River Road Rambler: A Curious Traveler along Louisiana's Historic Byway

11. The Story of Captain Mike

89 11 The Story of Captain Mike The sounds of a Mississippi River ferry remain as distinctive and familiar as they were many years ago when I grew up in New Orleans: the metallic clank of the boarding apron as the weight of a car rolls across; the bass thrum of the powerful engines as the ferry sets out into the river; the heavy roar of the engines as they reverse to stop against the far bank. I’ve heard these sounds and smelled the incense of fuel and river hundreds of times because riding the ferry is one of my favorite outings, allowing me to see the Mississippi from the inside . On a ferry, I feel as if I’m part of the sweep of the history and lore of the great river, despite knowing that ferry rides are brief and the scenery limited. To most people, ferries were not recreational vehicles but the most practical way to cross a broad stretch of water. Many ferries are, in fact, considered floating roadbeds, linking a numbered highway that runs to the water’s edge on one bank to the same numbered highway on the other side. I’m not sure why, but the image of a highway riding back and forth across the river never fails to amuse me. In recent times, bridges have replaced many ferries along the River Road, leaving only three routes to stitch together the east and west banks. This produced an alarming thought: what if ferries were 90 River Road Rambler an endangered species and my long-prized rides might disappear altogether ? I set out to capture the essence of Mississippi River ferries before they became only a memory. To do this, I determined to hitch a ride in the pilothouse of a ferry, to give me a better understanding of the boats and how they work. Obtaining permission was a challenge, but I was eventually cleared and arrived on the appointed morning at the west bank landing of the Sunshine-Plaquemine ferry, parking and walking past the long line of waiting cars. It was an odd feeling to cross the metal apron onto the deck of the Lady Alice, not encased in an automobile onboard a ferry for the first time that I could remember The morning was bitterly cold and windy. Wintry blasts thrashed the river into whitecaps and made the boughs of the batture willows dance wildly, but the ferry’s motor rumbled confidently. A roughlooking deckhand directed me to a hidden metal staircase that climbed to the upper deck and a warm bright room. It had the decor of an industrial office, with white-painted metal walls and ceiling, maroon-painted metal floor and console deck. But instead of Norman Rockwell prints taped to the walls, each side offered an unbroken bank of windows overlooking the river like constantly changing murals. Captain Mike lounged by the console sipping a mug of coffee. Having read too much Mississippi River lore, I’d anticipated that he would resemble someone from the colorful band of grizzled adventurers Mark Twain described. But Mike was a young-looking thirtyyear -old with round cheeks, a pleasant smile, and skin the color of café au lait. A long tattoo ringed the back of his broad neck between his shaved head and the collar of a red velour sweatshirt that hung over the waist of his charcoal trousers. He and his uniform were not quite what I’d expected. If his appearance was an initial surprise, however, as we shuttled back and forth over the course of the morning, I became more and more admiring of his expertise. Despite his obvious youth, Captain Mike had paid the requisite dues to earn his place at the helm of this The Story of Captain Mike 91 bulky craft. I learned that he’d spent twelve years on the water, starting aboard a crew boat in New Orleans, followed by sufficient sea time and command of progressively larger boats to have worked his way up to earning a license for a 1600-ton craft—a Mississippi River ferry. By the time I’d disembarked, I believed Mike was a true descendant of Mark Twain’s riverboat men, even though Twain wrote about steamboating, not ferries. Ferries have played a critical role along the River Road since the first settlements because people and goods needed to cross the...