John Hammond says the swinging bridge over the South Bristol “gut” is the busiest bridge on the coast. He may be right.
Last month, as the rains and fog kept many recreational boaters on their front porch and their boats floating on their mooring, John and his three other bridge tenders opened her up 1905 times.
On Saturday afternoon, as the summer sun finally pushed the thermometer over 85 degrees, Hammond pushed the button and the bridge swung open allowing the lobster boat Comin’ and Goin’ to slide through the slender opening in front of a 28-foot-long open boat filled with sun seekers.
It marked the 1000th time the bridge was opened this month. Since reporting for duty at 8 a.m. Saturday, Hammond opened the bridge 32 times.
The bridge tenders work a six day, 48 hour week, 365 days a year.
Hammond is the sub, the relief operator.
“I grew up (on) the hill from the bridge which carries Rt. 129 over to Rutherford Island,” he said. “Then I moved up the other side on the hill, then to Damariscotta and finally, I got married, had two kids and moved to Gardiner.”
“It’s a long ride, but it is cheaper to live (in) Gardiner. Gas up there is 2.59, (a gallon), over there,” he said pointing to a store nearby with a gas pump out front, “gas is 2.95.”
When on duty, the tender has a shack attached to the bridge where the tender can grab a quick nap.
“You don’t sleep. You just rest a bit,” Hammond said.
Folks are liable to call in the middle of the night, or blow their horn, or radio the bridge tender to open her up. The steel and concrete structure is operated manually. No computerized whiz bang, flat screen, video game like stuff here.
First, the operator lowers the gates blocking the bridge, and letting folks know it is opening with the ding, ding, ding of a bell.
Then the hydraulic wedges that hold the bridge in place are retracted, freeing the span. Slowly, slowly, the span swings to the left, and boats begin to navigate through the 28 foot wide channel.
Boats coming from the west, have to be on guard as visibility is limited for there are some boats moored on the other side, out of sight.
“Sometimes, the guy on this side (the east side) thinks the bridge is opening for him and just goes right in the channel. The guy on the other side, who can’t see him coming, can plow right into him unless he is very careful,” said Hammond.
Sail boats use the channel too, but at high tide, the ones with tall masts have to be careful as a wire strung over the bridge carries power to Rutherford Island.
“When I was a kid, a sailboat took down the power line and the island was dark for eight hours,” he said.
State officials are thinking about replacing the bridge, although given the state’s current fiscal condition, they are just sort of thinking about thinking about what folks might want in a bridge and if they want it replaced at all, or just fixed up a bit.
Several years ago, a state plan to put in a new bridge brought protests from folks who are enamored with the current span’s rustic charm.
Hammond allows that the bridge is getting a bit creaky. Under the structure, a large concrete pad seems to be failing. Rust and peeling paint are other signs of wear.
As Hammond explains some of the details of bridge operations, he is in mid sentence, and pauses. Then he pushed up his Dale Earnhardt baseball cap and excuses himself.
“Gotago,” he said as a large black lobster boat blows his horn.
Then, for the thirty-third time since 8 a.m., Hammond pushes the button that lowers the gates and sets off the bell. Then the wedges are pulled lose, and the bridge slowly swings to the left.
“Thanks, John,” comes a call over the marine radio. Hammond waves back.
After he opens her up, allows the marine traffic to pass, he reverses the process. In a few minutes, the gates go up and cars roll over the span.
“It ain’t the best job in the works, but it’s a job. They call us essential workers so we don’t have to worry bout layoffs,” he said.
“At least that is what they tell us.”
