Day Seventeen -  Wednesday - Big Bayou Canot to Turner Marine  

A swollen anchorage but little floating debris

This morning our river anchorage is swollen from the rain Patricia dumped to the west and north of us but the floating debris in the current is not severe enough to delay our final day’s run through the city of Mobile to Turner Marine down Mobile Bay. An errant minuscule rain shower slips by us in mere minutes and the morning sun glistens off AURORA’s rapidly drying raindrop splatter.

Soon to be sunny Mobile, AL

Running the river through the heart of Mobile is a perspective unavailable to land based visitors and at once confirms my opinion of this city as a blue collar, working port. Tens of barges, riding high sans cargo and just as many riding deep laden with unseen loads, line the shoreline for mile after mile as we pass through the port. Ocean-going ships come and go on a daily basis sustaining our globalist economy.  

Downtown Mobile, AL

Working port

           Heading out into Mobile Bay, I spend a few moments looking at the new nautical chart in my chart plotter and realize this bay is shallow everywhere except in the shipping channel.  I miss those steep drop offs along the Pacific Coast.  Another milestone occurs as we reach the Dog River channel marker that will lead us into our new marina.  We must wave goodbye to VELA NARCOSIS because she is continuing on to the Gulf Inter-Coastal Waterway and ultimately to her annual wintering anchorage, Key West.  

          It is difficult to say goodbye to Dennis and Wanda but I will visit friends in the Keys in January when we will sail to Cuba and I will look for VELA NARCOSIS in that outlying mooring field.  We have unfinished business.   

      The trip into Turner's is uneventful and after tying up, Brett and I begin the more mundane task of dealing with a flooded car (declared a total loss by the insurance company and so we have to rent a car to return to MKE) and cleaning the boat from several weeks of bachelor detritus. 

I am not a glib speaker.  I am not a fast writer.  It has taken me longer to chronicle this small adventure that it did to actually live it.  I do, however, give serious effort to writing words that resonate for me and within me.  Exempting paid-for words, I write about thoughts that are personal and meant for my personal edification.  My favorite analogy is the one I just recently described regarding anchoring.  Just as I endeavor to set my anchor so the boat does not slip into dangerous waters, my writing is intended to “set” my memories so they do not flitter off into nothingness. I am probably going to be an unhappy Oldzeimer’s patient where no memories at all float through my head.  In the interim, these postings have acted as my memory “anchor” and now this phase of my life passes into memory the way I wish to remember it. The words have been for my benefit and I am ok with how they are strung together. Yes, I sent it off to a few of you, not so much out of self-aggrandizement, (of course there is some ego involved)  but more so in the recognition that I have a plethora of fascinating friends who often are interested in those small details of life that are just a bit out of the ordinary.  I hope some of my writing fits that description and more than a few of you are entertained for a moment or two. 

          With AURORA having reached her new temporary home, it was indeed the journey and not the destination for me and Brett.  I will return to writing my RK Rants & Fine Whines to those of you who have asked to be on that other tiny list. (Hah, and I do mean tiny but I would love to add you to the list. Just ask and ye shall receive) while I contemplate where, when, and if…  AURORA and her captain loose the dock lines attaching us to everyday life.  Thanks to all of you for reading, and especially thank you for all those kind notes expressing delight at receiving Aurora - East of Eden posts.  Wishing you fair winds and calm seas, I eagerly look forward to catching up with you face to face in your home port.  Anchors aweigh!       RK

My familiar friend welcomes AURORA

Day Sixteen - Tuesday - Tensaw River to Big Bayou Canot

Leaving our Tensaw River anchorage

          

           The remnants of Hurricane Patricia have moved north and east of us with only a slight drizzle remaining.  Wind is non-existent and VELA NARCOSIS and AURORA weigh anchors and set off on the short 25 mile jaunt to Big Bay Canot. This anchorage is a mere ten miles north of Mobile city proper.  We are uncertain of conditions in Mobile Bay so will stop short of the city to allow the turbulent wind, weather, and waves to settle in the Gulf for a day before heading down to Turner Marina midway down the western shore.  Both Brett and I are feeling pretty good about losing only one weather day the entire trip and are thanking the weather gods for their benevolence. 

         Both of us are beginning to feel the pangs of nostalgia and regret as we realize we are nearly finished moving AURORA south.  Sights and sounds of the river and waterway glide past on the shore but I kick myself for not having snapped a picture of the old red English phone booth (think Tardis from Dr. Who) precariously perched on the shore a couple of days ago. It was so out of place neither Brett nor I could stop chuckling fast enough to grab a camera.   

Closer to Mother Nature than most

            I am vaguely aware of the variety and ingenuity displayed by folks who live close enough to Mother Nature to experience both the good and the bad of her moods. The river houses up on stilts of course are an acknowledgment but us urbanites are so much less attuned to Her in general, thinking erroneously that we have it all under control.  And then a Katrina destroys a city, or an F-4 class tornado flattens a farm community or a 30 inch snowstorm buries the East Coast. We are not in control and it is hubris of the highest order to think we have the upper hand.  One of these stormy springs, the Mississippi River will bypass New Orleans completely and surge down the Atchafalaya through Texas to the Gulf where it has wanted to go for the past 50 years.  All of the enormous Army Corps structures notwithstanding and our fervent desires to see it as a picturesque backdrop to the French Quarter, the Mississippi WILL go where it desires.  You read it here first. (Or at least first since Katrina)

         At the anchorage, I am not happy with our first anchor set feeling as though it did not grab hard enough.  For those of you who have never set an anchor on a boat, there is one overriding concern.  It is the ONLY thing between you and disaster.  (remember the pix from a few posts ago?)  Once you have dropped the anchor to the bottom and let out enough scope (4 to 1 under light conditions, more in stormy weather) one puts the boat in reverse and “sets” the anchor by pulling on it backwards.  This forces the anchor to dig into the bottom securing your lifeline.  Our first attempt does not produce the noticeable dip of the bow as the anchor chain tightens and stops the boat from moving backwards and so we haul it up and re-set it.  The second set is satisfyingly secure. 

VELA and ALLY CAT share our anchorage

            Strangely enough in the middle of this re-anchoring maneuver, my cell phone rings and I have no time to answer being consumed with getting us secure for the night. I have not heard the cell phone much this trip because we have not had great reception meandering down through the heart of a wild and secluded section of our country.  When I do finally remember the call, I check the number and find it is the folks from Turner Marina.  Calling them back, I hear bad news.  Hurricane Patricia has not left us unscathed.  She dumped 10 inches of rain on Mobile and the parking lot where Brett and I have parked his car over two weeks ago, has flooded and water rose up above the seats inside the car.  Brett spends the next hour or two calling his insurance agent and a car repair dealership in Mobile. Obviously we thanked the weather gods either too early or perhaps, too late.  Our final anchorage sunset on the waterway is not colorful, but it is poignant and subdued for more reasons than we had anticipated.  

Our last sunset at anchorage

Day Fifteen - Monday - Nowhere to Nowhere

          The rain began yesterday late afternoon and has continued unabated through the night.  At times the downpour woke me but surprisingly, the wind has not been worrisome.  We’ve had a few gusts over 20 knots but that is considerably less than what we were anticipating.  Apparently the wind shear line did not come this far east, so Brett and I are lazing about deciding which books we will read today (two paperbacks and a biography for me) because it is obvious we will not move from this comfortable anchorage. A day of absolutely nothing to do sounds inviting to say the least!   

          AURORA has led a pampered life these past 25 years.  In Los Angeles and Marina del Rey, we were in an uncovered slip but had only one or two days of rain all year.  The worst weather was a constant punishing sun and the corrosive salt air which necessitated varnishing brightwork  (brightwork is the exterior wood on a vessel, in AURORA's case, mahogany and teak) at least once a year and sometimes twice.  In Kentucky, she was under cover and although there were many rain storms, the damage incurred was only to one’s ears from the drumming drenches on a thin tin roof. Even the snow storms of last winter only deposited measurable amounts on the aft deck while the majority of the boat was protected under that tin roof.  Last night and today, we are out in the open listening to drumming raindrops landing on all of AURORA’s exposed decks.  I love the soothing sound of rain on the decks but it brings an unwelcome realization that all those years under cover has not been kind to my watertight seals around windows and hatches. 

          My day of doing nothing devolves into locating, staunching, and attempting to staunch leaks as they seep across the main salon's teak parquet sole.  A dozen old towel rags serve as sponges but I find myself wringing out towels on a consistent basis all day long.  It occurs to me that AURORA is aging… just as her owner. It is not a thought that is alien to me these past few years. Healthy all of my life, when I got to 70, systems began to run less than optimally.  Deteriorating eyesight, nerve damage in one leg, and balance issues seem uncorrectable in spite of my overriding sense of denial and depressing doctor visits. I guess that’s why I’m out here on AURORA today.  I do sense the law of diminishing returns plotting my eventual acceptance of old age, but not today. These old legs have made the trip up and down AURORA’s three deck levels wringing out wet towels more often today than the entire previous week. I will sleep well tonight… with the help of Ibuprofen.         

Day Fourteen -  Sunday- Sunflower Cutoff to Tensaw River

Worlds greatest hushpuppies?  Can't say...

          Our goal today is another 70 mile hop to Big Bay Canot, a mere 10 miles north of Mobile. Unfortunately, the spectacular weather window we have enjoyed for the past few weeks appears to be heading into history.  All of our available weather reports are for heavy rain and strong winds beginning later today and continuing at least through Monday.  This is the remnants of Hurricane Patricia that we have been monitoring for almost a week now. No longer a hurricane, Patricia had nevertheless devastated many parts of the Southwest with record rains and 50 to 60 mph winds.  We had hoped she would have blown herself out before reaching us but that does not appear it will be the case. Heading downriver early from our anchorage under leaden skies, we still hope to make Big Bay Canot before the weather turns ugly.  We make a short stop at Bobby’s Fish Camp, the last fueling opportunity for the balance of the trip.  Because we are in a hurry, I cannot confirm or deny that Bobby’s has the tastiest and most revered hushpuppies in the whole of the South. I utter my usual refrain when missing a landmark because of time constraints, “Next trip.”  As we pull away from the dock we espy a graphic reminder of bad decision making. 

Bad decision result

The day progresses well but it is apparent we will not make our intended anchorage before the storm reaches us.  As the skies darken precipitously, we will most likely fall 20 miles short of the Big Bay Canot anchorage just outside of mobile. Decisions, decisions, decisions. This is where one’s nerves begin to fray a tad.

          Many years ago I thought it would be a boon to my business if I had a pilot’s license and could fly to several clients who were within three to four hundred miles of my offices.  I took the necessary lessons and passed qualifications for my private ticket and intended to progress to an instrument rating that would allow me to fly in bad weather.  I should mention that although I enjoyed flying I had no passion for it and often had proclaimed to those acquaintances that were passionate about flying that my palms sweated even in the most benign of flying conditions. I considered flying merely a means to an end, a way to visit certain clients without my wasting an entire day unproductively driving hundreds of miles.

         One day while I was still not rated for instrument flying, I decided I needed to visit a client who was only 125 miles distant and went to the small airport where I usually rented a Cessna 182.  Checking the weather reports I took note of an approaching storm front but thought I had plenty of time to get in before the storm closed in. You can guess the result. The storm intensified and moved in quicker than predicted (this was long before long range Doppler radar) and as I drew close to my intended airport all I could see was a wall of swirling black clouds with only tiny glimpses of clear sky. 

Who among us has not looked at bad situations through rose colored glasses? Especially when we are young and immortal?  I told myself I just HAD to be at this meeting and flew down into the leading edge of the maelstrom because after all, I had the field and the runway in sight.  Fifty feet above the ground the horizontal rain struck nearly rendering me blind.  My heart leapt into my throat and only through pure luck was I able to land, albeit roughly, without incident. Had I been 60 seconds later, and 100 feet higher the outcome would have been disastrously different.  I taxied to the tie-down apron and sat motionless staring blankly at the now shut down instrument panel while the wind whipped the wings up and down and buffeted the entire aircraft.  The young man who ran out to help had the tie downs attached and was soaked to the skin before he came and rapped on my door yelling to be heard above the wind and rain if I was okay.  No I was not okay. I had cheated fate this day and although it would not be the last time I did something really stupid, it was the last time I would do it in an airplane. Since that day, I have been in bad storms, even several life threatening but always cognizant of Mother Nature’s raw power.  

AURORA, the early years and bad decisions

Luckily, today I was buddy-boating on the Tenn-Tom with a seasoned veteran.  Dennis on VELA NARCOSIS was working on his sixth round trip and when I called him on the radio to ask about a nearer alternative anchorage, he was of the same mind.  Neither of us was interested in pushing on into the teeth of what could be a nasty storm front. Hence, we settled on the Tensaw River where we could take refuge from the wind and rain and still be only 35 miles or so from Mobile.  Each of us found a comfortable spot and dropped the hook with extra scope out to await the now infamous remnants of Hurricane Patricia. Within half an hour two other boats joined us and the rain started 20 minutes later.  Our timing had been perfect and none of us got a drop of rain on us while setting anchors.  We expected the worst and were prepared for it so I was confident we had made the prudent and smart choice.       

Day Thirteen -  Saturday - Bashi Creek to Sunflower Cutoff

          Today is another long travel day as we hope to reach Sunflower Cutoff 72 miles downstream.  Today is also a milestone day.  We will lock through Coffeeville Lock and Dam and it is the very last lock heading south on the Tenn-Tom Waterway.  Once we pass through, AURORA will be at sea level and will have dropped an astounding 415 feet since Pickwick Dam.   That is a long way down even if it is only 30 or 40 feet at a time.   I was going to put a picture of a 40 story building in here and then I thought, “Just to satisfy those who need pictures in their reading material?”  Nope. No skyscraper pix today.  Sorry for you word challenged souls… I won’t mention any names, Jerry. 

          While I am thinking about this last lock and dam I cannot help but hear the voices in my head of my conservative friends (yes I have far more than you would imagine in spite of my liberal leanings) who eschew not only government mega projects paid for with tax dollars but generally wish to get rid of government in it’s entirety. Do I think there is government overreach? Of course! Are there useless people in government? Of course! Do I want to get rid of government? Let me just say that in my life, I have traveled in places without government. It was never pleasant. It was never a place I ever wanted to be then or again. Never. Not. Ever. Again.  And yes, I can hear those voices of close friends who excoriate me for my unbridled paranoia about Big Brother.  If truth be spoken, there are many things our government has done right.  Our National Park System is one, but right up there with that mega project is this Tenn-Tom Waterway and the entire system of locks and dams throughout the eastern half of the US.

And here is another personal observation.  AURORA has now traveled through a dozen locks and dams all of which work 24/7- 365 days a year manned by people who are employed by that Big Bad Government so many of us love to hate. And to a person, every one of them we came into contact with was helpful, gracious, friendly and courteous. And I mean EVERY single one we dealt with on this trip.  Not one individual had a bad day and was curt or discourteous to me, not one individual was arrogant when a newbie like me did or said something stupid, not one individual was anything but highly professional. Where in the world do they find these folks? I would have killed for employees with those attributes while I was in business. So thanks and gratitude to all those folks who safely dropped me from the equivalent of the top of a forty story building to the basement! I am quick enough to find fault with Big Brother and think it only fair I acknowledge a Big Brother success. Thank you. 

Our last lock at Coffeeville is no different than any of the previous ones except that locking through has become old hat and Brett is now multi-tasking. 

Locking and multi-tasking

I also want to point out the alacrity with which the herons and egrets use the leaky lock gates to scoop up small fish slipping through the openings. Oblivious to us, they are steadfastly focused on the warning bells as a lock begins to empty and swoop in to claim the best vantage point for acquiring snacks.  

Dennis on VELA NARCOSIS just ahead of me, radios to ask if I saw the alligator as we came out. We have finally arrived at sea level but still have many miles to go before we enter the Gulf so we are surprised about the gator. Both Brett and I grab our binocs and scan the shoreline. We see nothing but I am anxious to spot my first gator on this trip so for many, many, MANY miles I spend far more time scanning the overgrown shoreline than watching the chart plotter and my course headings.  Finally Brett, who has grown weary of the sharp corrections in my steering when I do look at the chart plotter, gently taps me on the shoulder tells me to go sit on the back deck and look for gators. I get the hint. I am still uncertain that Dennis is not laughing this very moment and telling everyone within earshot of RK’s erratic steering ever since “gator watch” commenced at his instigation.  One word, Dennis… Karma.  I expect to see you again and will demand answers. 

Tonight we will anchor on the river proper but outside of the navigation buoys to be well out of barge traffic lanes.  We’ve not seen a great many barges, averaging perhaps 2 or 3 a day as we’ve come down river but as I have mentioned, they are massive and a bit scary.  I do not expect to sleep well tonight knowing they will have to pass me while I am at anchor and am totally helpless should something go awry with their steering.  Our anchorage is on the main river but at a wide bend and any barge coming from either direction has plenty of room and can easily spot us from a long way off.  We give the required radio warning about anchored boats and our position but I wake and climb up to the pilot house several times during the night regardless.  Although the sound of the passing barges is noticeable, it is not overly loud. It is the incredible intensity of several million candlepower lumens from their spotlights invading my aft cabin as they scan the width of the river constantly checking buoys and shoreline that is so disconcerting in the black of a moonless night.  My aft cabin lights up as though a lightning flash has penetrated the decking.  I estimate 9 or 10 barges pass us in the night more than we’ve seen during any day the whole trip.  None come even close to us and my uneasiness is groundless. 

But my uneasiness is not groundless regarding the remnants of Hurricane Patricia and her precipitation amounts.  Flooding across Texas and continuing to blow towards us, she definitely is not dying out. We may have weather decisions to make on the morrow.  

Day Twelve -  Friday - Demopolis to Bashi Creek

            We do not get as early a start as we had hoped.  A loaded barge is locking through and the lockmaster asks those of us coming out of Demopolis to wait while the barge clears downstream.  By the time the lock is clear there are a whole slew (a technical term meaning there were 8 of us meandering around the lock gates) and I was curious to observe the manner in which 8 boats race for the floating bollards to secure their favorite locking location.  Dennis is right up near the opening while the rest of us are strung out along the bay. The lockmaster asks the first boats in line to go all the way in to the last bollards before tying up. To my surprise, each boat gets on the radio and asks for a specific side, port or starboard and the grand entrance is not a clusterf*^k  but rather, an orderly slow parade of boats.  The previous hour watching 8 boats weave in and out of one another’s way while we waited for the lock to clear gave absolutely no indication that this would be so easy and painless.  Boats have gone out of their way to accommodate the boats nearest them. Every bollard is taken with the faster boats up front so they will exit before the rest of us slower craft, meaning none of those huge wakes from big passing boats when we do get out of the lock.  Very civilized... and totally unexpected.

          The first order of business is passing the slow barge that locked through before us.  It goes easily and in spite of our late start we travel the 70 odd miles to Dennis’s choice for our anchorage this night, a tiny little tributary to the waterway named Bashi Creek.  We pass four different boats that have pulled off to the side of the main river channel and are anchored for the night because the sun is setting but our destination is only a few more miles further downriver. When we arrive at Bashi Creek it is tiny but well out of the main river.  Dennis pulls further in while I am forced to back in because there is not enough room for me to turn AURORA around once I get past the opening. I dislike backing up AURORA because she has a miniscule rudder the size of a dinner plate and a massive prop which results in her backing up in anything BUT a straight line.  Over the years I have learned to compensate but still, it is sometimes a crapshoot as to where I will end up. I get lucky and the position is perfect when we drop the anchor and better yet, it sets and holds immediately. This should certainly be the quietest anchorage yet.  Yup, right up until the crickets, frogs and a few other creatures I am unable to identify begin their nightly serenade.  I am sure they could easily hop from branch to our deck.  We are that close to the bank. 

   

        Strangely enough, despite the raucous night warblers, it IS peaceful.  Brett and I stuff ourselves with the last of the knockwurst from my favorite German sausage maker, Usingers, while we mull over the scuttlebutt from this morning’s weather reports.  Hurricane Patricia is doing severe damage in Mexico and dumping record amounts of rain across the southwestern US and moving east.  This storm is not going quietly into that good night, but raging, raging, raging all through Arizona, New Mexico and Texas.  Predictions are that we could well see some of Patricia’s rage on Sunday or Monday.  Oh well, it is still a long way off and will probably peter out long before it reaches us.  We have another 70 miles to go tomorrow and we have just experienced a “red sky at night, sailors delight,” sunset promising another beautiful tomorrow. But being a conservative boater, I can’t help but be a bit concerned. 

Day Eleven -  Thursday - Cochran Cutoff to Demopolis 

          Once upon a time, in a place far, far away, Kristine accused me of fraud.   I had convinced her to quit her job, (no small feat as she was president of a 500 person company) and come with me on AURORA to live in Mexico for 6 months.  Reminding her more than once that the pressure of running that company was making her old before her time, she finally relented when I told her we’d motor down the coast of Baja, around Cabo and slip up into the Sea of Cortez.  Once there, we’d catch fish, snorkel, eat clams and lobster everyday for six months and recharge our personal batteries.  The final selling point for her was the prospect of floating down the Pacific coast, binoculars in hand, window-peeping for hundreds upon hundreds of miles. I did NOT clarify that we would be anywhere from 20 to 50 miles off the coast all the way south.  Minimal window-peeping opportunities.  Kristine is not a boat person.  She does not like big waves and she does not feel safe if she cannot see land.  The first night out, we had huge 12 to 14 foot rollers lifting our stern and pushing us south making us an actual Jamaican “Hill and Gully Rider.”  Her real fright was only partially ameliorated by her subsequent week- long haranguing of me for fraud.  I admit to a sin of omission but that first night was the worst seas we encountered the entire six months.  (I had worse on the return trip but Kris had wisely flown back to the US while a friend and I brought AURORA slowly back to LA bucking the “uphill bash” all the way.) 

And now another accusation of “fraud.”  This time from several of you on my distribution list.  I inadvertently failed to mention I was filing my trip reports from my office in MKE, AFTER I returned from Mobile.  We had very spotty wi-fi and cell service while on the waterway and besides, I wished to re-live the experience by going over my log reports of each day’s events with a bit of reflection time.  If I have deceived you it was unintentional, so get over it Doug!  

Brett and I prepare ourselves for a long day expecting to travel a little over 70 miles to Demopolis.  Our weather window continues with blue skies, sunshine and warm temps but we are keeping an eye on Hurricane Patricia which is predicted to bring rain to the southwest and all the way to Texas.  That's a long way from where we are and where we are going.  Life is good.

We also have been told by Dennis to expect a dramatic scenery change.  The wooded river banks we've seen for the past few days are prime buffets for the herons and egrets but as we round a bend, the shore line does change character. 

Egret awaiting breakfast

  

White cliffs of Epes

         

         As we glide past the Epes cliffs, I am once again reminded of my good fortune and as happy as I am that Kris is back in MKE earning money, I cannot wait for her to retire and join me whenever and wherever we travel. The 70 miles go by quickly and we pull into Demopolis Yacht Basin behind VELA NARCOSIS.  In the slip next to them are boat neighbors from Green Turtle Bay,  Gerald and Phyllis Harrison on their catamaran, ALLY CAT.  Several other boats we have met along the way are also in the basin and it feels like old home week. Dennis and I both decide to fill up our jerry cans with fuel since there is only one more place between here and Mobile where fuel is available. The fuel dock is about a half mile distant around the basin and we need to use a golf cart to transport the weight. As we drive the path, Dennis asks me if AURORA is up to three more days of 70 mile runs.  Explaining that anchorages and fuel stops are few and far between from here on in, he is giving me a welcome heads up for planning the next few days.  

Day Ten -  Wednesday - Columbus to Cochran Cutoff  

        We’ve been averaging between 35 and 50 miles a day so far but as we move further south, marinas and anchorages become less plentiful.  Today’s run will be about 60 miles to an anchorage named Cochran Cutoff.  I am not mentioning the locks because Brett and I have become adroit at moving in, tying up and leaving.  How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice.  And we have practiced and with only one small scrape on our rub rail, I have managed to remember where the boat ends and the harsh concrete wall begins in each lock.  Kristine’s pristine varnish work on AURORA’s bright-work remains largely unblemished.  Lucky for me, I might add. 

Fore and aft secured to floating bollard in lock

Do not scratch the varnish! 

         The original Tombigbee River was a serpentine nightmare.  Now the dredged waterway roughly follows a straight line that looks just like the vertical line intersecting the ess on our US dollar sign. Some of the old riverbed off-shoots are still deep enough that one can pull in a ways and safely anchor out of the main waterway channel for the night.  Cochran Cutoff is one such location. When Dennis and I arrive at Cochran Cutoff, we are alone and per common courtesy, I drop my anchor a good hundred yards away from VELA NARCOSIS. I could have anchored much closer but giving the other boat the privacy of distance is an unwritten rule amongst cruisers.

Perfectly serene anchorage

This unwritten privacy rule was taught to me indelibly while I cruised and lived aboard AURORA in the Sea of Cortez for six months.  I was a sailboat person for all of my life before AURORA and when I took her from LA down past Cabo San Lucas and up into the Sea, I had previously only anchored in bays with other sailboats.  However when I pulled into small bays in Mexico and angled towards where another boat or two were anchored, it became immediately apparent that they were horrified that a power boat would be a close neighbor. It took a few cervezas (ok maybe more than a few) on the shore one night with a couple of sailboat people to learn the reason for the obvious cold shoulder. They expected any power boat would run a generator all hours destroying the serenity of a quiet anchorage. I never ran my generator after 4 or so in the afternoon and as a result of the grapevine amongst cruisers in the Sea, AURORA was welcomed often in small bays regardless of where we anchored within the bay.  This acceptance may also have had something to do with the sheer volume of storage in the hold for stashing multiple cases of beer and wine aboard AURORA. 

            The Cochran Cutoff anchorage was the quietest anchorage of our journey so far and rivaled those tiny bays in Mexico for serenity.  It remained so even when a second sailboat slipped into the anchorage between Dennis and me.  Still plenty of space and privacy as Brett and I sat on the aft deck with a cup of tea and a quietly setting sun.  And then a 60 foot power boat came in and dropped his anchor between the new boat and up close to Dennis. After setting his hook, he finally turned off the huge twin throbbing engines and we all breathed a collective sigh of relief.  Two minutes later he started up his generator. So much for serenity and solitude. Brett and I retreated to the main cabin where we could not hear the grating rumble but I know that both the other sailboat and Dennis could hear his generator clearly even while below deck in their boats.  To his credit, the powerboat did turn off the noise maker around 10 PM but cruising is different than being at home.  When it gets dark, you go to sleep. When it gets light, you get up…  unless of course, you are a big power boat with many electrical gadgets that need AC power.  Then you run your generator and ruin an otherwise perfect anchorage. 

Not quite as perfect... but still pretty good

Day 9 - Tuesday - Smithville to Columbus  

Another early start

         Tuesday is another busy locking day with three locks today starting with Wilkins Lock.  We wait for about 20 minutes for a barge to clear Amory Lock but it is smooth sailing through Aberdeen Lock with the gates open as we arrive.  Today we are reminded that this is a working waterway as we pass some large and long tows. I find it interesting that these tugs (actually pushers) have propellers that approach 6 feet in diameter but they do not throw up nearly as big a wake as the fast pleasure boats that pass us.  

 It's a working river

And they are BIG

           The roiling of the water in their wake however is another matter.  The turbulence is strong and both Brett and I can feel AURORA moving erratically a few feet in either direction whenever we are at the wheel and a tow boat passes us or we pass one of them. This movement is in contrast to our normal solid, straight-as-an-arrow wake from AURORA’s full keel.

AURORA's full keel = straight course

         Between Amory and Aberdeen we encounter an Army Corps of Engineers barge dredging the main channel.  I am thankful for Brett’s good eyesight because mine is not. When the barge captain asks us to pass “on the two,” I have trouble spotting his port and starboard visual signals (there are a lot of posts, flags and other paraphernalia hanging on a dredging barge in operation) but Brett spots it immediately and we pass the dredger starboard to starboard without incident being mindful to thank the barge Captain for his help in keeping us out of trouble.  

Passing barge "on the two"

        We have a pleasant surprise awaiting us upon our arrival in Columbus.  Two boats that have passed us previously are on our dock and both are from the Wisconsin side of Lake Michigan and we mutually congratulate ourselves for not having to winterize and haul our respective boats.  An even bigger surprise it that Dennis and Wanda off of VELA NARCOSIS are at the marina having spent a couple of days here visiting with local friends.  Ever the organizer, Dennis has arranged for a courtesy car and we six are re-united for a fun evening in town at one of his favorite restaurants along the Tenn-Tom route.  In spite of the lateness of the evening after waaaaay too many toasts to new friends, Brett and I still expect to push off in the AM once again.  Sadly, James and Stacey want a day of rest and will remain behind. I can only imagine Louie is ecstatic over enjoying a day on land sniffing and lifting a leg to mark new territory.  On a positive note, Dennis is also ready to shove off in the morning and we agree to buddy boat the next few days. One door closes but another opens.  I am happy to accompany Dennis since he is on his sixth round trip to Florida and has all the local knowledge of anchoring spots that I do not.  It is a great weight off of my shoulders to be able to tag along with VELA NARCOSIS particularly in light of the fact we travel at similar cruising speeds. 

Our last view of GLASS SLIPPER for a while

  

Day  Eight – Monday - Bay Springs to Smithville  

Halloween decorations in Bay Springs Marina

Sun-up and AURORA prepares to leave Bay Springs

            Locks, locks, locks.  For the next few days Brett and I will have much opportunity to practice our locking-through techniques with four on tap for today.  First will be Whitten Lock, followed by Montgomery Lock, Rankin Lock and finally, Fulton Lock.  Whitten, the first, is just a mile from our Bay Springs dock and after contacting the lockmaster and letting him know we are 15 minutes out, our mid-western twang must have alerted him to our orgins because his reply comes back with a smile we could hear even if we could not see it.  “Y’all come on in… we’ll be a-waitin’ for y’all.”  GLASS SLIPPER and AURORA share the lock with one other boat, James preferring to tie up on his port side while Brett and I prefer our starboard side tie.  As I maneuver AURORA close to the floating bollard and use reverse to stop the boat, Brett is standing right at midships with the line from our stern, takes two wraps on the bollard moves a few feet forward and efficiently secures the end of the line to that infamous forward cleat.  We are now secure both fore and aft in moments. It is amazingly quick when one has the proper length of line and a little hard earned knowledge from our Pickwick disaster. The lockmaster will not begin the water transfer until all boats in the lock have radioed him that they are secured to the wall so James and I report in as does the third boat. 

 

GLASS SLIPPER  port tied to wall

We drop 35 feet while the doors hold back the lake

Doors open and we exit Whitton Lock

Brett and I give each other the thumbs up sign as the water drains out of the lock and we rapidly go down with the receding water. That thumbs up signal brings back a humorous memory for me even if it was at the time, less so for Kristine.  We were driving the Dalmatian Coast Road in what was Yugoslavia at the time and decided to take the “road to Setenj.”  One guide book described it as scenic while another warned it was “adventurous.”  That was the draw for me because I love mountain roads.  Kris… not so much.  In fact she stashes pounds of chocolate in the glove compartment for the express use on RK’s forays on switchback, single lane scary roads.  This particular road climbs up the side of the mountain range and has no less than a dozen sharp switchbacks, none of which have shoulders or guardrails.  Kris’s knuckles are white as she clings to the door handle while stuffing large chunks of chocolate into her mouth.  Her logic is unassailable.  As she puts it, “If I am going to die on this road, I want to gobble as much chocolate as I can because it will never get to my thighs!”  The first few switchbacks go uneventfully but as I make the blind turn midway up the mountain, YIKES, directly a few yards in front of me is a huge tour bus taking up the entire road!  There is an old sailor proverb that says regardless of who has the legal right of way, tonnage rights will prevail.  And this tour bus has tonnage rights over our little rented Fiat.  I turn my head and begin backing down the road about a quarter of a mile until I find a small indentation in the face of the mountain where I can squeeze up against the rock face.  Kris is nearly apoplectic as chocolate disappears into her mouth by the handful.  As the bus slowly but carefully skirts the edge of the road to pass by us, the driver looks at me, gives me a great big smile and then holds up his hand with the thumbs up signal.  I smile at him and return the universal signal.  Kris breathes a huge sigh of relief as we resume our climb up the mountain side.  When we reach the next blind turn on the switchback, there is another tour bus right in front of me.  I repeat the nerve wracking backing-up to the very same indentation in the rock face as her chocolate supply rapidly disappears.  In this country, thumbs up is not the universal sign I had thought it to be… it is how one says, “There is one more bus behind me!”  Kris and I laugh about it now but she was not laughing at the time. 

Back on the Tombigbee, with GLASS SLIPPER repaired, we have the locks pretty much to ourselves today and make good time through the series of drops but decide to stop at Smithville for the night.  It is a tiny marina with one long pier that both of us tie up to and we follow the elderly gentleman up to the office to settle our overnight fees. In an effort to be polite I motion for James to go first with his credit card while I wait until he is finished.  The elderly man helping us is not the owner but simply a resident on the dock who helps out when needed.  Unfortunately, he punches in James’s $33 dollar fee as $333 dollars.  About 40 minutes later after James has talked to the credit card company and corrected the error, I sheepishly ask him to run my credit card as well.  The elderly gentleman is happy to let us do our own punching in of the numbers. James laughs at the snafu and says next time I can go first.  

 

Some boats are more tired than others

Day Seven -  Sunday – Grand Harbor to Bay Springs

AURORA and I wave good-bye to my all-time favorite crew member

At 6:00 AM I wave goodbye to Kristine who has a long drive ahead of her back to MKE for a few welcome billable hours of work and a Green Bay Packer football game. For a person who has never been a boat person she seems sad and reluctant to leave. I think it comes as much of a surprise to her as it does to me.  She had expected to merely tolerate one more of RK’s weird adventures but instead, has found it exhilarating and enjoyable. Who’d of guessed?  

Captain Kris

Brett and I have poured over the charts and cruiser’s guides and set our goal for today to reach Bay Springs a mere 35 miles down the waterway and just before the Bay Springs Lock and Dam, our first together.  The first 25 miles will take us through the “cut” also sometimes referred to as “the ditch.”  It is a straight section that was dug out to connect Pickwick Lake with Bay Springs Lake and the south-flowing Tombigbee River.  Warnings abound that it is verboten to anchor anywhere along this section so my natural tendency to listen carefully for any engine aberrations is only increased tenfold. Our speed increases since we are now motoring with the current not against it as we were on the Tennessee River. Passing a barge and being passed by several faster pleasure craft does nothing to lessen the enjoyment of watching the egrets and herons ignore us while they hunt for their breakfast along the rip-rap lined shoreline only a few scant yards away.  Pulling up to the dock in Bay Springs Marina, we have a pleasant surprise.  James and Stacey (and Louie their dog) from GLASS SLIPPER are still at one of the slips. 

Several post ago I related how my disastrous mistake of running the engine out of fuel had caused us to stop at Clifton rather than going further.  It was serendipitous as we re-connected with both GLASS SLIPPER and VELA NARCOSIS for the following few days. They left a day ahead of us while Brett and I drove to and from Mobile and we had expected to miss their company the rest of the way south.  Now a mechanical problem has forced them to return to Bay Springs Marina after having transited the lock where they had lost reverse gear leaving the lock. So another mechanical issue has brought our two vessels together once again.  Is this some sort of sign? 

James has diagnosed the problem. Three out of four bolts have sheared off of his shaft connection. It is serious but if he can find stainless steel bolts of the correct size, (the sheared bolts were too short and only barely threaded into their respective nuts) and if the steel plate holding them can be re-bent to the proper shape, he would be good to go. It is a Sunday but the young man at the marina offers his car and we drive a couple of miles to what he referred to as a “great hardware store.” I accompany James and Stacey hoping to replenish the fresh vegetables on board but also hoping to find a piece of hose for a minor problem that has cropped up on AURORA.  Bay Springs is really an out of the way place and neither James nor I have any high expectations of finding size specific stainless nuts and bolts or the proper hose size.  Our hopes are not buoyed when we see that our destination is a Piggly-Wiggly grocery and ACE hardware combined in the same building.  But we are both shocked to find not only the exact repair materials we need but the groceries are fresh and plentiful.  Judging the book by its cover once again proves misleading.  James retreats to his boat for his repairs while Brett and I tackle a vexing issue on AURORA.  Those of you not interested in mechanical issues may want to skip the next long and boring paragraph. 

My main fuel tanks port and starboard hold 125 gallons each of diesel. While running however, I feed the engine from a 14 gallon day tank that I fill each day through a dual filtering system to insure I am always using clean fuel. Diesel engines do not use all the fuel supplied to the cylinders and in fact a good portion of the fuel is returned to the fuel tank, in my case, the port main tank.  Since we have now been running the engine for nearly a week, fuel is noticeably down in my starboard tank, the one I draw out of to fill my day tank each day.  However, the port main tank is still full!  In fact it almost looks as if it could overflow. If the unused fuel being returned to the tank has nowhere to go… it could conceivably stop my engine. For an unknown reason my two main tanks are not self leveling even though we have checked all the valves and connections. The only explanation is that the line leading from one tank to the other is clogged and not allowing fuel to flow from one main tank to the other. I want to pump 10 or 20 gallons of fuel out of the port tank into either the opposite tank or into 6 gallon jerry cans I keep below decks.  Disappointingly, Brett and I are unable to hand pump any fuel up the three feet from the tank to the deck and into any other containers. I do not have an electric pump on board that can do it either. Our temporary solution is to release any pressure build up in that clogged tank by opening the fill caps periodically. It will have to do until I can figure out a way to get fuel out of that port side tank.  As my friend, Big Jim has said to me many times back in Kentucky, “Roger, it’s a boat.”  Hey Big Jim… you’re right again, there will always be something that needs attention on a boat.