R.R. 2, Box 227 M Vineyard Haven, Massachusetts 02568
Engines are where you find them, and sometimes they turn up in
places where engines are the farthest thing from your mind.
Cross Island lies several miles off the Atlantic Coast of Nova
Scotia, near Luwenburg. It is a wild, windswept place, uninhabited
except for a handful of small camps occupied only in summer. There
is also a lighthouse; in the late ’80s it was the last one in
Canada with a resident lighthouse keeper, but inevitably the fellow
and his family were replaced by batteries that are serviced by
Coast Guard helicopter.
Last summer I was invited to go cod-fishing with a Luwenburg
friend, Robert Tanner. After a morning of fishing out in the open
ocean, Robert decided we should try our luck along the shore at
Cross Island. We anchored in a small cove for lunch. I was
finishing my sandwich and gazing at the lighthouse at one end of
the cove when I saw what looked like a piece of rusty machinery
perched on top of a rock cliff.
‘What’s that old iron up there on the bluff?’ I
asked Robert. He had been fishing these waters all his life and
nothing happened without Robert knowing about it.
‘That’s an old engine been there for 50 years. Some
rusted up, it is.’
I grabbed the binoculars and as I found the spot a tank-cooled
gas engine came into view. ‘Come on, Robert! We got to have a
closer look!’ I hauled up the anchor and we slowly approached
the bluff. The engine was facing us straight on and I could not
make out enough detail to identify it, but it looked like about a 4
HP and I could see a carburetor or valve box on the engine’s
left side. We had no way to get ashore; we could not go into the
beach because of the ocean swells rolling into the cove. We went
back to our fishing and finally came home with a box (100 lb.) of
fat codfish but I could think of nothing but that engine.
It was not an Atlantic (built in Luwenburg) or an Arcadia (from
nearby Bridgewater), because I knew that those companies never
offered a tank-cooled stationary engine; the next closest
manufacturer was the Lloyd Company in Kentville, and they built
tank-cooled side shaft engines in all sizes. So I decided that I
had found a Lloyd and I became obsessed with going back to the
island.
The next morning brought an easterly gale that lasted for three
days. I spent the time figuring how to rescue that engine from an
inhospitable island. The logistical problems were staggering. There
was an overgrown road from the summer camp settlement across the
is-land to the lighthouse, but no vehicles; if the engine was as
rough as Robert said it was, I figured that I couldn’t even
pull the bearing caps to free the crankshaft and flywheels without
lugging a torch more than a mile; and the engine was on top of a
solid rock cliff, so there was no safe way to reach the spot by
boat!
I called a friend and engine and junk collector, Jim Bell, to
share my dilemma. He listened to my story, then said without
emotion, ‘No problem! I’ve got a small barge. On a calm
day, we’ll float the barge in to the base of the cliff at high
tide, ground it at low tide, (so there would be no involvement from
the ocean swells which are always there) skid the engine down the
cliff on planks, float free at high tide and we’re out of
there.’
Elated, I told him I’d make a reconnaissance run and give
him a report.
The fourth morning dawned calm and sunny. I called Robert. My
wife Kyra and I met him 15 minutes later and we were on our way out
to Cross Island. We anchored in a protected cove by the camps and
rowed ashore in a small tender we had towed behind the boat. Twenty
minutes later we arrived at the lighthouse. I could see flywheels
above the tall meadow grass.
The closer I got, the more anxious I became; as I reached it I
saw the truth to Robert’s remark about the engine’s
condition. Of all the engines I’ve found over 20 years of
prospecting, here was the first one that was so far gone it was not
worth rescuing even for a lawn ornament! It had a ghostly quality,
like a relic from the deck of the Titanic. Robert and Kyra caught
up with me and stared at the weird rust sculpture.
‘All those years with the spray breaking over it with every
gale it would have done better on the bottom of the sea,’
Robert said.
I studied the engine. The sub base and a slight taper to the
cylinder identified it as a Fairbanks-Morse Z. With my
disappointment came the relief that I would be spared the challenge
of salvaging the engine which I certainly would have attempted, had
it been a Lloyd side shaft. At least I had a great photo
opportunity! The only parts worth saving on the Z were the bearing
caps and the gear guard; if someone needs them, I’ll try to
recover them on my next visit to the ‘outermost
engine.’
