The sun had driven the fog out to sea. Under the Golden Gate’s red towers, a schooner heeled into the breeze, her plumb stem cutting through the boiling ebb as she spread her canvas. On that bright day in San Francisco Bay, the pilot schooner Wander Bird combined effortless grace with raw power, delighting the shorebound spectators who rarely saw such an elegant display.
I revisited that memory from 1998 as I descended the spiral steps of the narrow companionway into the dark-paneled main cabin. The space felt vast despite the ship’s age: 14 bunks ringed the cabin around a large, gimbaled dining table. But the vessel beneath my feet no longer wore the name Wander Bird on her stern. Restored to her original identity, she was once again No. 5 Elbe, now berthed in the Port of Hamburg where she had been launched in 1883 by the Stülcken yard as the fifth in a series of pilot schooners for the German emperor.
Her original role was as demanding as it was straightforward: deliver river pilots to incoming ships so they could navigate a challenging 60-mile stretch from Cuxhaven to Hamburg. Speed was essential—only the first pilot to reach the boarding platform earned the job and the fee. These pilot schooners had to be robust to handle the rough North Sea at the Elbe’s mouth and efficient enough to be managed by a small crew on the return leg. Their services were lucrative, but eventually combustion-powered vessels superseded them.
No. 5 served for three decades before being retired and destined for the scrapyard. In 1929 American writer and adventurer Warwick Tompkins discovered the vessel—then called Wandervogel—near ruin in Hamburg. He saw enough sound timber to justify purchase and restoration. For about $1,500 he bought her; restoration cost roughly $15,000, money he secured from friends. Renamed Wander Bird, Tompkins crossed the North Atlantic 13 times in her, once setting a record for vessels under 100 feet with a passage of 16 days and 21 hours.
The schooner’s most ambitious voyage began June 26, 1936, in Gloucester, Massachusetts, and ended under the Golden Gate Bridge on Feb. 21, 1937. The route took them via Europe, North Africa, Brazil, Chile and back to California. The ship’s company of 10 included Tompkins, his wife Gwen, their children Ann and “Commodore” Warwick Jr., bosun William Palmer, cook Albert Harrison and four paying crew-members. Tompkins chronicled their struggles—including a month-long, often ferocious battle rounding Cape Horn—in his book Fifty South to Fifty South. Facing westerly gales that reached hurricane strength and sailing 2,300 miles to make 1,000, all with young children aboard, left an enduring legacy that still lingered in this vessel’s timbers.
Irrational and undercapitalized
After World War II, Wander Bird became a liability for Tompkins, who shifted his focus to politics. Neglect set in and the schooner deteriorated, serving at times as a stationary home for the son known as the “Commodore.” In the 1960s she was sold to owners who lacked the funds and commitment to restore her. Had it not been for tug captain Harold Sommer, the derigged, decaying vessel likely would have been scrapped.
Sommer was not wealthy but he was determined and resourceful; friends pitched in with money, gear and labor. He described the effort as “a monumental project,” replacing stem, stern, planks, ribs, bulwarks, railings, rudder, steering gear, binnacle, hatch covers and much of the interior. He also added an auxiliary engine and rebuilt the rig. “Absolutely irrational and undercapitalized,” Sommer admitted, yet his persistence paid off. On June 1, 1981, Wander Bird slipped her lines for the first time in 40 years.
Ownership changed again after 1995. Two art dealers bought the schooner and brought her to Seattle, where she spent three years and even broke free of her mooring to wash ashore on Vashon Island—fortunately on a sandy beach. When Joachim Kaiser, a German enthusiast of classic vessels, stepped in, he arranged to bring her home to Hamburg despite having to pay a premium and take on a boat that was rotting in places.
Kaiser recalls the painful negotiations and a nightmarish loading in Seattle, with repeated inspections by the Coast Guard and difficulties with rusty loading gear. Ultimately Wander Bird’s hull was lashed onto an aging freighter and shipped back to the place where she was built, 120 years after her keel was laid. “We were sad to see her go,” said Robert d’Arcy, a schooner captain in the Pacific Northwest, “but it was the right thing to do. She belongs to Hamburg.”
Returning home to Hamburg
Back in Germany, a phased, comprehensive restoration was overseen by Stiftung Hamburg Maritim, a non-profit dedicated to preserving the city’s maritime heritage. Kaiser managed the program and helped secure donors and sponsors. Young adults entering the workforce carried out much of the hands-on work, creating a modern echo of prior rescues: like Tompkins in 1929 and Sommer in the 1970s, a committed group saved the schooner.
The restoration included a new deck, a new main mast, two common-rail diesel engines, and fresh copper sheathing on the hull bottom. The steering was returned to a giant tiller modeled on the original, replacing an iron wheel once donated by actor and seafarer Sterling Hayden. Restored to her original name No. 5 Elbe, she was relaunched and welcomed by special guests: “Commodore” Warwick Tompkins and his sister Ann, now in their seventies, who came to reconnect with childhood memories aboard the ship.
Today No. 5 Elbe benefits from the support of the No. 5 Elbe Club—about 220 members who volunteer time and funds to maintain her. Kaiser notes that the vessel “earns more than her keep,” yet she is busy: roughly 180 outings a year is far too much for a museum ship. Still, she sails frequently, bringing maritime history to life.
Standing on her deck, turning the old manual bilge pumps that once pushed Cape Horn’s water overboard and watching the city’s skyline reflected in the brass binnacle, it’s impossible not to admire No. 5 Elbe’s blend of agility and rugged beauty. As she approaches her 130th birthday, the schooner remains a rare survivor—lucky, perhaps, to have repeatedly found people willing to commit resources, sweat and imagination to bring her back from the brink.
Like few other vessels, No. 5 Elbe has logged countless miles across the world’s oceans, retraced the Elbe and returned to San Francisco Bay. Time and again, stewards—some called fools for their devotion—rescued her so that new generations might experience a day under sail on this storied pilot schooner.
Dieter Loibner is sailing editor for Soundings.
This article originally appeared in the September 2012 issue.