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.