Fog phantoms in the 114 PUNCHMAGAZINE.COM words by JOHANNA HARLOW The Ghost Ships of the San Mateo Coast PHOTOGRAPHY COURTESY OF: ALAN ZABICKY In the dusk of twilight, the second mate of the Coya paces the ship’s bow. He squints restlessly into the gloom but can’t see beyond the impenetrable wall of fog. It’s hard not to imagine this oppressive mist as a malignant creature. It slinks along the gunwale and coils around the masts. It mutes the murmurs of the men and the creak of the rigging. This phantom of fog seems intent on swallowing the ship whole—or suffocating it. Laden with coal from Australia and bound for San Francisco harbor, the Coya’s 1866 journey felt foreboding from the start. Only 12 days out of Sydney, an unlucky sailor fell from the jib to his death. It’s hard not to see this weather as another omen. The second mate sighs and leans on the gunwale, trying to shake his creeping sense of unease. They wouldn’t dock until tomorrow and the night should pass uneventfully… right? Wrong. When land looms on the ship’s leeward side, it’s already too late. As the ship hits the rocks off Pigeon Point, the iron-plate hull tears with a spine-chilling screech. Again and again, the merciless sea lifts the boat up and bashes it down on the rocks. Waves snatch up passengers and crew, dragging them into the hissing surf. Only three will make it to shore alive. The Coya wasn’t the first ship wrecked on the rocks of the San Mateo Coast—and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. To many a sea captain, the region’s fathomless fog embodied the ghost ships lost along this treacherous stretch. Some residents fought back against Mother Nature’s deadly shroud, resurrecting the Pigeon Point Lighthouse to pierce the gloom. But another secretive group used the fog to their favor. Be it a source of help or harm, these swirling mists are inextricably intertwined with the history of our local coastline.
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