There is an unusual structure on the beach of Kodiak Island, Alaska. Like other structures nearby, it is surrounded by the dilapidated remnants of a failed cannery operation. Like them, it has seen heavy use. And like them, there's a decent chance that it will windup as scrap-metal. Still, this one has a sleekness to it. The word "Kalakala" freshly painted on its side, this structure looks as though it could slip from the land into the sea and be perfectly at home in motion. In this case, looks don't deceive, and making this happen is the goal of the Kalakala Foundation. For its founder, Peter Bevis of Seattle, getting the ferry MV Kalakala off that beach and away from the cutter's torch has been a ten-year-long labor, justifying hard work, cold nights, and deep debt.
Constructed in 1935, the Kalakala's history goes back further, to the steamer Peralta, built as a San Francisco Bay ferry in 1926. After being damaged above the waterline by a fire in 1933, the Peralta's hull became available as salvage. Meanwhile, in Seattle, Capt. Alexander Peabody of the Puget Sound Navigation Co. wanted a streamlined flagship for his Black Ball Line of ferries, a symbol to bring his company into the modern age. Streamlining had taken hold in aircraft design as a route to better efficiency and performance. The automakers and railroads were adopting those same sleek lines partly for those reasons, but mostly as a matter of style. It was good business to look "modern." Peabody probably imagined himself building the first example of how all ships and ferries would look in the future. He did not foresee the streamline style's rapid fall from popularity and a more scientific understanding of streamlining, particularly the difference between what is important at 400 mph vs. 18 knots. He probably never imagined that the Kalakala would be the first and last streamlined ferry, but she was.
What Peabody did know, however, was that building a new streamlined ferry would be expensive. The Peralta's hull, available at a bargain price, served as a catalyst to get the job moving. It was towed to the Lake Washington Shipyard in Houghton, WA (now part of Kirkland), the only shipyard on the West Coast equipped for an electro-welding job of this size. Using the old hull as a starting point, work on the "ferry of the future" moved forward. Christened with the Chinook word for "flying bird", she was launched in 1935. With more than a touch of hyperbole, the Saturday Evening Post called the Kalakala "the most important nautical vessel since Noah's ark." She was proudly featured in ads for American Hammered Piston Rings (those used in the Kalakala were 19-1/2" in diameter, and they could "take it", according to the ad copy). So at the height of the Depression, this silvery vision of the future emerged, and began service between Seattle and Bremerton on Puget Sound.
The vessel's modern character was not confined to its streamlined look. Among other notable features were the first telecom system between wheelhouse and engine room (replacing the stan-dard teletype) and the first automatic fire control sprinklers throughout a ferry. She had the most powerful engine ever installed in a ferry up to that time, a Busch-Sulzer ten-cylinder two-stroke diesel rated at 3,000 hp. It made the Kalakala the fastest ferry on Puget Sound, with a cruising speed of 18.5 knots. (Of the 19 engines built identical to the Kalakala's, 18 went into power generation. There has been a report that one of these engines continues to serve as a standby generator somewhere in the Southeastern U.S. Any confirmation of this would be welcomed by the Kalakala Foundation). In addition to all of this, the Kalakala also had the first commercial radar navigation system once the technology was declassified after WW II (FCC license #001).
For the next several decades the Kalakala was both icon and workhorse. During the day, she ferried shipyard workers back and forth to Bremerton. At night, there were moonlight cruises, accompanied by the Kalakala's own Flying Bird Orchestra. The Kalakala was loved and considered a Seattle attraction well into the age of the futuristic Space Needle built for the 1963 World's Fair.
Time did, however, take its toll. The ferry's car lanes were too narrow for the larger vehicles of the 1950s. Vehicle capacity was reduced, and passengers sometimes found themselves exiting through their car windows. The direct-drive propulsion system was obsolete and the steering gear was not up to the technological level of the rest of the vessel. She also had a few quirks, including a tendency to vibrate while underway at top speed. In the space-age (the age of the Saturn V, not of Buck Rogers) when nothing modern looked like the Kalakala, the vibration was no longer endearing, but a sign of anachronism. Why the Kalakala was prone to vibration is unknown. It could have been the result of a 1926 hull being driven to 18 knots. It could have been the difference between aerodynamic styling and true aerodynamics. It also could have been the size of the giant engine relative to the vessel.
In 1967, the Kalakala was sold at auction for the inglorious role of an ocean-going fish processing plant. In 1972, after blowing a piston head, she was towed to Kodiak, a local hill was dynamited for fill, and the ship became a stationary cannery operation. Following the bankruptcy of the last of several owners in 1980, maintenance largely stopped. Deterioration set in. The city of Kodiak took title and realized it had a liability on its hands. There began to be talk of cutting her up.
Four years later, Peter Bevis, while working on a fishing boat, saw the Kalakala. In 1988, he toured the boat by flashlight, and it captured his imagination. Later, he had a few days off, and decided to paint the roof. He bought all of the silver paint available in Kodiak, and went to work with a scraping-shovel and a roller. Although the following ten years can perhaps be viewed as a little weekend painting that got out of hand, this act says something about the Kalakala Foundation's founder's philosophy of preservation: when in doubt, put muscle to metal. Bevis decided, without title to the boat or funding, that he would save the Kalakala and return it to Seattle.
The period from 1988 to 1995 was char-acterized by fits and starts in the preservation effort. Little physical work was done, though the foun-dation was incorporated in 1992. Once the foundation became an official non-profit, more organized meetings and planning took place, and staff was hired, but the Kalakala was still rusting and no closer to Seattle. The city of Kodiak informally approved the operation, but retained its right to scrap the ship if preservation efforts were unsuccessful.
In 1995, Bevis called the other members of the foundation. "This is no drill" was his message. If you want to save the Kalakala, come up to Alaska and start working. Fortunately, the members of the foundation included welders, electricians, and a shipwright. Twelve of them came, and he called this his "dream team." First priority was to stop the ongoing deterioration, which mostly meant plugging rainwater leaks, scraping, and painting. This naturally improved the aesthetics of the boat, something helpful to fund raising and gaining local support. Once deterioration was brought under control, focus shifted to eliminating the chance of catastrophic destruction. This meant the removal of flammables, including oil from the bilge and over 50 tons of waxed cardboard shrimp-packing boxes.
Thereafter, work began on seaworthiness. Cannery equipment was removed to lighten the boat. The hull was ultrasound tested to check if enough metal remained to make the return trip possible. For several weeks there was a virtual assembly-line of welders above-board cutting circles of steel in different sizes, then passing them below to where other welders used them to patch holes left in the bulkheads by the cannery plumbing. Finally, excavation had to be done, giving the Kalakala a path to the sea. Some of this work was done by volunteers, most of it by workers drawing a paycheck. And although support and small contributions have been forthcoming, the foundation, and particularly Peter Bevis, are now more than half a million dollars in debt.
Last April 27, late at night, that debt didn't seem to matter much as the Kalakala easily floated free and rose several inches on a high tide. The stage was set for the Kalakala to be towed out into open water at the end of May. Luck ran out, however, when a maritime surveyor from Lloyds of London informed the crew that, though plenty of steel remains in the hull plates, the poor condition of the rivets holding them together will make the tow to Seattle too risky to insure. The Kalakala's hull plates could potentially separate, causing her to go down in bad weather.
The only safe way to bring the Kalakala back to Seattle will be on a submersible barge, a device which is sunk and then filled with air to lift the boat from below. If this becomes a reality, the Kalakala, true to its name, will fly home, with even its keel above the surface of the ocean. These barges, however, do not come cheaply. $700,000 is the estimated cost. Add to this statements like those made by Bill Jones, City Manager of Kodiak, that "I wouldn't lose a moment's sleep...whether it goes back to Seattle on a barge as a monument or as scrap, it's all the same to me. We just want the Kalakala gone," and it's not surprising that a do-or-die sense of desperation is settling over the project. The "just do it" approach to saving the Kalakala has brought her this far, probably saving her from being cut up years ago. But now only strong financial support will bring her home.
To learn more about the Kalakala and her status, visit the foundation's website at http://www.kalakala.org, or call the Kalakala Foundation (888) 823-1935.
J. S.