Cape May Diaries
22- Which way to the Ferry?
In deference to my grandfather, who had gone from house builder to boat builder and the two Dutch captains named Conellius who had explored the waters of the South River(known as the Delaware River) we could not resist a ride on the two hour ferry ride between Cape May and Delaware.
With the Delaware shore within eye sight (and a 100 mile route overland), Cape May became the target of numerous schemes to set up a ferry here – yet for the better part of a century no service existed.
While Cape May was the destination of the wealthy of Philadelphia and the landed gentry of the Deep South to access its beaches before the American Civil War, ferry service was irregular as best. Steam boat service ran for a short time after the War of 1812 then lapsed until after the Civil War some 50 years later, then lapsed again until the turn of the Century when Queen Anne Service ran from 1900 to 1904. This service failed primarily because the company could not find an adequate place to land on the Cape May side.
Then a Baltimore businessman named Jesse Rosenfeld came up with a scheme that he believed would overcome this lack of land. During World War I, the United States -- because of a shortage of steel -- experimented with creating ships out of concrete. This noble experiment failed for obvious reasons, and Rosenfeld scheme proposed the most logical use of such inappropriate seafaring vessels: he intended to sink them.
Rosenfeld sought to purchase three concrete ships and sink them near Cape May point where they might form a foundation upon which a ferry terminal might be constructed. The first ship he sought -- the Atlantis -- had to be raised from a watery grave in the Virginia River, where like the stone it was, the ship had settled. Rosenfeld must have felt great pride in raising this stony Lazarus from its death, and seeing it float up the coast its destination in Cape May. But this Lazarus was determined to remain buried, and before Rosenfeld could bury the concrete body in the desired place, a freak storm did it for him, sinking the ship in an unintended spot near Sunset Beach, sinking Rosenfeld's dream of a ferry service with it.
Eventually, with modern technology available in the 1960s, a ferry terminal was constructed, not at Cape May Point where first envisioned, but on the Delaware River side, which extended the total trip from 12 miles to 17.
We had become fond of ferry rides from our frequent trips from the tip of Manhattan to Staten Island – a mini cruise we took as non-electric relief to the high heat of summer, although in truth we took trips even foul weather watching the towers of Manhattan vanish in the mists only to reappear upon our return.
In those days before the Sept. 11, 2001 attack on the World Trade Center removed a significant part of that view, we used to hug the ferry rail for glimpses of a rare angle of the sky line as well as visions of Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty.
But like many pre-Columbus sailors, neither of us had ever taken a ride of a boat that lost sight of land, and rumors claimed the Lewes-Cape May Ferry did. This was less than accurate, we later learned, since we could technically see land even as we stood at the foot of the Cape May light house. Yet the ride would take us over water where if disaster struck, we could not simply swim our way back to shore - one of the great fears of early sailors who tended to hug the coast on that account.
My fear was less of drowning than becoming sick. For all my contact with boats as a kid, screwing in bolts, spreading out fiber glass, helping to wrench them on and off trailers, I faired poorly on the water. The rougher the water, the less well I fared. On a lake as calm as Greenwood Lake (where my family did extensive boating when I was young) my condition rarely evolved beyond a mild queasiness. Yet out and about on the open sea, such as the waterway along side the seaward Atlantic City, my whole head spun - a struggle that persisted well after I arrived back on land. Along with this question - as we boarded the ferry - we wondered if we could expect as calm a ferry ride as we were used to in the north, or would we suffer a similar turbulence that had kept Henry Hudson from exploring the Delaware River as he had later explored the Hudson: Was I going to get sea sick or not?
I need not have fretted so much. It was not sea sickness that sank us, but boredom.
We encountered none of the rough water that had turned Henry Hudson away from exploring the Delaware.
The boat we stepped aboard in October 1990 traveled between Cape May and Lewes on a regular daily schedule that varied only with the seasons. Even when winter made Cape May unappetizing to tourists, the ferry was needed to transport the host of travelers that made their way to its dock from the end of the Garden State Parkway. Waiting at the dock for the body of the boat to open was an array of bicycles, pedestrians and vehicles all of which needed transport to the distant shore.
We came in 1990 just before the fleet was about to undergo a remarkable - and to our minds - disquieting transformation, shifting from what one report called "rather crude" accommodations to vessels that resembled mini-cruses ships, equipped with all the latest comforts.
In retrospect, these changes were no only necessary because of the discomforts associated with the two-hour ride, but also because the ride was so utterly boring. Our desire to take a trip that took out of sight of land, we did not reckon on how devoid that sight would be, lacking the New York skyline, the Statue of Liberty and other notable items of New York Harbor. Even the sea gulls lacked significant energy to keep up long with our ship. Whereas the trip was longer, it soon ran out of anything worth looking at. We were lucky to catch sight of a distant tanker making its way out of the mouth of the Delaware River, and soon longed for sight of land again. By the time we arrived at Lewes, we dreaded the long trip back. While we foolishly repeated the experience during our 1991 visit to Cape May, we gave up the tradition after that.