Robert Peek, Beloved Deep Creek Lockmaster, Has Died

 Boating Community Mourns Pied Piper of the Dismal Swamp (Video)

Compiled by PETER SWANSON
Robert Peek, lockmaster at Deep Creek on the Dismal Swamp Canal, was pronounced dead at about 3 a.m. on Oct. 1, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers has confirmed. “Good natured,” “hospitable,” “legendary,” “beloved”—these are some of the words that precede the name of the late Robert Peek who was not just a lockmaster but “the world’s best conch player.” (Watch him perform on video at the end of this story.)

Peek was maintenance man, groundskeeper and lockmaster at the Deep Creek Locks since he was in his late 20s—25 years in all. He even built the station house where he liked to entertain the boaters locking through. Deep Creek separates the salt water of Deep Creek from the fresh water of the historic Dismal Swamp Canal. It is heavily wooded with a combination pedestrian bridge/elevated walkway system to traverse a tidal inlet and marsh area. More than 600 vessels go through the lock each year.

Details of Peek’s death and an official obituary have yet to be released, but his life and the effect that he has had on thousands of transiting cruisers is well documented.

Peek Described His Job to Virginia Pilot writer Carolyn Shapiro back in 2013:

I've been at this lock about 18 years. I run a bridge, a lock, a dam. I'm the groundskeeper and the maintenance man. I work seven days on, two days off. I'll move the water to achieve a level – either high or low, depending on which way I have boats traveling. Right now I have southbound traffic.

It's very important that they follow my instructions, because situations change constantly. Which way is the wind blowing? Which line am I going to take first? Is the tide going out and we're going to have a current?

I'll bring them in and tie them up. Once I have them secured to the wall, make sure all the boats that are coming are here, I'll close the gates up behind them, make sure the gates are properly mitered, which simply means putting the gates together correctly, go down to the other end, flood the lock chamber. It'll take about 15 minutes at that point. After we've achieved a level high, then I'll open the gates up. They'll go out of the lock. I'll close the gates behind them. I'll jump in my truck, drive down to the bridge. I'll open the bridge for them. They'll move on.

But my primary job isn't locking boats or lifting the bridge. My primary job is controlling the water levels within the (Great) Dismal Swamp and the canal. Deep Creek, South Millls and Lake Drummond, we usually coordinate twice a day every day on what we'll be doing.
You can't know about me without knowing about the Dismal. That's what I'm all about. It's a very unique environment. You will not find another environment like this anywhere.

This is a very stress-free environment. One boat in 10,000 you'll wish just didn't come this way. I do about 3,500 boats a year, so every four or five years you'll get a jerk in here. Someone who lived in a land-locked state, who was the CEO of a company, who has never been on a boat before in his life, retired, sold his house, bought a 100-foot boat and now wants to tell everybody else what to do.

They are the captain of their boat. It's their property. And I have to maintain a level of professionalism, no matter what. The bottom of the lock gate is called a sill, where the gates come together. Once your boat crosses that sill, that is my boat, until you cross my other sill. You may be the captain of your boat. But I am the master of the lock. If I ask you for a particular line on the boat, a bow or a stern or what have you, these aren't whimsical requests. There's a reason why I ask for certain things, and it's important that they follow my instructions. I'm very good at what I do.

I went to Deep Creek High (School). As a boy, me and my brother would come to this park and go crabbing all summer long on the weekends. When I was 14 years old, Mr. Bell was the operator. One day he had the gates open, and I walked over, and he let me tie up a couple boats. And he let me close the gates. So the first time I ever put my hands on these controls.

If there was ever a job that was meant to be, this is it.

The only way that you can do this is apprentice under someone who is doing it. I started out in maintenance, then I was given the opportunity to learn how to operate all the federal bridges and locks in this area. That way, when they wanted to take off, I could go fill in. Then I got the opportunity to come and work on this canal.

You have to learn really by instinct what to do when a storm is coming. We have the ability to move up to 19 billion gallons of water every 24 hours if need be. In September of '99, Hurricane Dennis was a Category 1 that stalled between 60 and 80 miles off the coast. We had constant rain bands, and it stalled for two weeks. Floyd came in behind it. Floyd dumped 18 inches of rain on us in eight hours.

Downtown Franklin was 17 feet under water, and we are downhill of them. That water's coming to us. I did $1.5 million worth of damage to this lock. I literally blew these walls out of this lock chamber. We literally saved this region from billions of dollars in damage by sacrificing the lock. I was on duty for 72 hours straight.

Almost every day is a reunion with somebody I haven't seen in six months or two years. And we spend a little bit of time catching up. About half the boats that come through this canal spend the night. I invite them over in the morning. We'll do coffee and Danish or fruit in the morning while we wait to see if I'm going to have any 8:30 traffic, and we'll spend about an hour or so talking and chatting, having coffee, laughing and joking.

As Kathy Bohanan Enzerink wrote for the All at Sea magazine in 2012, Peek has helped many a cruiser avoid disaster:

The locks at Deep Creek, Virginia.

The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers has recognized and awarded Peek several times for going above and beyond his duties. A few years ago, the owner of a new boat couldn’t get the transmission into neutral or reverse to slow his forward motion.

“He was coming into the lock at four knots and couldn’t back her down,” said Peek. “He was facing 108,000 pounds of steel at the other end, with nowhere to go. He just froze. I yelled at him to bring the boat over to me at the wall.”

Peek grabbed lines from the boat and wrapped them around the bollards. As each line grew taut, he released it, ran forward and wrapped it around the next bollard. He was able to slow the boat’s speed and bring it to a stop inches from the steel doors. A bolt had worked its way out of the transmission linkage and was a quick fix.

A few years ago, during the southbound migration of cruising boaters, Peek managed to squeeze 19 boats into the lock. Cap’n Parky and Addie, onboard Pisces, were part of the pack.
“Most everybody was good natured about the whole affair,” said Parkinson, a native of England. “Fenders and lines were everywhere. When we thought the lock was full, Robert here managed to fit one more inside. She ended up crosswise at the back, but it worked.” To Peek’s credit, he said he has never left a boat behind.

Northbound boaters have been bringing Peek a particular gift for years. All he asks is that returnees from the Bahamas bring him a conch shell, which he used to line the station’s garden and, of course, entertain the folks. This is a funny he story he related to the All at Sea writer back in 2012:

“I’ve been blowing the horn for a lot of years, but a buddy of mine told me he wouldn’t be impressed until I could play ‘Saints,’ so I learned,” said Peek. “My wife and I heard about a competition in Key West, so we went. I had Old Blue, my favorite horn with me and decided to warm up before the contest. I played ‘Saints’ and nailed it. The organizers told me I couldn’t compete as six people just dropped out, ‘because of your little stunt.’ They told me I could be a judge and judges drink for free. That worked for me.”

Capt. Frank described a typical interaction a few years ago in his Sailing Mavis blog:

As I was walking a raised up and modified Jeep came rolling up. “Hello!” I heard a familiar voice shout. Robert pulled up and we got to talking. And talking… Robert really is a great guy to “chew the rag” with. We talked about boats, and locks, and dogs, and politics, and the local wildlife, the waterway, kids, women, space travel, electronics and lots of other stuff… After a while Cindy came walking over wondering what the heck had happened to me and after some more rag-chewing, Robert said that we should come over to the lock house right before 8 the next morning for some coffee and danishes. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more genuine and welcoming guy.

After a comfortable night on the dock, the next morning we walked over to the lock house and got more of a glimpse into this interesting guy’s life. Inside, the little house was furnished comfortably. Although he doesn’t live there, he has made the place comfy and his own…There were a few antique comfy chairs and lots of knick-knacks and artifacts on the walls and on shelves. He disappeared into the little kitchen for a moment and popped back out with coffee and yogurt with granola handing it over and saying “you have to eat this.”

He explained that the antique chair I was sitting on was one of the first Lazy-Boy style recliners. We chatted about the swamp and the journey ahead and from time to time Robert would excuse himself to take care of his lock master duties. There were dozens of dolphin figurines, some photos, books, little wooden boats, shells, lighthouses, the kind of things you see in tourist shops in seaside towns and tropical places. I asked him about all the stuff in there and he explained that “everything you see in here is mine… with the exception of that file cabinet, that desk and this radio stuff over here which belongs to the government.”

It didn’t feel like we were visitors in a government building. It felt more like we were guests in Robert’s home. It had a charming, lived-in look and I could tell that our host really, genuinely likes people. I got to thinking about how people come and go and he gets to know them for a few hours, shares some coffee and sends them on their way until a few hours later the next batch of boats come along.

I asked Robert what we could bring him on our way back north and he replied without hesitation “conch shells”. He said that it didn’t matter how they looked or their size but how they sounded because each conch has its own sound and the HE would be the judge of that. With that, he picked up a smallish shell from the collection and began to play it for us. Finishing his little ditty, he tossed it aside into the soil of one of his little gardens and then he told us the story of that particular shell.

If there is any justice left in this world, someone will play “Taps” or even "Amazing Grace" on a conch shell at Peek’s memorial service.