The River: ‘Talk to me. Talk to me.’ A riverboatman learns to listen to the voice of the river

The riverboat captain is a storyteller, and Captain Don Sanders shares the stories of his long association with the river — from discovery to a way of love and life. This column is being repeated from March 26, 2021, while Caption Don is providing home care for his ill wife. He looks forward to getting back soon.

By Captain Don Sanders
Special to NKyTribune

“Talk to me,” I demanded of the river. “Talk to me…”

The Middle Ohio River was fixing to crest above flood stage at 56.82-feet on the Cincinnati Gauge when I made those demands of the engorged torrent as I stood on her banks overlooking the sweeping bend at Aurora, Indiana. Mile 497.7. 

Lately, the televised river broadcasts from the Cincinnati stations reported the rising stages of the Ohio River in glum descriptions of the water creeping into businesses and homes built too close to the fluvial property line of the regularly fluctuating waterway. Nothing new or unexpected described the recent, natural adventure of the riverway. For the past 11,000-plus-years, the watercourse we call the Ohio has been taking annual exploratory excursions to inspect its outer boundaries. Compared to other trips, this one was merely a Sunday drive.

For much of the last half of the past year, I’ve avoided the COVID-19 Pandemic from my home high above the river overlooking Aurora Bend. Today, however, my “writing day,” the Thursday before this column hits the street on Sundays, I stopped by the park bordering the Ohio River after an errand lured me out of the house. Otherwise, I doubt that I would have been standing on the riverbank making demands of such an astonishing, omnipotent waterway at nearly the same time the floodwater reached its maximum height. 

Since my retirement from active duty on the Mississippi and its tributaries, and especially since selling my sternwheeler, the Rafter CLYDE, my areas of waterborne responsibilities have shrunk to what I see and hear on my desktop computer and the livingroom boob tube. But to my friends still earning their keep on the inland rivers, the recent high water presented some challenges.

Captain Josh Lakin, the Senior Captain of the Rising Sun, Indiana to Rabbit Hash, Kentucky ferry, the LUCKY LADY, tied off his ferryboat behind my old casino boat, the GRAND VICTORIA II, now known as the Rising Star Casino & Resort, at the beginning of last week when the swollen current and drifting flotsam became too much a challenge to the safety of the waterborne shuttle. 

Just upstream from where Captain Josh dogged off the LUCKY LADY, Barb Anderson, the fiery proprietress of the Riveria Inn B&B, better known as the “Anderson Plantation” to some of us river wags for its antebellum-style reminiscent of a plantation manse along the Lower Mississippi River, discovered both a loss and a gift from the floodwaters. Ms. Anderson best explained the unexpected exchange between herself and the Ohio River.

“Well, Ol’ Man River took back the docks he gave me a couple of years ago and left me about a two-acre pile of corn thatch in their place. Not a good trade at all!”

Downriver, some hundred miles, or more, the few winter crewmembers on the Steamer BELLE of LOUISVILLE have kept a careful eye on their precious century-old steamboat while the Ohio River rose to flood proportions. The high water followed closely on the BELLE’s recent return home after completing a very successful U. S. Coast Guard five-year inspection and necessary repairs at a shipyard at Gallipolis, Ohio. The BELLE’s musical, poetic-fireman, night watchman, and former railroad engineer, John Paul Wright, disclosed:

“The BELLE is well on her way to a new season. The work at the shipyard was completed, and she is in fine shape. As far as the high water is concerned, it takes a little more effort to get back and forth to the boat, but it’s just another day at the office for us… we are on schedule for 2021.”

Surprising many river observers, Markland Locks were closed to river traffic. Still, with the water conditions, those who knew the dangers associated with the locks and dams during highwater episodes applauded the decision. Over the past several years, several accidents credited to high water around various dams have resulted in the loss of lives and equipment. 

Or in the words of Cap’n JoJo: “Be careful out there — it’s a big river.” 

And according to the lockman I talked to by phone at Markland on Thursday, “We’re going to evaluate the situation in the morning and go from there.” 
 

By the time this column comes out, I expect the Markland Dam lock to be fully functional. Still, danger lurks whenever steel boats meet concrete walls in the midst of raging waters racing toward the sea. Such was the case this last on Wednesday, 03 March, when, according to officials: 

“Eight people were safely evacuated… from a tugboat that lost power near the Belleville Locks and Dam and drifted several miles downriver.”

Not until the Ohio River gives up the inspection of her outer banks and simmers down will river professionals breathe easier.

Returning to the beginning of this narrative along the shoreline where the land and the water meet at Aurora Bend, I arrived where the swollen river lapped nearly to the parking lot at the city park. The sight of the raging waters filled with the offscourings of every riverbank it swept was inspiring, but something elemental was absent within the spectacle of the river and me. As I observed the awesome sight, I understood that what I was seeing was no different from watching a river report on the evening news. With a long, intimate  relationship with the river these past 60 years, I instinctively recognized that I was not “listening to the voice of the river.” 

“Talk to me,” I demanded of the river. “Talk to me…”

Those words immediately returned me to the first time I heard the river’s sizzling song. It was nighttime on the Lower Mississippi when I landed the flatboat replica ADVENTURE GALLEY II behind a sandbar as close to Rodney, Mississippi, as possible. Spurred on by tales of the former glamorous and prosperous river town once considered a likely capital for the state until the river changed course and stranded Rodney inland and miles from the Mississippi, I ventured away from the flatboat and the crew to the other side of the bar where I looked across the broad torrent toward the eastern shore. This would prove to be as close to the site of the abandoned and deserted village as I would ever get.

Quickly, the awareness arose of a whistling, sizzling sound rising like musical tones from the passing water as it hurried downstream. Bravely, I waded into the torrent until the current swirled around my legs, tore away the sand, and hastened to carry me along with its surging song. The melodious allure enticed me to follow the enchanting voice until it took all my will to shun the pull of the river’s siren call.

At the water’s edge at Aurora, again, the memory of the Mississippi River’s song whistling past Rodney transformed into the Ohio River’s resonant tones. Clearly, I heard the murmuring, gurgling water as well as lower, simmering sizzles whispering as the river went about its relentless business.

Renewed, invigorated, and reassured of my continued fidelity with the river, I heard myself affirming as I abruptly turned to leave… 

“I want to be out there… I need to be on that water.”

Captain Don Sanders is a river man. He has been a riverboat captain with the Delta Queen Steamboat Company and with Rising Star Casino. He learned to fly an airplane before he learned to drive a “machine” and became a captain in the USAF. He is an adventurer, a historian, and a storyteller. Now, he is a columnist for the NKyTribune and shares his stories of growing up in Covington and his stories of the river. Hang on for the ride — the river never looked so good.