By Suzette Lopez and Cal Kothrade

On November 23, 1912, the old schooner that has become known as the Christmas Tree Ship foundered in Lake Michigan with all on board near Two Rivers, Wisconsin.

She was a three-masted schooner built in 1868 at Milwaukee for Kenosha lumberman R. B. Towslee and named ROUSE SIMMONS in honor of the man who helped arrange for its financing.   From 1873 to 1890, she sailed as part of Charles Hackley’s fleet.  Hackley was one of the wealthiest lumbermen in the Midwest at that time.

By 1893, the SIMMONS had out lasted the Wisconsin lumber heyday and turned to a new service designated as a utilitarian transport schooner also known as a “hooker.”

Around this time, captains and brothers August and Herman Schuenemann entered the Christmas tree market.  Transporting other cargos during the season, the last trip would be evergreen trees too small for lumber from Thompson, Michigan, to Chicago, Illinois.  This signaled the beginning of the Christmas season for many in Chicago.  Herman would string electric lights in his masts to let everyone know he was in port.  But, that last trip in November was always dangerous due to the weather.

August Schuenemann was lost with his schooner S. THAL and crew on November 10, 1898, off Glencoe, laden with Christmas trees for Chicago.

Herman Schuenemann was lost with his schooner the ROUSE SIMMONS and crew on November 23, 1912, laden with Christmas trees for Chicago.  A terrific November storm was coming when the SIMMONS, loaded to the max, sailed out of Thompson. Theory is the storm coated the deck load with rain and snow, then froze.  Unable to cut the deck load free, the weight just eventually carried the schooner and all on board down.

The SIMMONS was discovered in 170 feet of water by Milwaukee diver G. Kent Bellrichard in 1973.  Her Christmas trees had been tangled in fishermen nets for years.  This finally led to her discovery.

In 1980 the Wisconsin Marine Historical Society held their first annual Christmas Tree Ship Holiday Dinner which pays tribute to those who have lost their lives on the Great Lakes.   In 1999, member Jack Godden wrote a prayer that was read each year when a wreath was placed upon the SIMMONS anchor prominently located at the entrance to the Milwaukee Yacht Club.  After a few years of snowstorms, the prayer was read before the meal, the wreath being on display inside the Club and placed on the anchor later by staff.

Unfortunately 2020 brought with it life changing times.   The last annual Christmas Tree Ship Holiday Dinner was held in 2019 but will resume in 2023.  We want our members to be comfortable and be able to enjoy a night out with old friends and to make new friends.   But the remembrance continues.  Please read the prayer below and give a moment of silence for those who sailed off and never returned.

Oh, Great God creator of Earth – its lands and waters

Rest the souls of all lost in the waters of the Great Lakes

In memory of Capt. Herman Schunemann,

his crew members and his wood cutters

On board the Rouse Simmons in route to Chicago from Manistique Michigan

We lay this wreath to commemorate their loss

in the gales of Lake Michigan on November 23, 1912.

May they rest in Peace,

May pure, quiet waters, and soft breezes guide their way in eternity.

Amen.

Now sit back and enjoy Cal Kothrade’s story of his most memorable dive – the ROUSE SIMMONS.

           As a diver I had heard about the wreck of the Christmas Tree Ship almost from the beginning of my career.  Those stories had mostly come from older divers who were prolific during the pre-Zebra years, the heyday of Great Lakes diving.  I had also heard tales from some technical divers who were a bit closer to my age.  And thus, the illustrious grand dame was firmly seated in my “must dive someday” list. 

           In my early years I wasn’t up to the task due to the 170 foot depth where the ROUSE SIMMONS lies.  This is considered a technical dive and requires decompression to dive it safely.  I was only trained for recreational diving, with a max depth of 130 feet. 

           Years later I made the transition into technical diving and received my advanced nitrox/decompression procedures certifications that would allow me to safely enjoy a dive to the depth of the SIMMONS.  I doubt very much the discoverer of the wreck, former WMHS member Kent Bellrichard, neither had nor needed the same certifications when he first dove his newly found prize back in 1971, but then again it was a different place and time.  Technical diving hadn’t even been invented yet.  Back then the old, bold divers simply strapped on their gear and went down.  They knew about the bends but didn’t have the fancy computers we all use today.  They dove by the US navy dive tables.  I suspect that is just how Bellrichard did it, sans certification and all.

           Forty-two years later I arrived over the top of the SIMMON’s final resting place, located several miles north of the small Wisconsin town of Two Rivers, pronounced locally as Trivers.  I was outfitted with a considerable amount more gear than Bellrichard and a much smaller boat.  But I had perhaps as much anticipation as he had before his discovery dive.  I was about to at long last, photograph one of, if not the most famous shipwreck in Lake Michigan. 

           I remember thinking that Mother Nature could have shown my dive buddies and me a bit more kindness on that late September afternoon in 2013.  There was no sun in the sky to light up the cold depths of Lake Michigan, only a thick blanket of grey clouds more fitting for December than autumn.  It also was quite rough on the Lake that day, two to three footers with a stiff breeze keeping them from laying down. 

           The tiny dive boat we had chartered was permitted by the USCG to carry six divers and, of course, her captain.  That is exactly what we had on board, plus all of our technical dive gear.  With a set of double tanks and at least one smaller decompression cylinder for each of us, there was little to no room left aboard to move about or to get comfortable. 

           I found a need after about 20 minutes to begin employing my anti-seasick methods.  It started with denial, then making sure I was getting fresh air and not being too sheltered under the cabin roof.  My efforts to remain stoic then progressed to fixing my gaze on the horizon and losing myself in mental preparation for the dive plan.  I succeeded.

           Arriving at the point where I splashed into the cold green water required considerable effort on my part, both in time and money.  I lived several hours south of there, and besides the drive, there aren’t many dive charter boats that run in this part of the state.  It all made for a ‘now or maybe many months/years before I can dive this wreck again’ type of situation.  I would accept whatever fate the dive Gods gave us and began my descent to the wreck along the mooring line that was attached to some very old wood somewhere in the darkness below. 

           The top 75 feet of the water column was not clear, and as usual, there was nothing to focus on as I dropped other than making sure my camera was on and in the correct settings, ready to capture a little bit of history.  At about 90 feet down I first saw her materialize out of the dark green that filled my vision.  My heart may have actually skipped a beat.  What I saw was astounding.  A 124 foot lake schooner lying 80 feet below me.  I could see it all.  It was dark.  Very dark, but I could see the whole damn wreck.  This was not usual.  I still had two more atmospheres of pressure to go before I would be able to touch it, but there it was.  The lower layer of water was crystal clear.  Perhaps the thermocline had helped keep the two layers from mixing and allowed the bottom, colder layer to settle out.  There was virtually no current and once my eyes adjusted to the near darkness that was guaranteed by the clouds and surface chop, I began shooting. 

            We had arrived at the very stern, where the mooring line was tied off.  I immediately and instinctively swam for the bow, a third of a football field away, for this was where the money shots would be.  I stopped briefly at the windlass and noticed that there still remained a fair portion of her original cargo…Christmas trees destined for dockside sale in Chicago just in time for the 1912 holiday shoppers.  I snapped a few images of these now needle-less pines and continued on past the bowsprit which lay on the sandy bottom where it came to rest after breaking free from the hull upon impact with the bottom. 

           I intended to capture the fore and main masts which also lay on the lake bottom, along with the rest of the wreck behind them.  If I got out front before all the other divers, I would be able to image them coming toward my camera, as opposed to swimming away from me, which is not as aesthetically pleasing. 

            At this time, I looked down at one of the masts 12 feet below me and realized it still had the trestle tree (crow’s nest), something I had up until this very moment, never seen on a wreck before.  I began shooting, waiting for divers to come closer. 

         My time was ticking down quickly to my planned departure back to the world above the waves.  I swam the third of a football field back to the up line and shot some less than dramatic pictures along the way, pondering the nearly complete loss of all her deck boards and the generally broken up appearance of this highly touted wreck. 

           On the way up, I looked back at the oaken lady one last time as she was slowly swallowed up by the dark green mist that so perfectly hid her in the icy depths.  I knew in my heart then that I may never again make the effort to revisit this spot of fresh water.  I didn’t have to look at the pictures on my cameral to know that I had just bore witness to the best visibility I had ever seen on any of my dives anywhere in the Great Lakes.  Ever.

           While ‘hanging’ on the line at 20 feet, my last decompression stop before breaking the turbulent surface, I looked at my camera.  Perhaps, just to confirm that the whole thing had been real.  It was then that I realized just how narc’d I had been breathing compressed air at 160 feet, for the images of the masts on the lake bottom with the wreck receding into the distance never showed the picturesque trestle tree.  I was so ‘depth drunk’ that I failed to back up another five feet when picking my location to shoot the now iconic bow shots.  Another five feet would have captured the rare nautical feature that was right below me.  Proof positive that diving at these depths comes with risks, rapture of the deep only being one of them.

           Before I even got back aboard the tiny boat which was dancing and bobbing on the now significantly more violent surface waves, I began to feel sick.  The 40 minute ride back to port was spent alternating between showing my photos to my buddies on the back of my camera, and feeding fish with whatever I had eaten for lunch that day.  I didn’t care.  It was well worth a bit of malaise to capture the shots I had on my camera’s SD card.

           In post-production, raw photos shot underwater can be refined in various ways to bring out clarity and visibility that the human eye does not see while diving.  I chose to lighten the images from this dive, as it was extremely dark down there that day, but the visibility is what it is.  In this case approximately 140 feet.  To this day, more than a decade later and after countless dives on so many wrecks in all the Great Lakes, I have never encountered visibility like that again.  Not even close. 

           As schooner shipwrecks go, she is not in the best condition, not even close to being intact as some others I have seen.  But in the end, it is the Christmas Tree Ship, a storied vessel fabled in song, theater, and book.  A must dive on every Great Lakes wreck diver’s list.  At least it was on mine.  I doubt I’ll ever need to go back.

           Images were created with a Canon T1-I Rebel DSLR mated to a Canon 10-22mm super-wide rectilinear lens, in an Ikelite housing using natural light and Ikelite DS-161 Movie strobes X2.  Post production was performed in Adobe Lightroom.   Cal Kothrade.

Photo at the top:  ROUSE SIMMONS print by Charles Vickery

Other Photos:

PHOTO CREDITS: Above water – Great Lakes Marine Collection of the Milwaukee Public Library and Wisconsin Marine Historical Society.  Below water – Cal Kothrade

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Suzette Lopez is the Executive Director of the Wisconsin Marine Historical Society.

Cal Kothrade is the Shipwreck Ambassador of the Wisconsin Marine Historical Society, a diver, a photographer and an artist.  His work can be viewed at www.calsworld.net and a wall of his photos are on display at Milwaukee’s Riverfront Pizzeria.