Chattanooga Ducks: Welcome to the splash zone

Captain Thomas Offutt shares the city's history with tourists aboard the duck boat named "Enterprise." Like Chattanooga Ducks' other tour guides, Offutt has a captain's license issued by the U.S. Coast Guard.

When I booked my first tour with the Chattanooga Ducks, it didn't occur to me that I might be in for a wet ride until our guide pulled a life jacket from the storage compartment above my head.

Like many other locals, I had seen the massive amphibious vehicles, called DUKWs, lumbering along Market Street, their seats filled with waving sightseers. But even as I listened to our captain, Thomas Offutt, list emergency instructions, I couldn't imagine the machine seamlessly transitioning from truck to boat.

Often referred to as "ducks," the boat-truck hybrids were used to transport World War II troops over land and sea. Today, those that remain have been repurposed as tourist vehicles, giving riders a chance to explore river cities like Chattanooga from a unique point of view.

"Since we started in 1998, we've never had a major incident, and I don't plan on starting [today]," Offutt said before we pulled away from the passenger loading zone tucked behind Cupcake Kitchen on Broad Street. "But you never know," he added with a wink.

The sky was overcast as we began our trip that Monday afternoon, yet my fellow explorers chatted excitedly, unconcerned about the drizzle that sprinkled onto the tarp stretched over the craft above us.

Of the 15 or so passengers on board, I soon learned I was the only one who resided in Chattanooga. The rest of our ragtag group consisted of families and couples visiting from Florida, New Mexico, Virginia, Alabama and Georgia. As I listened to the travelers talk about the family members they were visiting, I also noted (with some degree of embarrassment) that I was the only person on board wearing a raincoat rather than a bright T-shirt and shorts.

Captain Thomas quickly became the star of the show. As we drove past High Point Climbing Gym and the Tennessee Aquarium, he came on the microphone and began walking us through Chattanooga's history, explaining how it had transformed from an industrial town "on the skids" to the waterfront tourist attraction it is today.

Though I had heard much of the information before, I found myself remaining actively engaged as Offutt peppered the history lesson with the occasional joke.

"This time of year, we have two weather patterns," he said, grinning. "We have hot and humid, we have cold and humid."

I chuckled at the one-liner, almost forgetting about our impending nautical voyage - until the duck turned onto a narrow path just off Riverfront Parkway 10 minutes into the tour and we found ourselves staring down a slope that lead straight into the Tennessee River.

Offutt stopped the vehicle and turned to face us. I could have sworn his eyes were twinkling beneath the deep blue lenses of his sunglasses.

"There's two different ways we could do this, folks," he said. "Option No. 1 is the one I like to call 'the easy way,' [where] we just slide into the water and go on our way with barely a ripple. That what you want?"

I raised my hand ever so slightly.

"OK! We got one vote in the back!" he laughed. "But there is another option, folks! The other option is where I stomp my foot down on this gas pedal and we take off this ramp like we were trying to get airborne off the end of an aircraft carrier. That what you want?"

All the other passengers pumped their fists into the air and cheered.

My stomach churned as I pulled the hood of my raincoat over my head. Clearly, I had been outnumbered.

I clutched the side of the vessel as Offutt made good on his promise and the duck raced down the ramp. Water and laughter filled the air as we splashed into the river. Even I couldn't resist smiling a little; the descent was reminiscent of Disney World's Splash Mountain ride.

The duck's engine purred loudly as we cruised slowly along the Tennessee River, listening to Offutt pitch us one fun fact after another.

Over the next 30 minutes, he told us about the few times he'd seen the Market Street Bridge's sky-blue arches part to allow for passing boat traffic; shared a story about a clumsy heron he'd spotted along the banks; and even let us in on the fact that the Tennessee River has technically been a lake since 1933, when the Tennessee Valley Authority began building dams along it for flood control and power generation.

As we cruised just offshore from Ross's Landing, watching children play in the water cascading down The Passage steps nearby, Offutt got serious and delved into the area's unpleasant Cherokee history.

He explained that the dock became one of the starting points for the Trail of Tears in 1838, when Cherokee Indians were forced to leave their homeland and march west. The tale was a grim one, Offutt admitted as he told us of the thousands who died on the journey. But he shared the story for a reason.

"They say that those that forget their history are doomed to repeat it, and we would never want to see that kind of event on American soil again," Offutt said.

As I listened, I found myself impressed by the sincerity of the captain's words and realized that I was finally beginning to relax. So naturally, it was at that exact moment that Offutt stepped away from the wheel and offered the children on board a chance to steer the ship.

Camera phones flashed as our new captain - a boy no more than 10 - guided the military vehicle through the river.

"This thing survived World War II, folks," Offutt laughed. "We're gonna be fine."

Unfortunately, he spoke too soon.

Dark clouds began to fill the sky as the third child navigated the increasingly rough waters, and it wasn't long before the innocuous drizzle morphed into a vicious rainfall.

Offutt reclaimed command of the vessel and steered us under a bridge, intent on waiting out the downpour, but as the storm intensified and the boat began to sway, it soon became clear that staying put was not an option.

"Well it doesn't look good," Offutt laughed. "The best thing I can say is we can make a run for it."

I shook my head 'no' just as my companions shouted, almost in unison, "Make a run for it!"

"Alright!" the captain said as the vessel roared to life. Once again, I had been outvoted. "Everybody huddle to the center!"

Fat droplets of rain pelted us as Offutt gunned the engine and we made a dash for dry land. I yanked the hood of my jacket farther down my face and inched closer to the center of the craft while a few of my fellow passengers took shelter under umbrellas that fluttered violently against the wind.

The storm met our defenses with a stronger torrent of rain. But all throughout the assault, I could hear the other passengers giggling and snickering - and even as cold rainwater began to seep into my jeans, I realized that I was one of them.

By the time Offutt guided us back up the entrance ramp and parked the duck under a nearby bridge, we were all drenched yet laughing harder than ever. We cheered for the captain as one couple shared their towels with the rest of us, and Offutt kept everyone on board cracking up with stories about storms he and past passengers had endured.

"When something like that [storm] happens, you just go with it and do whatever you can do to keep people entertained," Offutt told me after our tour had ended. "Being a duck captain sometimes includes being a comedian. You're a host. The goal is to educate and entertain, and hopefully you get to do both during your work."