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From European cafes to bluegrass bands, this city offers something for all boaters—including what soon may be the finest welcome on the Tennessee River.
By Michael Verdon — Spring
2004
Father-son boating trips are meant to be symbolic passages, full of unspoken feelings and breakthrough hugs. Think On Golden Pond, or anything starring Alan Alda. Fortunately, my dad, Tom Verdon, and I did that trip ten years ago. It was hard, but good, and we made our peace. Now when we head out, there are no questions beyond who’s going to hose down the boat. We’re plenty happy to indulge in more traditional male pastimes like enjoying a cold one and fiddling with the electronics.
We did that and more on a three-day, 138-mile cruise down the Tennessee River from Fort Loudon, just south of Knoxville, to Chattanooga, at the corner where Tennessee borders Georgia and Alabama. Dad’s 74 now and I don’t get to spend much time with him, so trips like this are gifts even if nothing that exciting happens along the way.
Mind you, ten minutes into this cruise, we were quickly filling our excitement quota for the day. We’d maneuvered our Sea Ray 390 Sundancer into Fort Loudon’s massive 60-by-360-foot lock and tied up to the wall. Thousands of gallons of water rushed out and, a half-hour later, the massive doors opened with a metallic groan worthy of The Matrix. We were on our way south.
This stretch of the Tennessee River is a meandering snake that passes through five counties with S-bend curves that suddenly swell into lakes. The Tennessee Valley Authority tamed the river in the 1930s, and an estimated 34,000 barges still use it for commerce. About 20,000 recreational boats pass up and down each year. I was glad to be one of them because, within an hour, I knew this would be one of the most tranquil waterways I’ve ever cruised. During the entire stretch, the banks are covered with thick forests, often seesawing up hills with names like Hunter’s Bluff and Ditney Ridge. As we passed through Roane County, signs of civilization were limited to a few homes and an occasional farm with cows wading in the river.
Our leisurely pace quickly turned into an easy but
fast clip downriver at 25 mph with our skipper, John Price, and me trading
places at the wheel, Craig Wallace Dale snapping photos, and Dad sitting
on the back lounge reading. We put 72 miles on the log before stopping
for fuel and lunch at Watts Bar Marina and
Resort (800-365-9598, www.wattsbarresort.com).
It’s got a fleet of rental pontoon boats and a mesh cage of live-bait
crickets chirping in the marina office, all ashore on a beautiful little
cove—which is, unfortunately, in the shadow of the Watts Bar nuclear
power plant. Still, the man at the gas dock was a real gent, even letting
our skipper borrow his old red Cadillac to run up to the restaurant for
catfish po’boys.
>> Next page >> Part 2: Chattanooga, it turns out, is undergoing a major renaissance of its waterfront. Page
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