CUBA LIBRE CHRONICLES

23 Dec 2015 -  Wednesday - Memphis to Mobile

Weather plays an inordinately large role in my Cuba Libra Chronicles and it started while leaving Memphis this AM.  A light rain under deep overcast skies did not prevent Kris from forcing me to drive to Graceland.  (for those of you across the pond, Graceland was Elvis Presley’s Memphis Mansion)  Sure, I remember Elvis but I never threw my underwear at him while he was on stage like some people I know.  An interesting phenomenon at Graceland did come to my attention however.  

Scratchings

What is it about painting, drawing, scratching or carving one’s initials on any available surface that I do not understand?  Marking territory I understand, but 99.999% of the Scratchees will never return to look for their handiwork. Furthermore, no one cares that your scratchings are about you.  Everyone cares that your scratchings are taking up space I could be using for my own scratchings.  From whence comes this undeniable urge?  Is there some transference of fame, talent, or magic from Elvis (or whatever location) to the Scratchee that I am unaware of? I know it has been going on since Paleolithic times… (see Lascaux in southern France, et.al.) but I guess the gene carrying that memo is missing from my DNA. Regardless, I found this the most interesting part of our short Graceland visit and thought about it for several hours as we drove south through more rain.  We both were puzzled by a weird electronic beeping noise from Kris’s I-Pad.  Finally solving the mystery, we realized it was a severe weather warning in her Weather Bug App.  We had driven directly through the area affected and had not seen the two tornadoes that took half a dozen lives that afternoon.  Suddenly my ruminations about graffiti seemed quite petty.  It was a severe storm just as predicted by NOAA and warned by the Weather Bug app. 

You know you have arrived in the Real South when Po Boys are the first listing on the menu and we enjoyed excellent sandwiches at Penn’s, in Meridian just before getting to Mobile and the boat.  I have been a little worried about AURORA not having been here since November.  NOAA weather has shown enough rain in Mobile the past couple of weeks to float the entire state of California.  AURORA has spent her entire life protected from water falling out of the sky.  First in LA (because it NEVER rains there) and then in Kentucky where she lived under a tin roof that kept her dry even in the winter. Boats have a tendency to dry out under those circumstances and AURORA was no different. The two days of October rain while bringing her down the Tombigbee proved the truth of my worries and I spent quite a few hours locating and plugging leaks around windows, hatches and deck seams before I left her in November.  Now the two or three weeks of rain in Mobile would put to the test my effectiveness as a waterproofing expert. 

Still afloat and waiting

 It is not a good sign when you splash into the pilot house and water flows over your shoe tops.  The small deck in the pilot house is sealed completely so it did not run down onto the cabin sole but it did fill up the seat next to the starboard window.  Obviously the space between the sliding glass windows was the source since the prevailing winds would drive water into the opening between where the glass panels overlapped.  OK, we can fix that.  Checking below in the main cabin, I saw one small stain across the floor from a drawer to the forward hold hatch cover.  Going forward, there were no apparent leaks in the forward cabin at all and so off to the aft cabin.  A small leak had appeared from the starboard aft porthole above the bed, but I had anticipated that one because of a dried out o-ring seal and had placed a makeshift catch basin under it so the mattress was ok. Returning to the main cabin, I checked the drawers under the bench seat and found the middle one had two inches of water in it. Obviously there had been more because all the canned goods stored in that drawer had illegible or missing labels. Hmmmm, some cooking surprises will result no doubt.  But where in the world was the water coming from?  And why was only the middle drawer inundated?  Every boat owner knows this dilemma intimately. The actual leak will never be in an obvious location nor one easy to access. The water will travel the length of the boat if need be to confuse and frustrate my attempts to locate its source. 

After cleaning up the standing water, sealing the leaky window and guessing at where the canned food drawer water came from, Kristine and I opened all the hatches and allowed a warm breeze to aerate the interior.  Mr. Sun had come out to welcome us back to AURORA as well and life could be worse.  And sure enough, it got worse.  An overnight heavy rain kept me awake and getting up every hour or so to watch the flooding water creep up towards our car.  It was parked exactly where Brett’s car had been totaled by flooding just a month ago.  Car déjà vu?   About 2 AM I got up, put on a light foul weather jacket, went out and moved the car to higher ground.  This vacation is starting out with more stress than I had anticipated.

CUBA LIBRE CHRONICLES

22 Dec 2015 - Tuesday - MKE to Memphis

Three days before Christmas and what could be better than to start a boat adventure with a road trip?  In my mind? Not much!  I personally have never been a slave to holiday convention, my Dad being a fireman for the city of Milwaukee for 25 years, so we celebrated whichever holiday whenever he was not working. Missing a holiday by a day or two or three was no big deal in our family.  In some families, however, it is a very big deal.  I learned that lesson many, many years ago when I convinced Kristine to accompany me to Thailand for a three week vacation that just happened to fall over Thanksgiving.  She had spent every Thanksgiving of her life celebrating with her family or with the Brother and Sister-in-law at their magnificent Thanksgiving Dinner Extravaganza.  Tradition or not, she agreed to go with me and we spent that particular Thanksgiving dining in a famous outdoor restaurant abutting the Golden Triangle in Chang Mai, Thailand near the border with Myanmar, nee Burma. As in many South East Asia restaurants, the day’s fresh ingredients were on display in large woks as one passed into the dining area proper.  Kristine’s eyes relayed her horror as large insects and big bugs were the main course in several of those huge wok pans.  Her First Thanksgiving Dinner away from family was going south fast.  Rushing her past the last few display woks we ultimately tasted and savored several spectacular dishes but she never got up the courage to sample the deep fried larvae.  When Kris relayed the day’s events to her rellies, her brother and sister-in-law did not speak to me for months afterwards.  Not only had I absconded with her to violate their life-long tradition but I forced her to eat bugs on a hallowed holiday!  

Times have changed since the close-knit family of her youth has been severely depleted by age and today, leaving before Christmas Holiday was her first choice.   And so, after packing Oreo off to my son’s house, loading the Mini Cooper well beyond any reasonable load limit, we pointed the car south towards Memphis, our first stop.  Situated on the eastern bank of the Mississippi River, the city has several claims to fame other than Graceland. Thanks to our good friend Chuck’s Memphis cousins, we were admonished to not miss three of them.  

Logo of distinction needs explanation

First, the Peabody Hotel, an elegant old dowager with a rooftop attraction and a 360 degree view of the heart of the city.  The roof top attraction was the gilded glass enclosure (aka “duck palace”) for a small flock of ducks who march through the hotel lobby every day at five o’clock to the patio.  Following a uniformed bellhop, they start on the roof, trail him onto the elevator, exit on the first floor, waddle resolutely behind him through the packed bar and lobby amid the stares and camera flashes of a standing room only crowd of tourists to their early evening spa.  To say pampered would be a gross understatement. 

Off to the roof

 

We should all have a "duck palace"

The second “do not miss” entailed my favorite event…  food intake.  The Rendezvous is an old time Memphis BBQ legend.  One can find good BBQ throughout the southern half of our country (and some places north of the Mason –Dixon line) but one should NEVER pass up the opportunity to experience a “legend.”   Picture taken just prior to letting out my belt one more notch. 

Rendezvous deserved the "legend" sobriquet

 It is a short walk to famous Beale Street and the raucous mixture of Memphis blues and country music emanating from the myriad bars lining both sides of the street.  The vision of this window display of fanciful toilet seats would haunt us in Havana.

Cover up

 The New Orleans Latin Quarter immediately came to mind. As luck would have it, we were able to discover a couple of cold draft beers, two warm barstools and a hot country band on stage.  

Selfie aim distorted by beer intake volume

Beale Street after closing

Not a bad way to spend the first night of one’s sea passage, even if it was “only” 60 degrees this late December night!.   We Yankees are easy to please. 

CUBA LIBRE CHRONICLES

PREFACE

I am a slow writer.  I make many changes, multiple corrections, and take sharp turns to port and starboard as I write about my chosen subject.  I also take mucho time to let the events affecting my subject matter percolate and distill in my head. I would make a horrible newspaper writer and have great admiration for those who are able to observe, record and write under deadline. It is not my skill set. So to those of you (and there have been a few) who knew about my sailing trip to Cuba and have been bugging me about reports concerning same, this is for you.     

As much as I had looked forward to and subsequently enjoyed AURORA’s passage down the Tenn-Tom from Kentucky Lake to Mobile AL, I had one more adventure niggling away at the back of my mind even as Kristine, Brett and I floated down through the center of our great country.  Back in the summer of 2015, friends we had met when AURORA first arrived in Kentucky a year prior asked if I had any interest in sailing to Cuba with them for a few weeks on their boat, TALARIA, a cutter rigged Tayana 43. They did not have a great deal of sea experience and I think they felt having an experienced ocean sailor along made some sense.  And also, we liked each other, always a plus in close and constrained boat spaces.

         For my part, I salivated at the opportunity to re-visit a place I had seen once as a pimple-faced teenager in 1961.  Furthermore, as a published journalist, I qualified now under the current US rules regarding US citizens traveling to Cuba.  (the rules seem to change every couple of days)  And, Cuba plays a role in a follow-up sequel novel to my Fayal Roads epic of several years ago that I am finally working on again. Details needed to be worked out but I desperately wished to make that passage. In situ research and a chance to see Havana again before it becomes Starbucks and Mickey D’s South (and it will because big money always wins) was the overwhelming impetus to make it happen.  
              And so it has.  The CUBA LIBRE CHRONICLES begin now, so stay tuned my friends.

Havana skyline is best seen from a distance

    As with all of my Roger’s Rants, opting out and getting off my mailing list is easy and pain-free for you, if not for me.  I hate losing even one reader.  Personal failure still bothers me even at my ¾ century mark.

 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.