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Sun, Sand, and Sunken Spanish Treasure Hunting 16th century galleon, a 20th century Grand Banks yacht discovers cruising delights along the Texas coast.

by

Robert Alderdice from Boating magazine, March 1975

ALL THE RIGHT WORDS were there: "Tropical sunshine," "miles of unpopulated, white sand beaches," and to top it all off, "sunken Spanish galleons laden with pre-Columbian loot."

It sounded like one of those colorful travel folders received in the mail, thumbed with a sign, and tossed away. Yet as plans for the summer's activities fell into place, the magic words continued to appear in official memos, medical requirements, equipment requisitions, and dry scientific papers.

Our research group, as part of the University of Texas Marine Biomedical Institute at Galveston, was to set up a summer research station at Port Mansfield, Texas, just 60 miles north of the Mexican border and 250 nautical miles from our home port of Galveston. In Port Mansfield, we would assist the Texas Historical Commission in exploring the wreck of a Spanish galleon off Padre Island.

Port Mansfield is a tiny port town, and we learned that the sudden influx of people associated with our research station would quickly overflow local accommodations. So our need for a place to live, combined with the giddy words of promise we'd read and our own desire to cruise, brought a quick decision: Take Oikos, our 32' Grand Banks yacht, and live aboard it for two wonderful months.

Suddenly it was June 8th. Trucks were rolling south loaded with technicians, divers, and equipment; tugs were towing work barges down the Intracoastal Waterway toward Port Mansfield. We sailed tomorrow to find out for ourselves: Is Texas' southern coast one of America's great undiscovered cruising grounds?

Dinner conversation aboard Oikos that night centered on whether to go offshore from Galveston or to follow the protected Waterway. A rhumb line course would carry us over 40 nautical miles offshore—more a voyage than a coastal cruise. Too, if we chose the Intracoastal we would get to see almost the entire panorama of Texas' changing coastal character. Leaving the Louisiana border with its Okefenokee-like swamps, one cruises along flat salt marshes where magnificent populations of waterfowl and migratory birds are to be seen. Farther south near the mouth of the Colorado River the coast becomes wooded, with trees lining the Intracoastal. Then comes Matagorda Bay, first of the large, shallow bodies of water on the mid-Texas coast sheltered from the Gulf by barrier islands and peninsulas.

South of Matagorda, surroundings quickly take on a tropical look. The Waterway cuts through sandy baylets of blue-green water, palmettos spring up among the marsh grasses, and at Corpus Christi, the metamorphosis is almost complete. Tall date palms line roadways ashore, and sand beaches are all about.

But what awaits us along Padre Island and the Laguna Madre (Father Island and Mother Lagoon)? For the crew of Oikos, these were unknown waters and we were anxious to find out lie ahead!

The evening weather report settled the question. An unusual weather situation had developed over the western Gulf—a surface low and a large low-pressure system aloft had thundershowers forming offshore and moving inland. Though the system was expected to dissipate the following day, we felt being offshore in it would be risky and decided to go inland from Galveston to Freeport. If the weather looked good there, we'd try an overnight offshore run to Port Aransas, some 17 hours farther down the coast.

At 0530 the following morning Oikos took in all lines and we eased from her slip at the Galveston Yacht Basin. Though the morning sun backlighted purple thunderheads out over the Gulf, the wind was calm. Soon, an aroma of bacon frying and coffee perking wafted up to the flybridge, and moments later the first mate, the only other person on board for this trip, passed up the watch's breakfast—bacon and egg sandwiches with a couple mugs of steaming coffee. This arrangement packs all the right breakfast makings into a one-handed meal the helmsman can really appreciate while underway.

By mid-morning, the weather showed signs of clearing. Only a few scattered showers were left and offshore wave heights were pegged at three to four feet, so our decision was made to proceed offshore at Freeport for a night run to Port Aransas, 115 nautical miles south.

With only two aboard, we'd have to stand watch-and-watch for the next 24 hours, so while the first mate took the helm, I went below to check the engine room and grab a nap. Stretched out on the berth listening to the single Lehman-Ford diesel purr at 1600 rpm, I felt the residue of shoreside tensions drain away. The off watch made good use of its free time.

Oikos nosed out between the Freeport jetties and, by noon off the Freeport sea buoy, the autopilot had been set on a course of 220° which angled gently out from the six-fathom curve to a point just offshore of Caney Creek, Texas, about a three-hour run.

Our course kept us well inside the shipping lanes, but we faced the prospect of watching out for anchored shrimpers and offshore oil platforms all along the way. Thus we'd brought up-to-date 1200-series charts for the area which would show the permanent platforms. Huge mobile drill rigs may be anywhere, but they work around the clock, are always brightly lighted and can be seen at quite a distance.

After lunch, the first mate elected to spend her off watch soaking up sun on the gently bobbing foredeck. With ten tons of displacement and a deep keel, Oikos shouldered through the three-foot chop with a very easy motion. All in all, the afternoon run was a storybook offshore cruise. Around us, sea birds fed on the spring crop of fish traveling aboard drifting sargassum. At mid-afternoon an old porpoise hove alongside, rolling slightly so he could cast an eye on the helmsman above. For a long moment, we looked at each other as if to share the joy of a perfect afternoon at sea.

The watch changed again at 1600. We could no longer see the coast's low dunes and not another ship in sight, so it was good to see our next mark, the Matagorda sea buoy, pop up right on cue. Since the coast curves more sharply to the south, we made our way out to the ten-fathom curve for the night's run to Port Aransas, and settled back to watch a violent sunset—all golds, purples and reds.

The last of twilight was fading as Oikos left the ships anchored off Matagorda Ship channel. A canopy of stars sprinkled a moonless night, but their light alone was sufficient to illuminate the scene. Astern, the sea did its best to answer back to the heavens: Phosphorescence exploded in Oikos' wake with millions of weird, blue, underwater "stars."

On the bridge we talked of the cruise ahead—would we see Spanish treasure? The legend of Padre Island's gold goes back to late summer, 1553 when, at the busy port of Veracruz, Mexico, the Spaniards readied a fleet of 20 or more galleons to carry their plunder back to Spain. The great ships were dispatched with pomp and ceremony.

As this fleet of ships came abreast of the Bahamas, a fierce hurricane struck, sinking three of them. A few ships were able to struggle back to port and tell their sad story, but others, many others, were driven relentlessly, day after torturous day, before the awesome winds. The bedraggled Spaniards aboard doubtless gave thanks for their salvation when their keels finally crashed upon Mother Earth.

But had they been saved? When the storm abated, they found themselves just off a long and desolate barrier island stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction. Some 300 men, women, and children swam through the surf and crawled ashore. For almost a week they lay exhausted on the sun-warmed sands of Padre Island.

Supplies were short, though, and soon hunger began to stir and worry the survivors. Then, almost miraculously, one morning the Spaniards awoke to find their camp surrounded by naked savages in war paint. The Indians had food which they offered. Even before the meal was over, however, the dream of rescue turned into a nightmare. Waiting Indians let fly with hundreds of arrows, forcing the surprised and desperate Spaniards to take cover in Padre's hot dunes.

So began a hideous game of hide-and-seek as the Spaniards retreated to the south, stalked day and night by the Indians. One at a time they fell victim to the silent arrows or to agonizing, sun-parched thirst, including Juana Ponce de Leon, daughter of the famous seeker of the fountain of youth. Finally a very few reached the mouth of the Rio Grande, where the Indians gave up pursuit. Ironically, good drinking water, albeit brackish, can be had anywhere on Padre Island by simply scooping out the sand to a depth of two or three feet.

But there was at least one Spaniard who survived by his wits. Francisco Vasquez reasoned that his countrymen would be sure to send searchers to rescue the loot in the battered galleons, so he had abandoned the rest of the survivors on the beach and swum slowly back to one of the ships. There he found shelter and enough food to survive. His hunch was fulfilled the following spring when a salvage fleet arrived. Vasquez became the key figure in the operation, directing salvage activities where he had seen the ships disappear.

Although the Spaniards pulled off what must be history's most valuable salvage effort, they weren't able to get it all. Quiet men who live along Padre's length still go out before each storm's winds have died away. Do they find the whispered-of treasure, the washed-up Spanish silver and gold? You ask them when you cruise this way!

As if the Gulf resented our thoughts of her earlier caprices, flashes of lightning began to appear in the east about midnight. Within half an hour, gentle east breezes shifted to the southeast and stiffened to 15 knots. Oikos' motion quickened as wind chop built up at angles to the swells, so rpm was increased to 1700 and our course changed another 5° to windward. Scudding clouds obscured the stars, and our idyllic night turned pitch-black save for the looming glow of distant lightning. Clearly, it was a race to a safe harbor.

At 0200, we identified a winking light as the Port Aransas sea buoy and began to align our course with the channel entrance lights. An hour later, we moored ahead of the R/V Longhorn at the University of Texas Marine Science Labs in Port Aransas. As the storm built and the first raindrops fell, we sat in our cabin over a cup of coffee, dog-tired and cat-smug.

Through Sunday we lay in Port Aransas as squall lines marched through, dashing our plans for an offshore run to Port Mansfield. Monday morning the weather was unchanged: torrential rain squalls all about, winds southeast at 20 to 30 knots. But our schedule required that we press on, so at 0530, we picked our way out of the MSL's tiny harbor and headed up the Corpus Christi Ship Channel toward Corpus Christi Bay.

Three bodies of water have my enduring respect for their sheer meanness: Pamlico Sound, NC, only by reputation; Lake Pontchartrain, LA, by personal experience; and Corpus Christi Bay, were even slight winds will build a mindless chop. This morning, the bay was riled into cones of water, springing up four feet high in an instant only to explode in blinding spray. Oikos' bluff bows sent white water flying far above the bridge time and again, but still her motion was easy. Weight, blessed weight of displacement. Two hours later, the darkest squall line of all engulfed us, but when it had passed the sun shone through and I found the Waterway entrance buoy. After altering course, we gingerly picked our way through a confusion of thin water ponds, channels and private cuts at north Padre Island.

By 0830 we had cleared Padre Island Causeway Bridge and headed into Laguna Madre. Skies were clear, but the wind continued southeast at 30 knots or better. It would take only seconds to set an unwary helmsman out of the channel and hard aground.

On small-scale charts like NOS 1117, or even on the 1200 series, the Laguna Madre appears to be a large body of water, and to the eye the expanse is impressive. As we followed our course on large-scale small-craft charts, however, we began to realize appearances deceive. Small-scale charts often arbitrarily tint huge areas of shifting dunes and tide-flooded sands a deceptive blue. Off to the west, we could see that the mainland shoreline was quite distinct—almost a low bluff from three to ten feet high. To the east, however, the marching dunes of Padre Island melded with choppy water. Between the Intracoastal and the island lay hundreds of square miles of water whose depth can easily be measured in inches.

For 26 nautical miles, Oikos nosed her way along the choppy lagoon, taking the gusty wind broad on her bow. The island seemed to be getting closer and closer. Then the mainland coast opened abruptly inland to reveal Baffin Bay. Charts indicate scattered rocks in the lagoon, and to emphasize the point, a tiny settlement there is called Point of Rocks.

These buildings were the first we'd seen since leaving the Padre Island Causeway area. And other than a few rambling fishing shacks along the Waterway, they proved to be the last until we reached Port Mansfield itself. The entire 57 miles of coast is comprised of ranch land, most of it owned by just two huge spreads, including the famous King Ranch where Santa Gertrudis cattle were bred. These burly red beasts can be seen often in the underbrush along the Intracoastal.

Slowly Padre Island's sand dunes seemed to march toward the Waterway until only the dredged channel remained. The natives call this area the "Land Cut" and we found it to be the most attractive stretch of Laguna Madre. White sand beaches line the Waterway, with here and there an inviting channel cut back into the island by oil-exploration crews in bygone years. Around them tower dunes of gleaming white sand as high as 50 feet, protecting their blue-green waters from the wind. Any one of them would make an attractive gunkhole—like anchoring at a desert oasis.

By 1600 we had cleared "Land Cut" and headed out into the southern portion of Laguna Madre. Broad, shallow waters opened rapidly again until more than seven miles separated Padre Island from the mainland. Over the days ahead, we were to discover that this area abounds in trout (spotted weakfish) and redfish (red drum). Both are delicious and excellent sport fish.

Two hours later, we are at last turned from the Waterway into Port Mansfield Channel. It was our first call at the little port and to our delight, we found that newly built apartments fronting on the harbor had slips suitable for Oikos. Advance crews from the research station had made arrangements for us so we nosed in and heaved our lines to welcoming hands.

Port Mansfield is the northernmost community in a bustling area that contrasts vividly with the lonely ranch country we'd cruised through. The Lower Rio Grande Valley of Texas ranks with California and Florida as a citrus production area. Other produce, such as bell peppers, asparagus, and tomatoes, grow well in this rich, lush valley near the Rio Grande.

Also, much of the shrimp that big distant-fisheries vessels harvest from the Yucatan continental shelf are landed in Brownsville, Port Isabel, and Port Mansfield. Onboard negotiation with crews of these big shrimpers can result in fabulous deals. We once traded a case of beer and two six packs of Coke for ten pounds of huge shrimp—12 to 16 shrimp to a pound!

About 50 miles south of Port Mansfield lies the Mexican border and across the river from Brownsville is the picturesque Mexican town of Matamoros. It's a tourist mecca with fine shops, open markets, and many good restaurants.

Exploring all these areas in our VW bus, which had been driven to Port Mansfield by one the advance party, the first mate discovered many sources for our everyday needs. Meat (including shrimp) and produce were plentiful. But for a full-fledged supermarket it meant going to Raymondville, just 25 miles inland. All of this compensated for the shortage of modern conveniences in Port Mansfield itself, especially if one enjoys those special flavors and lifestyle of a tiny coastal fishing village.

It's hard to describe Port Mansfield. You have to experience it. Maybe the best way is to note that the Red Dog Saloon is the center of daily routine. It has a pool table, shuffleboard machine, jukebox, bar (beer only), laundromat attached, and a bartender-jack-of-all-trades named Sonny. No screens, no air conditioning. It's the only place I've seen where the tables are set with salt, pepper, sugar, a napkin holder, and a can of Off!

On several occasions, it was necessary for us to order replacement parts for our sophisticated research gear. A typical conversation with a West Coast electronics firm might end like this:

"The University of Texas Marine Biomedical Institute…"
"U-ni-ver-si-ty … okay, I've got that. And the street number?"
"Are you ready?"
"Yeah."
"The Red Dog Saloon, Port Mansfield, Texas."
"…"
"Are you still there?"
"I wasn't ready for that."

We came to love the rest of the Port Mansfield family, too. There's Mae and Marvin Biggs. Mae runs Mae's Bait Box and Marvin makes everything else run. If your electricity or phone goes out in the middle of the night, it's likely to be Marvin who'll show up to fix it. Know the best outboard mechanic for 50 miles around? Yep. Marvin. Then there's Bud Simmons who operates the Marlin Marina. And the retired couple who run Port Mansfield's only grocery store and post office. They have a sampler over their door that reads, "Old age ain't for sissies." The two or three fry-cook restaurants in Port Mansfield are open when their owners aren't out shrimping or fishing, but they close early in the evening so everyone can go on over to the Red Dog.

Within a few days, we discovered that the Port Mansfield waters harbored examples of coral reef-type animals. The jetties extending through Padre Island were built in the early 1960s of great chunks of granite. Already certain types of coral are to be found there along with sea urchins, brittle starfish, damselfish, and other colorful tropicals. Since the water at the jetties, both inside and outside, is barely chest deep and tidal currents are small during the summer, members of our party would don face masks and snorkels to simply wade along enjoying the sights.

About eight miles north of the Padre Island/Port Mansfield Channel and only a couple miles off the beach there's an unusual reef marked with an orange buoy. Our divers found this to be a limestone outcropping covered with large sponge colonies, a few branching corals, and a wonderful population of tropical fish and colorful living seashells. Since the crest of the reef is only 40 to 50 feet deep, it is easily accessible to sport divers. Dale Vandermoolen, a guide at Port Mansfield, operates a 43' Huckins charter boat equipped for diving, but individuals should bring their own scuba gear.

When at last the archeologists pinpointed the location of their galleon, a specially designed barge was towed to the site from Port Mansfield. On it was mounted a huge diesel-driven pump named Baby Huey. Since the treasure lay under five feet of sediment, it was Baby Huey's job to wash this away while divers recovered the artifacts. One of the first and largest to surface was a ship's anchor with two cannons nested in its flukes. Likely, it was a spare stowed in the hold of the ill-fated galleon. Soon divers began encountering clumps of other items, conglomerated by the combined effects of galvanic action, corrosion, and biological overgrowth. They included many crude silver ingots bearing Spanish marks, clusters of famous Spanish doubloons, eating utensils, etc.

Archeological work on Texas' sunken galleons will continue for many years, so the exact location of the site cannot be revealed. But knowledgeable beachcombers along Padre Island have learned to identify available souvenirs of the Spanish adventure—smooth, stream-polished stones ranging from walnut to watermelon size. Such a stone is completely foreign to local geology, so in all likelihood it came from stone ballast scooped from Spanish stream beds and placed into the galleons' bilges when they were built.

As the summer progressed, Oikos returned to Galveston for a period, then put out once again for Port Mansfield. During the two round trips, every portion of the Texas coast between Galveston and Port Mansfield was covered both offshore and along the Intracoastal. Did we find this Texas coast a great cruising ground? Yes, but every skipper and crew has particular likes and dislikes. The following comments will help you judge for yourself:

Facilities: The Texas coast is, as yet, an uncrowded yachting area. In over a thousand miles of cruising we passed less than a half-dozen yachts on the Intracoastal, none offshore. It's a haven for those who want to get away from it all.

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