12 Objects Recovered From American Harbors Last Year
By Gus Marchetti, Salvage master. Reviewed by Amanda McCallister, editor.
Marine Salvage & Recovery | Hull & Bottom Cleaning Baltimore Harbor, March 17. Water temperature 44°F. I had the crane barge out to clear a derelict pier when I hooked what I thought was a truck axle. It was a 1977 Buick Electra, nose-down in black mud. The tide had buried it almost to the roof. The harbor police had been looking for that car since 1999. When the chains took the first bite, a crab dropped out of the tailpipe and walked across the deck as if it owned the place. That's the thing about harbor salvage. Every pull tells you what people throw away, lose, or want to forget. Last year was a typical year—if any year can be typical when you're scraping the bottom of America's busiest harbors. These are the twelve objects I keep thinking about. Some were hazards. Some were somebody's whole day. All of them came up with a story.
The Heavy Stuff
Enough concrete, anchors, and abandoned fishing gear fill the average American harbor to make an artificial reef. But when you're trying to clear a navigation channel, weight is the whole fight. Here are four lifts that made the crane grumble.
- The 1977 Buick Electra — Baltimore. The car had been reported stolen from a dealership lot in 1999. In 23 years, it had sunk deep enough that only the roof's chrome edge showed. We had to jet water under the body to break the suction. When it came free, the rear seat was still in place. A set of keys rusted into one lump sat in the ignition. Police closed the file, no insurance claim ever filed.
- A 900-pound ship's anchor from the Elizabeth River, beside Norfolk's waterfront. It was a modern Hercules-type, lost off a tugboat two years prior. Problem: the chain had wrapped around a decommissioned submarine cable. The U.S. Navy asked us to cut the anchor free instead of moving the cable. We set a charge and cleanly cut a link. The anchor went to a scrapyard, the cable to the Navy's museum.
- A 12-foot steel fender from an old Philadelphia Naval Shipyard spur. This piece weighed over a ton. It had been knocked into the water during a storm and lodged against a moored research vessel's keel. We couldn't lift it straight—the fender's flange had bent like a claw. We cut it into three sections underwater with an oxy-arc torch. The research vessel's captain sent the yard crew a case of beer.
- An empty 40-foot shipping container in New York-New Jersey's Kill Van Kull. It was floating inverted, barely at the surface, a killer for small boats at night. We hooked it, pumped it full of air from below, then used a high-pressure water jet to flip it. The doors were shut. Inside was a single bicycle, gray with rust, that must have been packed years ago. The crane operator swore it hadn't been there when the container left the water.
What People Lose
After a while, you stop being surprised by how much personal stuff ends up in saltwater. Sometimes the owner is still looking. 5. A wedding ring in Monterey Bay. A grandmother lost it while leaning over a whale-watching boat railing. The operator gave us a rough GPS point. The ring, a platinum band with a small diamond, was lying in a narrow crack between two rocks at 40 feet. Visibility was zero—I had to feel it. The daughter-in-law cried. The grandmother told us she'd been married 51 years. 6. A GoPro camera off Cape May, New Jersey. It was still recording when we pulled it out—the battery held enough charge for a few minutes. It had a video of a kid screaming as he reeled in a striped bass. The memory card had a name and date. I posted a still on the local fishing forum, and a father identified his son's camera after three years. 7. A 1968 high school class ring from Portland, Maine. It had 'J.E.R.' and a Portland High emblem. The engraver's mark led us to a local jeweler who found the original purchase receipt. The owner had lost the ring during a water-skiing accident in 1969. I called the number on a 30-year-old tax record. His son answered. The man was in an assisted living facility with Alzheimer's, but when I put the ring in his palm, his eyes went sharp. He said, 'You found it,' quiet, like he'd been waiting. 8. A wallet in San Diego Bay. It was inside a floating waterproof phone pouch, wrapped around a stanchion on a Navy pier. It had an I.D., credit cards, and $38 in cash. The owner was a petty officer who had lost the pouch in a wind gust the week before. I didn't use the money for coffee. I drove to the base and handed it to the gate watch. He got a call later that afternoon.
The Odd and the Old
Not everything that comes up is useful. Some things are just curious, or give you a reason to call the bomb squad. 9. A Civil War cannonball in Charleston, South Carolina. We were replacing a mooring pile at a marina when the steel ball rolled out of the mud. It was heavy, and when I tapped it with a hammer, it rang like a bell. I ordered everyone back and called the Navy's EOD. Turns out it was a 9-inch Dahlgren round, probably jettisoned during the blockade. The bomb squad said if it hadn't exploded in 150 years, it probably wouldn't today. They took it anyway for disposal. 10. A working slot machine from Galveston, Texas. We found it under a party boat dock, its wooden casing half-rotten. The mechanism inside was brass, still spun. The reel stopped on seven-seven-seven. The state's gaming commission laughed and said it was so old it didn't count. The dock owner mounted it in a bar. 11. A 10-foot alligator statue from the Houston Ship Channel. It was lost when a seafood restaurant's sign collapsed during Hurricane Harvey. The fiberglass gator, painted a peeling green, had drifted a quarter-mile before sinking. We lifted it, and a guy walked up wearing an identical alligator hat. He owned the restaurant and had already replaced the sign with a shrimp. He took the gator back and put a cowboy hat on it, so it's now known as Gator John. 12. A brass time capsule from a burned yacht in Boston Harbor. The yacht had caught fire in 1978 at a pier, and what was left went to the bottom. During a cleanup we found a sealed brass cylinder with 'LETTERS TO THE FUTURE' etched on the side. Inside were birthday cards, a photograph of a springer spaniel, and a note from a teenage girl to herself, dated forty years later. We found the girl, now a grandmother, through a genealogist. She read the note aloud on the pier. She had become exactly the person she hoped she'd be.
Frequently Asked Questions
What happens to the objects nobody claims? Most go to scrap or recycling. If something is evidence, it goes to police. Personal items like wallets, phones, rings, we make a real effort to find the owner. The rest becomes part of the harbor's history—some get donated to a maritime museum. Isn't it dangerous to dive in these harbors? Yes. Visibility is often zero, current moves you around, and the bottom is covered in fishing line, cables, and sharp metal. We follow commercial diving standards—chamber on deck, surface-supplied air, and a working phone. You never let a diver in the water without a standby who's ready to jump in. Do you ever find anything illegal? Often enough. We find the occasional gun, bag of drugs, or stolen property. We call the Coast Guard or police before we touch it, and we work out a procedure for recovering it so it stays evidence, not a story.