KNOXVILLE, Tenn. — They start sailing up days or even weeks before kickoff, a blaze-orange armada of watercraft packed with beverages, Tennessee regalia and Volunteer fans who have turned a bend in the Tennessee River into one of the finest tailgating — sorry, sailgating — venues in college football. Sure, you could just tailgate on your school’s quad, surrounded by academic buildings … or you could enlist in the Vol Navy.
Every weekend the Vols are in town, massive yachts, tiny bass boats, stuffed-full houseboats and one-sailor dinghies tie up just outside Neyland Stadium, a massive flotilla dedicated to all things Rocky Top. It’s a magnificent tradition, one that’s either an every-game must-do or a one-and-done, depending on how hard you go at it before, during and after the game. If you haven’t yet been, you’re always welcome, long as you’re piloting something seaworthy.
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The Vol Navy’s origins: Parking is hell
The Vol Navy’s origins spring from that most relatable of gameday challenges: beating the traffic to the stadium. Neyland is one of only two college football stadiums beside a body of water — Washington’s Husky Stadium, on the shores of Lake Washington, is the other — which makes for a scenic vista but hellish traffic access.
In 1962, George Mooney, the longtime play-by-play man for the Vols in the ‘50s and ‘60s, hit on an innovative idea to get to the stadium: by sea rather than by land.
“All the games back then were at 2:30 in the afternoon,” says Bud Sherrod, a Knoxville insurance executive. “We didn’t have lights on the stadium. So he and a friend of his decided that traffic was such a pain in the butt that they would come up to a game in his little boat, a little runabout with probably a 30-horsepower on the back. And then he joked about it on the air, and other people caught on, and thought, Well, if he can do it, we can do it.”
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Sherrod, whose Vol fandom truly began when he sold Cokes at Neyland at age 12, was enamored with the fans who would sail up, scramble up the banks of the river and make their way to the stadium. “I thought that’d be a lot of fun,” he says with a laugh. Here we are, six decades later, and Sherrod is a longtime Vol Navy captain who pilots the 75-foot Hatteras motor yacht Cinco de Mayo.
Today, the formerly wild shore of Sherrod’s youth is now part of a city riverfront development that boasts multiple docks, the boathouse for Tennessee’s rowing team, and Calhoun’s, a restaurant that on game days is as lively as any in the country. T-shirt vendors selling Vol Navy gear set up on busy game days, and they never lack for customers. “Vol Navy” flags are visible on virtually every craft.
Plus, there’s plenty of on-the-water entertainment. The boats that tie up for the Vol Navy feature everything from bands to bars, with dogs — both the real and inflatable-Smokey variety — visible everywhere. Stand among the Vol Navy, and you’re likely to hear music blasting from a dozen different nearby speakers, and — depending how close you are to kickoff — a whole lot of whooping and celebrating, too.
“There are some people that wear these little captain’s hats and they consider themselves to be the admiral of the fleet,” Sherrod jokes. “They’re the ones with the country music band and stuff on top of their boat. We don’t get that involved anymore. Now, when I was 40, yeah, I’d be down there just staying up most of the night, getting up as early as I could, but I’m not 40 anymore. We try to maintain a little decorum.”
Boats tie up on the Tennessee River in the shadow of Neyland Stadium. (Yahoo Sports)
Prepare to be boarded
Dress code runs the gamut. “The earlier games, the last couple days of August and September, you’ll see anything from fancy dresses to bikinis and swimwear out here,” says Kevin Flint. “And then as time goes on, the jackets start to replace a lot of that.” Flint — who did not go to Tennessee himself, but “dated a bunch of girls who went to the school” — owns a 40-foot sailing yacht called “Island Girl” and, as of two weeks ago, a 60-foot houseboat called “The Fourth Quarter,” both of which will be dockside for the Arkansas game this weekend.
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There’s both art and science involved in the Vol Navy. The art involves finding the perfect berth between the perfect neighbors; the science involves loading in everything you’ll need for a full game-day weekend, since there’s no water or electricity available. Both require some substantial pre-planning, meaning if you wait until Saturday morning to join the Navy, you’re probably in trouble.
There are some unwritten rules of the Vol Navy, the first being: tie up with your own kind. For the most part, the docks are free — the “donor docks” at the boathouse right across the stadium are for the high-rollers — but it’s first-come, first-docked, with some restrictions. Larger boats take one section of the river, smaller craft another, and you can probably understand why — a tiny johnboat wouldn’t fare too well tied up between the dock and a massive yacht.
Plus, know what you’re doing at the helm of your craft. As anyone who’s ever been on a busy lake knows, there’s a wide variance of skill among boat drivers. The Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency patrols the river, keeping an eye out for would-be Navy enlistees who don’t quite meet standards of behavior.
“If a boat is coming in too fast and they don’t look like they know what they’re doing,” Flint says, “TWRA will pull them over and, you know, talk with them.”
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Finally, be a good neighbor. For the most part, Vol fans allow others to walk across their back decks on the way to the shore. Every once in awhile someone will get a bit touchy about their space, and at that point dinghies will ferry people onto the shore.
(Yahoo Sports)
A game day (and GameDay) tradition
One of the Vol Navy’s loudest traditions begins on Friday night, when the team leaves in a convoy of buses en route to its off-campus hotel. The Vol Navy salutes their departure up Neyland Drive — and, on Saturday, their return — with a fusillade of horns and cheers.
The vibrancy of the Vol Navy lands it on pretty much every “greatest traditions of college football” list that’s ever aggregated. GameDay and the SEC Network do regular hits amongst the Navy. Three years ago, Pat McAfee, clad in orange bucket hat and checkerboard overalls, backflipped off the stern of Sherrod’s Cinco de Mayo:
Good thing he didn’t dive; the river can get shallow that close to shore.
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Even after kickoff, a substantial percentage of Vol Navy sailors never abandon their boats, preferring to watch the game — or hear the cheers — from the water. And whenever Tennessee scores, the boat horns sound.
“It’s like, let’s be as loud as possible,” Flint says. “Neyland is loud, but we want Neyland to be able to hear us out here, too. There’s people with literal train horns on their boat.”
Foreign invasions are swiftly repelled
Often, foreign navies will attempt an invasion. Alabama fans, for instance, have been known to sail up the waterways that lead to Knoxville from the Yellowhammer State. But the tide doesn’t exactly roll this far from Tuscaloosa, and they’re outnumbered on every side. Fortunately, boat people being who they are — among the chillest, most laid-back people on planet Earth — there are rarely any incidents involving rival fans.
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“Those are the people that get told by multiple boat owners that they are not allowed to tie up to his or her boat anymore,” Flint says. “With that said, there are lots of middle fingers going up after touchdowns from both sides.”
Accidents do happen, of course. “Back in the day, you could be parked next to a boat, and they would be on the top of their houseboat, for example, with a charcoal grill going,” Sherrod says. “And the grill would be located about 10 feet above a 600-gallon gas tank.” It’s for that reason that the Knoxville Fire Department regularly practices catastrophe scenarios on the water — none of which, thankfully, have ever been needed.
Vol Navy long-timers tell the tale of a boat that caught fire, apparently from a malfunctioning generator, and had to be untied and pushed out into the river lest it ignite the entire fleet. On a less serious level, phones, keys and laptops go into the water with regularity; Flint, who’s a scuba diver, will occasionally rescue them, metal detector in hand to plumb the murky depths.
When the Volunteers win, which is happening with more frequency these days, the party keeps bobbing. And oh, if Tennessee beats one of its blood rivals …
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“Anytime you beat Alabama or Florida, you know, you’re not gonna have a bad night that night,” Flint says. When Tennessee knocked off Alabama in 2022, delirious Vol fans slung the goalposts into the river just a few yards from where the first ships of the Vol Navy were docked.
There’s a protocol to leaving, too. “Whenever you go and tie up to somebody, you start talking, ‘When do you plan to leave?’” Flint says. “And then when you’re down here enough, you start to know everybody and know the boat: These 10 boats will be here a month before the season until after the season, so they’re on the inside.”
The Vol Navy brings together two truly epic American cultures: college football and boat life. In both cultures, no matter what happens, you’re guaranteed to come away with a good story, drunk or sober, win or lose.
“I had one Georgia fan tell me how much he loved me before the Georgia game this year,” Flint says. “I told him that we would be mortal enemies at 3:30, which he 100 percent agreed with. Every time Tennessee scored a touchdown or got a first down, I would look around and he would have a middle finger up at me. After the game, he came over and gave me a hug. It’s just different on the water!”
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The Vol Navy will gather on the shores of Neyland this weekend for Tennessee’s game against Arkansas, and for every home weekend of the season (and playoffs?) to come. Tie up anywhere close by, “Rocky Top” travels remarkably well over water.
