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Feature Article
Into the heart of America By Christine Loomis
Steamboating is therapy for a culture caught up in a fast-paced existenceFidgeting with his three-corner hat, Captain William Clark describes the perils of his 4,000-mile journey westward with Meriwether Lewis, his words connecting century to century like the river beneath us connects town to town. He's followed in quick succession by a Dixieland quintet, a banjo player, and a cabaret singer. It's another night on the Delta Queen, where history and entertainment, past and present are as fluid as the great rivers she travels. This week the Delta steams from Louisville to St. Louis, down the Ohio, up the Mississippi. Her ports of call are Henderson and Paducah, Ky., Cape Girardeau, Mo., and Chester, Ill., pale and uninteresting sounding compared to exotic ports of most cruise ships. But the Delta isn't most cruise ships, and to compare river and ocean cruising is impossible. They are, in almost every way, unalike. A river cruise is a journey not away from America but into its very heart. And for all the modern comforts, it's also a journey back in time when life — and steamboats — moved slowly. At its immutable essence, riverboating is all about slowing down. About small marvels suddenly seen. The way steam floats out over the water in the early morning hours and sunlight brushes the tops of trees first on one bank then the other. How fog shrouds a spanning bridge so it appears to hang, miraculously, in an earthbound heaven, and the way the merry notes of the calliope mix with the deep, throaty whistle of the Delta. It's about the art of conversation and time to do nothing, or to read, or to sit and, without one blessed interruption, think. Captain Gabe Chengery, 35-year river veteran who returns to Colorado between tours of duty, calls steamboating "therapy" for a modern culture routed in a high-speed, fast-paced existence, a culture which seems to have collectively forgotten the joy — no, the necessity — of slowing down and relaxing. On the Delta Queen one remembers, in part because riverboating isn't destination driven. At sea, the highlights are intriguing ports of call and the excitement is in hurrying to reach each one. On a river, the highlight is the meandering journey itself, the never-ending panorama, the mystery of what lies around each bend. Bill and Mary Lewis of Aurora, Colo., like cruising of all kinds, but what they love about steamboating is the pleasure inherent in an unhurried existence. "You can amble along and just come across something interesting," Mary says. "You don't know what's going to happen next but it doesn't matter because you know you'll enjoy it." Ports of call on the river are a diversion not a focus, offering a glimpse into small town America and what it holds. Into our history as well — many of these towns were settled in the early 1800s or before. But there's also nature, as in Henderson, and small museums and eclectic galleries and shops, as in Paducah. Some towns are affably quirky, and proud of it, like Chester, home of Popeye (or at least his creator). River towns have also spawned a unique art form — floodwall paintings — and it can be enough just to stroll beside the walls that serve both as vibrant canvas and powerful reminder of the river's inevitable, rage. Onboard, activities recall simpler times — kite flying, sing-alongs, picking a tune on the calliope. You can always wander into the engine room to poke around, something big ships never allow. Best, though, is Jerry Hay, Riverlorian (a.k.a. Captain William Clark), whose role is to spin yarns and share river lore and history, which he does with a sense of humor as rich as the Delta's deeply polished wood. If big ships are floating resorts, the Delta Queen, with her Victorian antiques and lacy curtains, is a cozy B & B. Built in 1927, she's a grand old lady of American waterways and so unique — there are but a handful of steamboats running and only three take overnight passengers — that she's designated a National Historic Landmark. She carries just 174 passengers. Something about her has always touched those seeing her from afar, and whole families still come running to watch her arrive and depart. Jo Ann Schoen, who works in Lousiville but lives in Indiana, grew up on the Ohio. "When the Delta Queen came in we'd beg an adult to take us to the river. We'd jump in the wake and wave towels to get passengers to wave back." She sent away for brochures for years before finally boarding the Delta at age 50, and on her second trip waited until after midnight to watch as we steamed past her childhood farm. That done, she's determined to try every itinerary. An ad hoc PR agency for the boat, she sends brochures to friends and leaves them at her doctor's office. "It just gets in your blood," Schoen says, as if that makes perfect sense. It's a common term among those passionate about rivers and steamboats; "river rats" they call themselves. Up close, the Delta works an undeniable magic. Almost immediately you feel part of an honored history, and, inexplicably, at home. "After a couple of days [the lounge] becomes like your living room and the other passengers like extended family," says Stephania Pearce, who traveled from New England with her husband, Frank Decoster, her father George and his wife. "Maybe all the people who have sat in this room over the last 75 years have left good feelings. I don't know, but it feels good." And it feels less like you've booked a cruise and more — much more — like you've happened on a reunion of cherished family and friends. Maybe that's because you can call so many people by name, something Bobbie Carmody of Fort Collins particularly likes, and something, she says, that never happened on larger ships. Certainly the Delta's size fosters intimacy, and the overwhelming friendliness of the crew sets the tone for all. Yet individually these things wouldn't create the effect so palpable on the Delta. Frank Decoster probably gets it right when he says "It's not just the boat, it's not just the river or the people or the crew. It's the whole package." While instant camaraderie makes steamboating ideal for solo travelers, quiet moments abound. The Delta doesn't have the individual balconies popular on new ships, but just outside the cabin doors are chairs, swinging benches, café tables and cozy corners where passengers can, and do, sit undisturbed. Still, it's probably not a trip for those who don't much like socializing, or for anyone who must always be doing something. Surprising to me was the span of ages among passengers. At least five decades were represented on our trip, proving the wide appeal of the experience. The Delta isn't really for young children, but neither is it only for retirees. And then there's the stunningly high number of repeat passengers — some who have cruised more than 100 times. Given a whole planet to discover and little enough time to do it, that seems excessive.Yet even set against the world's great destinations, riding the Delta Queen holds up. "My wife and I have traveled all over-cruised on the Nile, toured Europe, the Caribbean, Iceland — and this is right on top," Decoster says. He gets no argument from me. I don't fully understand what rivers and riverboating "getting in your blood" means, but maybe it describes the inexorable pull of the river, a connection and pride one starts to feel. American rivers have been subdued by locks and dams, contained physically (more or less) between stabilized banks; but they have not been, will never be, utterly tamed. Sandy bottoms still defiantly shift, continually recreating their topography and rendering such modern miracles as autopilot useless. Pilots must still know the river, all its moods and variances, like the backs of their hands as they have for more than a century. And the Delta Queen herself, lone survivor of an era, evokes a poignant simpatico no modern cruise ship, however big or fast or beautiful, can. Perhaps that's why, when given the opportunity to wish anything (as is traditional among passengers crossing the broad confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi), Decoster tossed in his coin and wished a long life for the Delta Queen, "that she'll keep on rollin'." For me, wishing the abundance of food — specifically bread pudding — hadn't put on pounds would have been more practical, but in my heart of hearts it's the Delta's continued, elegant presence on America's waterways that I wish for, too. So it seems, another river rat has been born. Christine Loomis is a Boulder-based freelance writer who would happily go "steamboatin'" again.
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