NORFOLK TO ABADAN AND THE LONG WAY HOME

The waters of the Gulf have a moderate chop as we begin our journey northward to the Shatt-al-Arab. The river, brown with sediment, flows into the blue waters of the Persian Gulf discoloring its beauty. It is shallow here and deep draft vessels must enter the center of the channel, preferably at high tide, or grounding may be the order of the day. The destroyer draws only about 16ft of water, yet despite this seemingly shallow draft we churn sediment from the bottom at the ebbing of the tide.

The river is traversed not only by tankers and occasional warships, but by local fishermen and traders plying their goods in small and medium sized dhows, unmistakable for their lateen sails. The experience of steaming up this river will never be forgotten.

On the western edge of the river which delineates the border of Iraq, the shore is lined almost continuously with groves of date palms; interrupted periodically by irrigation canals and ditches. Nestled in the palms are homes and support buildings pertinent to the agriculture of the area; they appear to be constructed of mud and stucco-like substances; some buildings have the appearance of ancient forts.

On the east side of the river is the shore of Abadan, Iran. Here the scenery is unmistakably reflective of the industry on the island; that of oil storage, transmission and production; storage tanks; docks; the immense structures of the refinery; operational buildings of the port facility; a floating dry dock; loading platforms; tugboats; patrols boats; tankers; railroad tracks and flat cars; Iranian, as well as British and American warships, including ourselves, moored in the docking area. The river in the area of the harbor varies in width from 300 to 600 yards; the port area is 4 miles long.

There is a permeating odor of decay rising from the river; a combination of the infusion of refinery offal and the pungent smell of trash and garbage which the authorities permit to be discarded over the side of anchored vessels. What unnerves my senses is the bloated body of a large, dead animal floating down the river with the outgoing tide to the Gulf, then, before reaching its destination, returns up the river on the incoming tide; there is something surreal about it. This image, coupled with the unmistakable odors of the river, is forever embedded in my memory.

By 0600 hours on the 23^rd we have completed our journey up river and are moored alongside USS Barton at Berth #2 in Abadan, adjacent to the refinery.

As an historical note: In 1951 the oil refinery was nearly shut down after Iran nationalized it, along with the oil fields, and revoked the residence permits of all western employees of the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company, thereby forcing them to leave the country.