seriously.

The Orange Crush: A Cocktail Born on the OC Docks

Orange Crush | Susan Elnicki Wade

The Orange Crush is a staple cocktail in most Maryland bars. It’s basically a screwdriver with a shot of triple sec and a splash of lemon-lime soda. The secret to a good one, though, is fresh-squeezed orange juice. And there’s no place better to try one than the Harborside Bar & Grill in Ocean City where the cocktail is said to have originated on a slow night in 1995 when a couple of bartenders were bored and playing around with a bottle of orange-flavored vodka.

Harborside is a wooden establishment whose backside opens onto the commercial harbor in West Ocean City. Gritty is the word that comes to mind. As you would expect, the sign out front boldly announces the home of the Orange Crush, as do newspaper articles framed on the walls and t-shirts for sale. Inside, people pound crabs and watch the Orioles play baseball. Ceiling fans whirl, and it smells of Old Bay and French fries. White lights strung across the ceiling add a festive touch. It doesn’t get more Maryland than that. 

To try your first Orange Crush, visit Harborside Bar & Grill, in Ocean City, MD, 410-213-1846.

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