Entering the Hook

ENTERING THE HOOK Along the channel edge Buoy lights swayed and tossed. At our hull the surly sea threw a last slap Like an animal wild and lost. Stinging spray stopped driving Into our faces as we crossed The Hook bar into the river - held ‘Tween the grey breakwaters of the Rhine, Held calm as the current allowed - And we slowed our creaking struggle in the brine, Finding our best course in the stream, Past barges and freighters in line. Mile upon mile of oil tanks Steelworks, mills, cables lined our route And electric power stations spread Their nets out to tame the briny brute. Then small ropes thrown to guide The big hawsers, and the hoot Of tugs shoving and pulling us alongside The grey concrete wharf; ropes now tight; Sky red with lights; army of men shouting In the midnight's hour left and right; Cranes on trains took the strain As she settled, held for the night, Secure in her moorings safe In the liplapping black Rhine. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . NOTE One sea trip I took was at night between UK and Hook of Holland (Hoek van Holland). A strong wind and storm developed in the dark and we were glad to reach the entrance to the Rhine at Hook. Despite the grey industrial nature of the huge port, it seemed like heaven after the storm in the sea.