47. AMBROSE (lightship)
A.K.A.: Lightship No. 87, Relief, F-LS512, Scotland
Location: Pier 16, off Fulton Street
Built: 1907
Builder: U.S. Lighthouse Service; New York Shipbuilding Co.
National Register Number: 84002758
Listed: September 7, 1984
Visited: February 2, 2008
Additional Documentation: NRHP Registration Form
In the olden days, locations deemed impractical for a lighthouse were instead serviced by permanently-anchored lightships. Lightships are often named after their charges, and so No. 87 was known as the Ambrose when it guided craft through the Ambrose Channel, the shipping channel that leads into New York Harbor. Its career as the Ambrose lasted from 1908 until 1932 during the era of the Cunard and the White Star Lines, back when ships weren't the also-ran to planes in the international transportation sweepstakes they way they are today. (It also became the first permanent radio beacon in the United States in 1921, this at the very beginning of commercial radio broadcasting.)Other light stations, before and since, have also called the Ambrose; and after No. 111 took its place, the No. 87 later served various locations throughout the Northeast until it was decommissioned in 1966, then donated to South Street Seaport in 1968. (The Ambrose Lightship was replaced by a "Texas Tower" lighthouse--sort of a lighthouse on an oil rig--in 1967, and became fully automated and people-free in 1988.) In its retirement, No. 87 has great stories to tell and all, yet here at the seaport, it's something of a fabulous unicorn in captivity, incongruously docked at a maritime museum-mall when it spent most of its career out stationed in the Atlantic hinterwaters.
I now know more about lightships than I ever imagined I'd know.
Until Saturday, every time I visited the Seaport in service of this blog, something prevented me from boarding the Ambrose. Usually the metal ramp that led to the boat had a puny piece of rope blocking its threshold, signifying it was off-limits. I went to the Seaport early hoping to get this responsibility out of the way, but no, the rope was still there. The water was a little choppy for some reason and in my mild disappointment I stood by the ship mesmerized by the way such a huge thing--488 tons--could bob up and down so gently. And weirdly, out of the corner of my eye, I could just barely catch somebody peeking out of one of the boat's portholes. Thinking somebody might come out, I wait a while and still, nothing. I come back after twelve, which is when the boats are supposed to open, I think. No, it remains blocked off. There are open doors on the top of the boat, the Peking has visitors, but there's nothing on the Ambrose--an oasis of ghost ship in the middle of one America's great tourist traps. I sit and wait outside on Pier 17 for about a half an hour. (I've got nothing better to do.) No sign of life. I go inside and eat a meal in one of the mall's better restaurants. I have a window seat so I can nervously check the Ambrose every so often. Eventually, in the middle of my meal, I notice a family boarding it, unencumbered by any rope. The weirdest thing. I haven't taken my eyes off the boat for more than a minute (probably less) and yet, somehow...whatever. So I rush my meal and pay my bill and finally board the thing, after six months of waiting, wondering if I'M ACTUALLY NOT ALLOWED TO BE ON THIS AND I'M GONNA BE IN TROUBLE and such. I take pictures of nothing in particular. I take pictures to take pictures. Then I see a guy's there, sitting down. Dude doesn't even acknowledge my presence, doesn't look at me. A gnome. Then he goes back into the ship. And that's it. I don't even bother going below deck to check out the details of the monotonous, lonely life lightship tenders must've lived. I'm not sure who was being weird here: sea people, museum people, or blogger people.
This is the last of the South Street Seaport ships I'm covering for now. There are two other landmarked ships connected to the Seaport, both I'll have to cover when it's not so cold: the Lettie G. Howard, which according to her own Myspace page (!) is wintering in Kings Point, New York, and the John A. Lynch, whose miserable story is recounted here.
Location: Pier 16, off Fulton Street
Built: 1907
Builder: U.S. Lighthouse Service; New York Shipbuilding Co.
National Register Number: 84002758
Listed: September 7, 1984
Visited: February 2, 2008
Additional Documentation: NRHP Registration Form
In the olden days, locations deemed impractical for a lighthouse were instead serviced by permanently-anchored lightships. Lightships are often named after their charges, and so No. 87 was known as the Ambrose when it guided craft through the Ambrose Channel, the shipping channel that leads into New York Harbor. Its career as the Ambrose lasted from 1908 until 1932 during the era of the Cunard and the White Star Lines, back when ships weren't the also-ran to planes in the international transportation sweepstakes they way they are today. (It also became the first permanent radio beacon in the United States in 1921, this at the very beginning of commercial radio broadcasting.)Other light stations, before and since, have also called the Ambrose; and after No. 111 took its place, the No. 87 later served various locations throughout the Northeast until it was decommissioned in 1966, then donated to South Street Seaport in 1968. (The Ambrose Lightship was replaced by a "Texas Tower" lighthouse--sort of a lighthouse on an oil rig--in 1967, and became fully automated and people-free in 1988.) In its retirement, No. 87 has great stories to tell and all, yet here at the seaport, it's something of a fabulous unicorn in captivity, incongruously docked at a maritime museum-mall when it spent most of its career out stationed in the Atlantic hinterwaters.
I now know more about lightships than I ever imagined I'd know.
Until Saturday, every time I visited the Seaport in service of this blog, something prevented me from boarding the Ambrose. Usually the metal ramp that led to the boat had a puny piece of rope blocking its threshold, signifying it was off-limits. I went to the Seaport early hoping to get this responsibility out of the way, but no, the rope was still there. The water was a little choppy for some reason and in my mild disappointment I stood by the ship mesmerized by the way such a huge thing--488 tons--could bob up and down so gently. And weirdly, out of the corner of my eye, I could just barely catch somebody peeking out of one of the boat's portholes. Thinking somebody might come out, I wait a while and still, nothing. I come back after twelve, which is when the boats are supposed to open, I think. No, it remains blocked off. There are open doors on the top of the boat, the Peking has visitors, but there's nothing on the Ambrose--an oasis of ghost ship in the middle of one America's great tourist traps. I sit and wait outside on Pier 17 for about a half an hour. (I've got nothing better to do.) No sign of life. I go inside and eat a meal in one of the mall's better restaurants. I have a window seat so I can nervously check the Ambrose every so often. Eventually, in the middle of my meal, I notice a family boarding it, unencumbered by any rope. The weirdest thing. I haven't taken my eyes off the boat for more than a minute (probably less) and yet, somehow...whatever. So I rush my meal and pay my bill and finally board the thing, after six months of waiting, wondering if I'M ACTUALLY NOT ALLOWED TO BE ON THIS AND I'M GONNA BE IN TROUBLE and such. I take pictures of nothing in particular. I take pictures to take pictures. Then I see a guy's there, sitting down. Dude doesn't even acknowledge my presence, doesn't look at me. A gnome. Then he goes back into the ship. And that's it. I don't even bother going below deck to check out the details of the monotonous, lonely life lightship tenders must've lived. I'm not sure who was being weird here: sea people, museum people, or blogger people.
This is the last of the South Street Seaport ships I'm covering for now. There are two other landmarked ships connected to the Seaport, both I'll have to cover when it's not so cold: the Lettie G. Howard, which according to her own Myspace page (!) is wintering in Kings Point, New York, and the John A. Lynch, whose miserable story is recounted here.
Labels: Financial District, ship, South Street Seaport, South Street Seaport and Water Street Corridor, watercraft
posted by Michael at
2:00 PM
1 Comments:
The ships are open during winter months on weekends only, weather permitting. I recommend you preserve and return to visit Ambrose again. It has a long and illustrious history. Among other distinctions, it was the first lightship to carry a radio beacon. It was launched in 1908 and served at its staion in Ambrose Channel, at the mouth of Lower New York Harbor until some time in the early 1930s. Here's what I suggest you do: show up at the Ambrose at 6:30 pm on Friday, July 18th. There will be a guided tour of the vessel -- and admission is free!
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