The 717-foot oil tanker Kite glows golden at the anchorage just south of the Bay Bridge off Annapolis. It had arrived laden with heavy fuel oil from St. Croix heading to Hess Oil's dock in Curtis Bay.

With a 42-foot draft -- the depth of the ship below the waterline -- the Kite is too deep to get to the dock in Baltimore, so a barge lightens the load, allowing the Kite to float at 34 feet. Now, at sunset, the tanker is ready to get under way.

Like every ship coming from international waters, the Kite, by law, will be piloted not by its Greek captain but by a Chesapeake Bay pilot, in this case Davidsonville resident Capt. Duke Adams, who knows the bay like the back of his hand.

The Association of Maryland Pilots, based in Baltimore, has been taking ships up the shoaly waters of the bay for 150 years, making it the oldest such group in the country, according to the association. It has 59 members.

Regulated by the state, pilots such as Adams are charged with protecting the waterways of Maryland by averting disasters such as the sinking Dec. 14 of the Tricolor -- a ship that once called at Baltimore's Dundalk Marine Terminal -- in the English Channel after it collided with another ship.

Jerry Smith, whose family has been part of the Baltimore marine industry since 1905, says pilots play an integral role in maintaining safe commerce on the bay. "As a tug captain, I feel much more comfortable knowing that when I pass a ship, there is a Maryland state pilot on board," says Smith from the wheelhouse of his tug Rising Sun.

The pilots association members alternate taking ships up or down the bay or across the C&D; Canal. A typical trip the entire length of the bay, from Cape Henry, Va., to Baltimore, takes 10 to 12 hours, and pilots must be on call, within 90 minutes of headquarters, whenever they are on duty.

Compensation for these elite mariners -- whose qualifications include an Unlimited Master license from the Coast Guard, training in a five-year program and the ability to reproduce a chart of the entire bay from memory -- was $174,000 in 2000.

Adams has been a bay pilot since 1970. On this particular evening, he meets launchmen Bill Powell and Rick Heimerling at the foot of City Dock in Annapolis and boards the small pilot boat that takes him to the ship.

Adams wears a sweater and tie and carries a briefcase as he boards the launch. The weather is clear and brisk on this night, but the ships and the pilots must go at any hour of any day.

"It can get downright nasty out here sometimes," says Powell, of Riva.

Steep climb aboard

The 40-foot launch seems tiny in comparison with the tanker as it approaches in the darkness.

A rope ladder is lowered for Adams to climb aboard the ship. The ladder swings and sways as Adams climbs 30 feet to the deck.

Heimerling keeps a close eye on the pilot and, when he is safely aboard the ship, signals for a line to be sent down to take up the briefcase.

"You really have to time that first step when the waves are large, otherwise, you might find yourself getting caught between the pilotboat and the ship," says another bay pilot, Capt. Roger Hall.

Once aboard the Kite, Adams makes his way to the bridge by way of a tiny elevator. In the wheelhouse, First Mate Stumbou Vasiliki works quietly in the chart room with light-tight curtains drawn around him. The ship's captain, Nicholas Lerias, greets Adams as "Sir Pilot" and offers him coffee.

Like those of many of the ships that traverse the bay, the Kite's crew speaks little English. Still, the pilot must be able to communicate his directions clearly and make himself understood.

Adams takes a laptop computer from his bag and plugs it in on the counter of the pilothouse. An electronic version of the chart of the Annapolis area is displayed with a global positioning system fix on the ship. But on such a clear night, Adams will rarely need to glance at the computer to find his way.

Ready to roll

The pilot signals to the captain that he is ready to go, and with a radiophone call to the engine room, the enormous engine starts to churn. The lights are doused in the pilothouse and on deck, save for a single light on the tip of the bow that the helmsman uses to orient himself in dark.

A quiet descends on the bridge as Adams calls out commands to the quartermaster, who actually steers the ship. The captain sits quietly, looking out the window, smoking for the remainder of the trip.

"Twenty degrees starboard," says Adams, after looking at the brass compass attached to the counter.

"Twenty degrees starboard," verifies the first mate.

"Reduce speed to half ahead," says Adams as the Bay Bridge begins to loom ahead.

"Reduce speed, half ahead," verifies the first mate.

As the ship passes slowly under the bridge, cars seem to pass just feet above the smokestack of the tanker. Adam has threaded this needle thousands of times, he says.

"The channel narrows here as we approach Baltimore. This is where it can get tricky in bad weather, especially ice," he says.

He orders the ship to turn until two large white lights in the distance line up, the "range lights" that mark the approach to the Craighill Entrance Channel. He steps to the radar screen, glances at a tiny blip, and picks up his portable VHF radio.

"Tug outbound in Craighill Channel, this is the tanker Kite. Over."

The tug captain calls back to the ship and arranges to pass like a car, on the port side of the ship, which is traditionally indicated by one whistle blow.

"See you on one, Cap," the tug captain signs off, referring to a toot that is not sounded on this quiet evening.

The bridge is quiet save for Adams' few calls to the dispatch office updating the arrival of the ship.

When the Key Bridge comes into view, two bright red Moran Towing Inc. tugboats pull alongside the ship, and a Maryland docking pilot, Capt. Mark Adams, climbs aboard with an apprentice. He will be responsible for getting the ship safely to the Hess dock in Curtis Bay and will remain on board until the Kite is properly tied up.

Finishing up

His part of the job complete, Duke Adams -- no relation to the docking pilot -- finishes filling in his logbook. He gives the captain a handshake, turns the helm over to the docking pilot, descends to the deck and swings into the darkness down the ladder to a waiting launch.

He will be driven back to the association's Dillon Street headquarters in Baltimore and will await his next assignment.