Heated Encounter: A Tale of Passion on the Spy Tug

Spy Tugs

Spy Tugs Pic(s)

The Mississippi River had become a languid, steaming serpent under the relentless August sun. Its usually muddy waters shimmered with a blinding, metallic glare that hurt the eyes. On the bank, the air was thick and heavy, offering no relief from the oppressive, stagnant heat. The old tugboat, the "Delta Queen," sat moored and silent, its paint blistered and peeling from years of service. Its deckboards were so hot you could almost feel the heat radiating through the soles of your shoes. The only movement was the slow, hypnotic dance of dust motes in the shafts of sunlight piercing the wheelhouse windows. A deep, almost primal longing to escape the stifling stillness began to take root in my mind. I imagined the powerful diesel engines rumbling to life, churning the torpid water into a cool, white foam. The thought of steering that sturdy vessel into the center of the wide river, where a breeze might exist, was an irresistible siren's call. It was a temptation to trade this landlocked misery for the promise of motion and a fleeting moment of coolness on the ancient, flowing water.