The riverboat captain is a storyteller. Captain Don Sanders shares the stories of his long association with the river — from discovery to a way of love and life. This a part of a long and continuing story.
By Capt. Don Sanders
Special to NKyTribune
So it’s summertime, and living’s not so easy. Not complaining or whining — just stating facts. Such are the fruits of one’s “golden years.”
What I miss most as I grow older and less active are all the things summer used to bring. For me, summer meant swimming in the Licking and Ohio Rivers every chance I got, slipping away from the house unseen and unbeknownst to Mom and Dad. Summer days meant time aboard the family paddlewheeler MARJESS, a practice that followed me for most of my life, though the boat changed over the years. My last two boats were the SUN*FISH and the paddlewheeler CLYDE.
Talking about the CLYDE — yesterday, I drove over to see her sitting up on trailer wheels, where she’s been for a while at a nearby marina, waiting for a buyer. Nope, I’m not in line to own her again. Time caught up with me six years ago — so I sold her as far south as she was north when I discovered her in Alma, Wisconsin. Now she’s back again like a stray cat.
Then again, I’m a sucker for stray cats. Every one of a long list of feline friends, going back nearly 50 years, was a stray. But that’s another story, and I’m getting off track.
Actually, the reason why I visited my old boat was that an old friend was looking her over. As I said, she is on the seller’s block. I ought to say, “old friends were looking her over.” A river couple, man and wife. I won’t divulge their names or any details other than they were wondering if they and the CLYDE were the right fit for one another. It was just good to see them again and talk “river talk.”
But, boy, was it hot in the open sun on the white concrete slab reflecting all that sunshine and solar radiation. I knew better than to try to climb up that rickety ladder onto the CLYDE. The Mrs. opened the back door of their machine for me, and while I shared the shade, we chatted about whatever came to mind after several years since our last chat.
When her husband came down from the deck, he and I clambered alongside the hull, towards the stern beneath the overhanging “guard,” or walkway, and found a seat atop a stack of concrete blocks, next to a nest of non-aggressive blue wasps. There, I showed him the location of the CLYDE’s HIN, or “Hull Identification Number”, something he would need to compare with the vessel’s records should he become the new owner.
Sitting there, after so much effort getting there, I looked around and remembered how I used to scamper about in similar places beneath the CLYDE when I was but a lad of some seventy-something. The longer we sat there, the more concerned the wasps became about their two uninvited guests trespassing in their secluded domain. After a couple of scouts flew close to my face, I scattered them with puffs of breath and told my friend that it looked like time to scramble back to whence we came. Thankfully, the wary wasps allowed us safe passage past their nest attached to the hull.
Gathering back at the bow of the CLYDE, sometimes called “the largest steamboat model on the river,” I sensed the almost overwhelming feeling weighing down on the two prospective buyers as they realized what a formidable task lay ahead for them, or any buyer of any old, long-neglected boat, whether it be one as unusual and historic as the CLYDE, or not.
Throughout the little discussion that ensued between us, I refrained from encouraging or discouraging them in any way. After all, it had to be their final decision, made after weighing all the facts while factoring in her own concerns, abilities, and long-term goals. Lots of thoughts were cooking inside my mind, and I wanted to let them all come out– but I didn’t.
By then, the blazing sun was taking its toll.
It’s strange, but I once loved working in the boiling sunlight. In the early 1970s, for example, when I was M/G Transport’s first steersman, I was helping a deckie make the final ties on a barge beneath an Arkansas open mid-day sky where the temperature on the metal deck was surely 140 degrees, or better. My worst concern was passing out and falling onto the sizzling steel. One fall, I remember telling myself, and my skin would stay stuck to the deck when they pulled me off. Strange how time changes one’s perspectives.
Although my friends invited me to lunch, I graciously declined, climbed back into my little red pickup, and set a course back to my air-conditioned home. Again, a far cry from the way I once dealt with summer heat.
Just 14 years ago this June and July, Everett Dameron, a hometown friend, and I brought the CLYDE some 1,300 miles from Alma, Wisconsin, to Aurora Bend on the Middle Ohio River.
That summer of 2012, temperatures on the Upper Mississippi River stayed above 100 degrees every day, as we battled swift currents, hot weather, strong winds, and mechanical breakdowns. The open pilothouse window, facing high winds, brought 100-degree heat straight up the Mississippi from the Gulf and into our faces. At night, with no screens on the open sliding front doors, bloodthirsty mosquitoes feasted on our flesh. Showers were a premium, and the sizzling river current made it too risky for a refreshing dip in the Miss-iss-ipp.
One morning at breakfast after surviving another harrowing night with the heat, humidity, and skeeters, Ev mentioned matter-of-factly:
“It was good that we grew up before air-conditioning. I seriously doubt that younger people who didn’t could survive what we’ve been going through.”
Although Everett was right, I’m finding that the air-conditioning seems to feel better the older I get. But not only that, I am quite content these days to do my steamboating right where I am now — behind my computer desk, surrounded by paintings, prints, and river memorabilia hanging on my walls.
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 will share his stories of growing up in Covington and his stories of the river. Hang on for the ride — the river never looked so good.
Click here to read all of Capt. Don Sanders’ stories of The River.
Purchase Captain Don Sanders’ The River book
Capt. Don Sanders The River: River Rat to steamboatman, riding ‘magic river spell’ to 65-year adventure is now available for $29.95 plus handling and applicable taxes. This beautiful, hardback, published by the Northern Kentucky Tribune, is 264-pages of riveting storytelling, replete with hundreds of pictures from Capt. Don’s collection — and reflects his meticulous journaling, unmatched storytelling, and his appreciation for detail. This historically significant book is perfect for the collections of every devotee of the river.
You may purchase your book by mail from the Northern Kentucky Tribune — or you may find the book for sale at all Roebling Books locations and at the Behringer Crawford Museum and the St. Elizabeth Healthcare gift shops.
Click here to order your Captain Don Sanders’ ‘The River’ now.