By Metro Leshak
Special to the Press
       Editor's note: It has been 20 years since the Tri-Boro sportsmen of Northampton successfully raised canal boat #249 from its watery grave-a quarry adjacent to the Lehigh Coal and Navigation (L.C.&N.) company canal, where the L.C.&N., recognizing possible legal ramifications inherent in the floating wooden hulks, had arranged for their scuttling back in 1931.
       In observance of the operation, Allen Township resident Metro Leshak takes us through that historic event with his photographs and excerpts from his unpublished work "249 and Counting."
       For 102 years of its successful operation, the Lehigh Canal System enjoyed a certain monopoly, that of transporting coal, ore, lumber, manufactured goods and passengers to and from the growing cities in the industrial east.
       Benefitting the stockholders, this transportation lifeline served well in its time. There can be little disagreement that inroads made by the railroads played a significant role in the demise of the longest operating American towpath canal system, the Lehigh Coal and Navigation Company (L.C.&N.)
       Having enjoyed its heyday as king of transport, the canal system slowly and inexorably bowed to the railroad's competition.
       Time passed. The muffled plop plop of hooves on the cinder towpath were no longer heard. Dotting the course of the inactive waterway, the idled canal boats made hollow thumping sounds in the night. Buffeted by the wind and weather, the vessels became decrepit and an eyesore.
       The more enterprising individuals living in the proximity of the canal during this post-Depression era quickly made use of some of the boats. Some became instant chicken coops, others temporary homes for the ex-canal boatmen and their families, while still others were used for barn mending or for fuel when the local farmers were butchering.
       The L.C.&N., recognizing the legal ramifications inherent in the floating wooden hulks, made a last ditch effort in ridding itself of its obligations. A select group of former boatmen, or those seeking employment as laborers, were hired. Their job: "get rid of the canal boats."
       The "getting rid of" was accomplished by digging a shallow channel from the adjacent canal to a water-filled quarry. Then, holes were either chopped in the craft, either partially filled with fly ash to aid in sinking, or set afire, as they passed from the canal into the quarry, where they laid preserved (in the deeper water) for 50 years...at this writing.
       Though the scuttling of the craft in this "out of sight, out of mind" operation may not have been publicized, many local citizens knew and frequently spoke of the demise of the L.C.&N. and the canal boats.
       About the time when the wooden outhouses were declared illegal (we now had pipes to pee in) and relegated to keepers of hand tools and such, the area schools started "environmental education." Classes taught on this subject generated field trips. Field trips, much better than sitting in stuffy classrooms, got many of the area youth into the great outdoors. The roving commentaries by the more dedicated educators, with foresight directed toward preservation, exposed the students to flora and fauna native to the former teeming canal and lock areas.
       Impressions gained from those lessons remained with some of the students. One such individual, Roger Bodnar of Northampton, savored the outdoors and the classes and mentally expanded on the possibilities of the local area. Bodnar, realizing the potential of the local acres of the L.C.&N. property as a place to stay and play, vocalized his dream potential.
       Aided by his three brothers, Basil, Ted and Jim-along with a handful of like-thinking area youth - the foundation and labors of a sportsmen's club came into being.
       The grunt labor began and so was born what was to be Tri-Boro Sportsmen Club - a club that would be instrumental in fostering volunteerism directed toward preservation of natural resources and playing an important part in preservation of our American heritage.
       While resting from their labors on the bank of the quarry, Roger Bodnar, club president, along with Fred Schmidt, another grunt member, mused over current happenings and future direction, reflecting perhaps on past accomplishments. In and protruding from the deep green water of the quarry, they could see some of the sunken holds from the L.C.&N. fleet. Schmidt, not familiar with the past history of the demise of the canal boats, questioned Bodnar, asking, "Hey, Roger, what's that sticking out of the water and that other stuff down there?"
       "Oh, them, that's part of those boats that were sunk, canal boats; the place is full of them," was Roger's reply.
       Schmidt, being a scuba diver with the YMCA in nearby Allentown, his curiosity now aroused, said, "Hey, how 'bout bringing up some divers from the YMCA for a look? Maybe we can get one out in time for the bicentennial."
       So started another ambitious project.
In November 1975, the first of countless underwater sorties began. Many sunken boats in the more shallow waters were located and examined. Many were passed up as being non-salvageable due to extreme damage and their deteriorated condition. A "better boat," one more sound if there was one, would have to be located.
       One of the underwater sorties revealed a vessel, resting under another rotting hulk, to be in fairly good condition. In fact, the logo of the L.C.&N. on her bow could be seen as could the number-249.
       Editor's note: The effort to retrieve canal barge #249 was a long one-too long to adequately describe in this excerpt. Let it suffice to say that the work was all done by Tri-Boro members and volunteers and the equipment and supplies were all donated. No tax money was used during the entire operation.
       Keeping that in mind, let's jump ahead to the final days of the retrieval.
       Yes, finally, #249 was free of her 50-year grave and was floating, if only just three feet from the muck and mire of her former resting place. This was Sept. 19, 1981, 5:30 p.m. This was the day that had been looked forward to for six long years. Over the next several days and nights, the boat was slowly towed, still submerged, toward a prearranged point and shallower water.
       The time for final salvage was rapidly approaching...and that happened Oct. 3, 1981, when canal boat #249 broke the surface, at the end of a spiderwork of cables and amid cheers from those in attendance.
       Hanging incongruously in mid-air, not floating as in its heyday, no longer submerged but not yet on shore, the vessel, in its anti-climactic limbo, seemed totally unreal. Out over the blackness of the quarry, the glaring spotlights shone on the small American flag attached to the bow of the boat, as it silently rippled in the chill wind.
       The "big water" with its unusual catch was quiet once more. But not for long. There was more work ahead, for the boat still had to be brought on shore for restoration work.
       Though the past accomplishments were deemed a success, further planning was called for. It was decided to winch the canal boat from the water. This method would be more acceptable and safe, as well as less injurious to the craft in its present condition.
       Breaking ice, divers submerged, utilizing and installing a stout tow cable that would completely encircle the craft. It was cable direct now and possibly the last chance for retrieval this day. Cables secured, signals passed, and once again, the slow, imperceptible winching continued.
       Activity, as said, was slow, careful and professional, however, taking up much daylight time, also taxing the physical endurance of those underwater and on shore.
       Within a week, now safely on shore, the boat was wrapped in a heavy-mill black plastic (this on the advice of the William Penn Museum) so as to prevent the rapid dissipation of moisture and help eliminate cracking of the aged planking.
       Being under wraps for over a year and a half allowed the club to procure the necessary lumber for the upcoming restoration. This time period also allowed a period of rest for those deeply involved.
       Now, the move from dry dock to a chosen spot near the clubhouse was in order.
       Today, with hatch covers constructed, and a second repainting and a move to a more prominent position-facing north overlooking the L.C.&N canal-old #249 is visited by the curious and stands as a memento not only to the past ages of commerce and early Americana, but also as a silent tribute to the sportsmen and women and volunteers. All this, without protest, in safety, without burning a flag and without a handout for public funds.