TOP: Captain Jimmy Donnelly grits his teeth 

 on the approach to crowded Wrightsville Beach. 

 MIDDLE: Passing under the Wrightsville 

 Beach drawbridge. 



BOTTOM: When it comes to character and 

 curiosity, few craft surpass tugboats. 



Skimming the 

 Shoals 



As the Island Express enters 

 the mouth of the Cape Fear River 

 — which is humming with boat 

 traffic — we meet tugs pushing pig 

 iron, oceangoing fuel barges, the 

 Southport-to-Bald Head Island 

 ferry, aluminum fishing skiffs and 

 50-foot big game boats bound for 

 offshore waters. 



Flocks of 

 cormorants skein the 

 sky over the Sunny 

 Point Military Ocean 

 Terminal, a frequent 

 port-of-call for 

 Donnelly during the 

 Gulf War. We thread 

 the narrow Snow's 

 Cut, and by mid-day 

 approach the heavily 

 developed ICW 

 waterfront at 

 Wrightsville Beach. 

 Litaker is at the helm. 

 "It's a billion-dollar 

 row through there," he 

 grimaces. "Million- 

 dollar boats, lined up 

 everywhere." 

 But there's 



another, more pressing obstacle in front of us. 

 Behind Masonboro Island, the waterway channel 

 narrows considerably, and Litaker sits bolt 

 upright in the chair. 



I see the sandbars off to each side, leaving a 

 narrow slot for the tugboat and barge to pass. 

 Then I feel the tug bog down, and watch the 

 depthfinder gauge plummet from 1 1 feet to 4.3. 

 Our speed sags from 4.3 knots to 3.6. 



"Come on, baby, come on. Keep going," 

 Litaker intones, his eyes flitting from the channel 

 outside to the gauges in the wheelhouse. We slow 

 to 2.8 knots, then 2.5. Huge plumes of sand trail 

 behind the tug. 



"We're knocking the barnacles off the 

 bottom now," Litaker says, gritting his teeth. The 



strain on the engines sets up a series of rattles 

 inside the wheelhouse — the instrument panel 

 and door handles buzz like bees as the belly of the 

 tug groans across the shoal. 



It's a hairy few minutes — going aground 

 on a falling tide could mean hours of delay, not to 

 mention the aggravation of blocking the main 

 channel for other traffic. Navigating shoals is an 

 increasing problem along the ICW, Litaker says, 

 as money for dredging gets harder and harder to 

 come by. 



Then, just as forward motion nearly ceases, 

 the depthfinder readout finally gives us good 

 news. The bottom drops to 5 feet, then 6. Slowly 

 we regain speed, and Litaker relaxes in the chair. 



"Now all I have to worry about is not taking 

 out a few million-dollar boats at Wrightsville 

 Beach," he grins. 



But it's the end of the watery road for me. 

 I have a ride back to Raleigh waiting at the public 

 boat ramp just south of Wrightsville Beach, and 

 Litaker waves down a passing boat to give me a 

 lift to shore. Island Express has another day-and- 

 a-half of steaming to complete before docking at 

 Edenton with a delivery of nearly 3.000 tons of 

 freshly minted metal. 



It's another day-and-a-half of fighting full- 

 moon tides and dodging crab pots in a tug-and- 

 barge combination that's longer than a football 

 field. 



As I jump ship from the tug to a 25-foot 

 center console pressed into taxi service, I can't 

 help but wonder what other sights the crew will 

 see as they cross the open sounds, and what I 

 would see along the Alligator River swamps from 

 an aerie perched three stories above the water. 



At Wrightsville Beach, as luck would have 

 it, my buddy and I are caught by the drawbridge 

 that raises to let Island Express pass. I hop out of 

 the car and run a few steps to the bridge railing, 

 then whoop and wave to the crew as they clear 

 the bridge. 



Donnelly waves from the wheelhouse and 

 gives me a salute as drivers gawk from their 

 stopped cars. I grin like a kid. After all, I may 

 wonder what the next 36 hours will hold for 

 Island Express. But at least I know what it's like 

 to ride a few miles in a tugboater's shoes. □ 



20 SPRING 2003 



