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The River: Crew risks everything in harrowing voyage over raging seas to massage ship captain’s ego


The riverboat captain is a storyteller, and Captain Don Sanders will be sharing 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

Part two of two: in the previous installment, Capt. Don described a mostly uneventful trip to Bermuda. In part two, he details a harrowing trip to Chesapeake Bay on raging seas, taken primarily to massage the ego of a captain he dubbed the “Nazi U-boat Commander.”

On another afternoon of freedom to do whatever we pleased, several of us grabbed the bus to Hamilton, the capital of the British Overseas Territory of Bermuda, where one of the guys bragged he knew of a “grog shop” catering to like-minded seamen as ourselves.

Hamilton, Bermuda – On another afternoon of freedom to do whatever we pleased, several of us grabbed the bus to Hamilton, the capital of the British Overseas Territory of Bermuda (Provided photos).

But once there, instead of finding characters like Billy Bones, Long John Silver, and Old Ben Gunn, the patrons were snooty Canadian yachtsmen who’d sailed to warmer waters for the winter and cared less for scruffy Yankee sailors as we.

Likewise, we needed no fancy members of the Commonwealth yachting set for friendship, for we had each other, and, besides, the bar served Guinness on tap, and the boiled crab and shrimp were endless.

Whatever was said that day by a pack of drunken seamen in a castaway saloon on the Bermuda shore far from home, was summarized when all agreed, “we were the luckiest men alive who lived the lives we loved.” Amen.

After all these years, I still recall how queasy too much stout, crab, and shrimp made me feel. Then there was the monotonous wait for the bus and the seemingly endless ride back to the Naval Air Station.

But once there, one of my fellow revelers dug into the crew’s icebox and pulled out the fixings for a colossal, “everything on it,” pizza of the sort that wins ribbons at a New York City Pizza Masters Competition. I had a couple of slices before retiring to “sleep it off,” for tomorrow was another workday, and possibly the one for departure after all the containers were aboard, and if the “Old Man” gave the orders to go.

Sailors Bar – One of the guys bragged he knew of a “grog shop” catering to like-minded seamen as ourselves.

Several years earlier on the DELTA QUEEN, I learned from “Wild Bill from Chicago,” that no matter how I felt the next morning after a night of over-indulgence, to force myself out of the rack, onto the deck, and plunge into the chores of the day.

By noon, according to Wild Bill, the agony of the night before would likely be forgotten.

Today would begin as one of those mornings as the small terminal tractors arrived with the containers bound for the mainland. Bill was right, by the time the forty-foot boxes stood tall on the pipe deck and we revelers from last night had all the bracings in place and secured, my head felt clear-enough to notice the weather changing for the worse.

Thick, dark clouds on the horizon were drawing closer and the wind, building strength, lifted dust and debris from the naval air station into curtains that further obscured the light of day.

Tension aboard the ACADIAN VICTORY rose in proportion to the drop of the readings on the ship’s barometer. A restlessness arose among the experienced crew that I had never seen since coming aboard at Norfolk.

Wild Bill Checks the Stage Lines – Several years earlier on the DELTA QUEEN, I learned from “Wild Bill from Chicago,” that no matter how I felt the next morning after a night of over-indulgence, to force myself out of the rack, onto the deck, and plunge into the chores of the day.

Around the noontime table, someone spoke of a World War Two-era “Liberty Ship,” a much larger vessel than the VICTORY that needed no cement poured into its hull to maintain stability upon the sea, arrived in port earlier that morning after sailing through the approaching storm. 

According to what our informant heard from one of the mates, the machinery of a cargo variety welded to the deck of the four-hundred-forty-one-foot cargo ship was wrenched from its fastenings by the fury of the tempest.

Most surely, everyone agreed, we would wait safely moored to the St. George’s dock until the storm passed before departing for Norfolk. 

Another added that all the containers loaded aboard the VICTORY, earlier, were empties without any priorities mandating their arrival in Virginia, and besides, we had a ten-day window to complete our round trip. More than half those days remained available to return on time.

In spite of the prospects of the impending fury and the speculations of the crew, no word, yet, from the Captain reached his crew. Then around 1400 hours, soon after the ship’s clock chimed four bells, the Chief Mate announced that the Captain would inform us by the next hour if the VICTORY would sail, or not.

At 1500, the mate returned to the mess where the rest of the men and one woman eagerly awaited word from the Skipper. As we gathered close, I noticed the expression on the face of the messenger was solemn, but determined, when he announced:

“Cap’n said to get yourselves ready to sail. We’ll be leaving at 1600 hours.”

Without any grumbling among the ranks, everyone arose and went about doing what they needed to do to fulfill the Master’s orders.

Liberty Ship – Around the noontime table, someone spoke of a World War Two-era “Liberty Ship,” a much larger vessel than the VICTORY that needed no cement poured into its hull to maintain stability upon the sea, arrived in port earlier that morning after sailing through the approaching storm.

I noticed as I was leaving the mess, the cook, with the help of one of the oiler’s, began putting a sturdy metal fence into place around the top of the stove to prevent the pots and pans from sliding off once we ventured into the storm.

As I was the only one of the crew who’d never experienced a storm at sea and realized by the gravity of my shipmates, the seriousness of the situation, I retired to my bunk. There, I extracted a sheet of paper from within my suitcase and began a letter to my brother Bob, an attorney at home in Covington that began:

“Dear Bob, I am aboard a small ship in Bermuda. We are about to depart into a storm of fearsome proportions, and as I am of sound mind and body, I wish to convey My Last Will and Testament…”

At 1600 hours, with a harbor pilot aboard to guide the VICTORY through the channel and into deep waters, we passed through the narrow inlet where the sides of the small OSV seems to rub both shores.

With the ship beyond the safety of St. George’s Harbour and facing the open seas, the gathering winds lifted the waves higher. As the pilot made ready to go over the side onto an awaiting launch, I handed him my letter with enough money for postage and asked that he post it.

After the pilot was away, I looked toward the security of the inlet from whence we recently emerged as the beacon from St. David’s Lighthouse flashed in the distance. Suddenly an overwhelming sensation of foreboding like nothing I’d ever experienced before, overwhelmed me.

We were doomed, I feared, and nothing, or no one, could help us, now.

Docks_NAS Bermuda – Most surely, everyone agreed, we would wait safely moored to the St. George’s dock until the storm passed before departing for Norfolk. The “Nazi U-boat Commander” had another plan.

I had never been so terrified since, when learning to fly, I kicked the plane into a graveyard spin. As the Cessna T-40 spiraled toward the ground, I started climbing higher and higher into the seat, trying to get away from the approaching earth.

I would have died that day had not my instructor, after asking, “What are you going to do about it,” and I could not react, took control and recovered the spinning aircraft.

The howling wind built the sea into mountains of monstrous waves and screamed so loud that only shouts overcame its roar. With nowhere else to go before my First Watch began at 2200, I wedged myself tightly into my bunk as the small ship rolled and pitched by the might of the raging ocean.

Just forward of the crew’s quarters, the anchor slammed into the hull like an incensed giant’s hammer. The maddening situation grew worse until the only power preventing me from becoming unhinged was the presence of the other crewmen who’d encountered storms at sea before.

While they dealt with the diminishing situation in ways gained from past experiences, their combined assurance strengthened me. Though terrified, I forced myself to maintain my physical and emotional composure.

The Atlantic Ocean was as white as mountains of snow.

Before long, the waves were thirty-feet high and towering over top the wheelhouse where I sat by a window behind the Captain and watched in terror as the ACADIAN VICTORY faced a wall of water, climbed it, and raced down the backside only to overlook another watery obstacle.  

Each flash of lightning and every crack of thunder heightened the horror all around me, but all I could do was hold on tight and mutter a silent prayer.

My chores the next morning were a vexation to perform with the maelstrom twisting and rolling the ship into unnatural planes, none of which were familiar to a riverman unaccustomed to the ladders, or stairways, becoming vertical cliffs depending on whether the vessel was pitching or rolling.

Inlet_St. Georges Harbor – At 1600 hours, with a harbor pilot aboard to guide the VICTORY through the channel and into deep waters, we passed through the narrow inlet where the sides of the small OSV seems to rub both shores.

A nauseous feeling resembling the flu, making the experience ever-worse was my introduction to seasickness.

Instead of light meals ordered for the queasy crew, the Captain demanded that the little cook serve up greasy dishes of meats and sauces that made the rest of us qualmish by their smells, alone.

As we watched, the Master savored his resplendent meals eaten on a table where the plates and silverware easily slid off and onto the deck if left unattended.

After twenty-four full hours of anguish, a seemingly mystical metamorphosis overcame me, when, instead of terror, I immediately adjusted to my surroundings and welcomed the towering waves, howling winds, and the flashes of lightning and explosive claps of thunder!

No longer was I tormented with fear, but I relished everything the sea offered in the way of the storm as I went about ship life like a veteran seaman. I can’t explain it, even to this day; it just happened.

I went to sleep terrorized and woke up unafraid. It was an incredible transformation that, still, whenever I watch a video of a storm at sea, I long nostalgically to be back aboard the ACADIAN VICTORY on those long-ago raging waters.

Hugh Wave at sea – The howling wind built the sea into mountains of monstrous waves and screamed so loud that only shouts overcame its roar.

After three days, the storm eventually passed. As we were in following seas heading towards Africa instead of North America, the Captain (AKA the Nazi U-boat Commander),” for various reasons he divulged by word and deed, turned the VICTORY into the brunt of the much-diminished waves while most of the crew and myself were at the breakfast table.

To a person, including the only woman aboard, all rushed to the outside railing and barfed in unison. I could have sworn I heard the Old Man snickering.

By the time the ACADIAN VICTORY returned safely to the Chesapeake Bay, we had docked at a shipyard instead of the Navy dock to have repairs made to the vessel that suffered a missing rudder and three damaged containers caused by the fury of the storm.

Once the ship was secured, every crewmember, except for the three mates and I, sided with the Chief Engineer and refused to sail again with the crazed Captain.

He, they protested, had no reason other than his inflated ego to take the ship, crew, and cargo into such raging seas when all he had to do was wait a few days and still return to Norfolk on schedule.

Norfolk-va-shipyard – By the time the ACADIAN VICTORY returned safely to the Chesapeake Bay, we had docked at a shipyard instead of the Navy dock to have repairs made to the vessel that suffered a missing rudder and three damaged containers caused by the fury of the storm.

I did not leave with the rest of the crew because, as a greenhorn seaman, I just figured that’s what sailors do when they go to sea.

While waiting for the repairs in the shipyard, I contracted a severe sinus infection that made me so ill I had to leave the VICTORY and return to parent’s house in Covington to recover.

While recuperating at home, Peggy and I began dating, were soon married, and started “Can-Do All-American All-Aluminum Recycling Company.”

Several times, the Acadian Marine Services office called; wanting me to return to the sea, but, by then, Can-Do was “cooking,” and I had my own business to run. 

Sometimes, however, I wonder what course my life might have taken had I tossed that awkward duffle bag onto a Greyhound bus and headed back to the sea.

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.


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11 Comments

  1. Jo Ann says:

    Another great story by Captain Don. What adventures! I’m so happy he is putting them down for future generations! Now they need to be put in book form. THANKS again Captain Don and thanks to the newspaper for realizing these need to be told.

  2. DL says:

    This reminded me of a book I read many years ago, Hurricane (author unknown to me). Your account of this experience was suspenseful and enthralling.

  3. Jason says:

    Another good story, cap’.

  4. Heidi English says:

    One of the best storytellers of a Captains life. Captain Don Sanders, riveting tale of Life at sea.

  5. Arlene Bridges says:

    Another great story. Thanks, Capt. Don.

  6. Ronald Sutton says:

    It was the egotistical ‘I am the Master’ attitude that killed the entire crew of the El-Faro. Glad Capt. Don Survived. Once again his vivid writing took us uncomfortably close to the Storm.
    I, as Chief Engineer, Have slowed ships down on a couple of occasions, and was later vindicated. It is such an experience that will make sailors look for a Job or Business on steady dry land.

  7. Don told me this in the pilot house of the Grand Victoria I a decade ago. I had been on the Victory’s predecessor called the Rio Haina operating for Sea Land between Norfolk and St. George. I was a young 31 year old captain in 1975. I made 6 voyages on her from December to March. I was in a number of storms off Hatteras and one with 75 knot winds and 40 foot seas. The only thing to do was batten down and run with it. We suffered many damaged containers bot I was able to arrive a day or two late but with no damage to the ship or crew.

  8. Mike Washenko says:

    Another great story Capt.

  9. Bob Feezor says:

    Another great story! Thank you for sharing!!

  10. Connie Bays says:

    An exhilarating story! I could almost hear those waves crashing! I definitely know what the pains of seasickness are like so I felt the rolling in my gut too! Excellent read!

  11. Bob Sanders says:

    I remember receiving your holographic will in the mail. That had to be a terrifying experience. Well told story. Glad you lived to tell it!

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