How could they have known that watching from under the sands, tide and wind a silent witness lay as the New Carissa befalls a fate similar to hers, a victim of human error and the power of Mother Nature?

This is the Helen E, once a U.S. Navy subchaser 110 feet in length displacing 98 tons. The remains of the vessel have been visible this summer in the Horsfall Beach sand north of the New Carissa. The Helen E is one of several ships in Coos Bay’s history that ran aground while trying to forge its way past the North Spit.

These types of Navy ships were built at the beginning of World War II to stop German U-boats. They were wooden subchasers. As a subchaser, the Helen E would have had a complement of three officers and 24 enlisted men. Now all that remains are charred ribs, a rusted engine mount and a seaward beckoning rudder post. They lie exposed after more than 50 years in the wave-washed sands of low tide. A short distance away is the ongoing project to remove the New Carissa.

It was probably about 1954 when my father, Reuben Lyon, was flying his recently repainted Aero Coupe down the beach and spotted the Helen E sitting high on the sand. He photographed the attempt being made to return her to the safety of the sea.

From the air, he saw the U.S. Coast Guard motor whaleboat just outside the breakers. Around the stranded vessel were several people and stout lines laid out on the sand.

Upon landing on the beach, something he often did, he found scores of people gathered around a fire higher up on the beach. Women and children were present and several of the men appeared to be members of the Coast Guard. The vessel was rigged with a stout line around her girth to bear the force of the pull to return her to the sea.

When the attempt to pull her off the beach failed, her owner burned her. The reason is not clear to me, but I seem to remember that my father said, “He was so damned mad, he burned her.”

Whatever the reason for her fiery end, I climbed the seawall that appears much lower in the 1954 photos that my father took. Also not in the photos was the thigh-deep grass and brush that I waded through to reach my recent vantage point. In order to establish this wreckage as that of the Helen E, I needed to have a line-of-sight to the second concrete arch on the northern end of the McCullough Bridge using the swing span of the rail bridge as a sight.

After 50 years there is now a ridge forested in pine and scotch broom with thickets of willow in the wet areas. This all but blocked my view of the swing span. In the 1954 photos, this is wet sandy area just above high tide with patches of beach grass. I did figure where the span was and this indeed is the remains of the Helen E.

Her charred, protruding ribs look as if some sea creature lies partially buried in the sand. Her rusted engine mount lies in the center and at the aft end her rudder post beckons to the open sea.

Her metal parts were probably carted off to some distant scrap yard, the same fate that’s befalling the charred rusted remains of the New Carissa. The ongoing New Carissa project soon will remove her from the beach and the view of the silent witness.

Then, the relentless sea will bring back the sands and the Helen E will fade from view. She still will be washed by waves and covered by tides. She will continue her lonely view of this stretch of beach, watching and waiting for the next hapless victim to join her.

It is a little sad, because for a while she had a partner. Now she will be on her own again, watching and waiting. If the New Carissa had been left and a half-century passed, would she too, rise up out of the tidal sands to make people wonder why, how and when?

Only the silent witness will remain.

(Reuben Lyon grew up and lives in Hauser. He’s a lifelong visitor to Coos Bay’s North Spit.)