From the air you can see the traffic . . . the sinuous lines it scribes into the legendary river.
From the bank, you can see sometimes three tugs abreast (l. to r. Bobby Jones-1966, David G. Sehrt-1965, and Born Again-1974) pushing more than a dozen barges slipping around the turn between Algiers and the 9th Ward. And when I say slipping, I mean even big vessels seem to slide through this crescent. That erosion in the foreground bespeaks higher water.
Uh . . . a variation on seasnake?
Close-up of McLean.
I’m back at work in environs of the sixth boro, and this is the last set about Nola strictly defined. Tomorrow I hope to put up some fotos from a jaunt-within-a-gallivant southwest from the Crescent City, a truly magical place to which I really must return soon because there’s much I’ve yet to understand . . . like why
And is it true there’s a nun driving a tugboat somewhere on the Lower Mississippi? Here’s a ghost story, and if you have a chance to find it, listen to Austin Lounge Lizard’s “Boudreaux was a Nutcase.”
All fotos by Will Van Dorp, who also has tons of fotos from Panama to put up.