The recent collision of a barge

and a bridge on the Texas coast would have been front page news in other

times. But given the events of Sept.11, the wreck was relegated to a few

small paragraphs on the inside.

A section of the Queen Isabella

Causeway ­ the only link between the mainland and South Padre Island,

a popular resort island ­ dropped into 50 feet of water, taking several

vehicles with it, and at least five lives.

Accidents like this are rare,

and early indications are that it was caused by malfunctioning navigation

lights on the bridge's piers. The barge master said the lights were not

on when he fetched up against a sand bar that sent his tow drift into

the pier.

Odds are that landlubbers like

us seldom give a thought to the monster vessels plying America's 25,000

miles of navigable rivers and canals, 12,000 of them maintained by the

federal government as commercial waterways. They deliver enormous quantities

of grain, coal, petroleum and other products around the clock to and from

storage depots and manufacturers wherever there's a dependable channel.

Waterways are among the few

investments the federal government makes that return more benefits to

the public for more than 50 years. For each dollar spent, the U.S. Treasury

gets about six dollars back.

Consider: A single barge carries

the equivalent of 15 train cars plus 58 large semis. On most rivers, a

tow (as shipping people call a collection of barges pushed by a tow boat)

averages about 15 barges. Such a tow is equal to 2.25 100-car train units,

or 225 hopper cars, plus 870 large semis.

On average, a truck carries

one ton of goods 59 miles on a gallon of fuel, while a ton goes 202 miles

per gallon by rail. But an inland barge can haul the same payload 514

miles on one gallon.

As you might expect, pollution

released into the air is correspondingly reduced. That is, the 15-barge

tow emits about a tenth as much as the single semi in tonnage of payload

per gallon.

I didn't set out to dazzle

you with numbers, but I admit to being intrigued by these mighty workhorses

of the waterways. Especially close up.

We took a road trip through

Kentucky and Tennessee this summer while it was still too hot for boating.

On our way home, approaching Kentucky Lake Lock and Dam from the west

side, we stopped for lunch on a pull-out on the dam.

From there, across a panorama

of sparkling lake rimmed in green, we could see strings of barges, made

fast to mooring cells, waiting to get into the lock. One was already secured

to cleats on the long guide wall, as its captain waited for the tow ahead

of him to clear the downstream exit.

This lock is one of the busiest

on U.S. rivers, part of the massive intersection of a riverine interstate

system. Here shipping passes between the Cumberland and Tennessee rivers

and the highly industrialized Ohio from the east where the Ohio receives

the Wabash, the Monongahela and the Allegheny; and the Mississippi connecting

with the Missouri and points west, in addition to ports south.

We finished lunch, looked at

the water for a few minutes, then continued to the turn-off to the lock.

I was curious to see what was on board the tow waiting to pass through,

so I walked up the ramp to the observation deck to take a look. Dave,

no fool, had found a shaded parking place and opted to wait in the camper.

When I got to where I could

see down into the lock, I realized that this was an opportunity I'd been

waiting for. Since nothing was happening at this moment, I ran