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.