Nightfall; Somewhere Between Greenville and Vicksburg

NOTICE: This blog post was written back during the Mississippi River trip but was not posted until now; SORRY IT IS OUT OF CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER.

I know most inland waterway cruisers plan their anchorages very carefully and well they should. Mickey and I didn't have that luxury. We had three days to get to New Orleans, lake Pontchatrain to be exact, and were forced to travel as far as possible each day, find a reasonable spot to "tuck in", hope the anchor held and that we didn't get run over by one of those monster tows that run 24 -7. The afternoon cruise had been much smoother than the morning battle with the wind and river. I've heard veteran cruisers call a rough day on the water "snotty" well this morning was worse than that but I don't know a good term to describe it; I think you get the idea. I was still missing Pam and as I recall didn't have cell phone coverage and couldn't get a report of her progress. She picked up our car, which she had driven to Greenville and had plans to drive to Brandon, MS to spend the night with Paula, her identical twin sister. Because I am writing in retrospect, I can tell you she made it safely. The sun set beautifully over the river that night and we found ourselves without anchorage as the evening drifted in around us.

Mickey and I have always pushed ourselves a little further into the evening than advisable no matter whether hunting, fishing or hanging out we never really could bear to call it a day. However, now we would be forced to take the first cut or towhead we came to and try to turn it into a safe harbor. We found a wide cut in the river on the left descending bank. It was an inviting piece of river chute with cypress trees and a huge sandbar on the down river bank. My plan was to ease into the cut on the downstream side of the opening; I think I remember someone telling me that the water is normally a little deeper on the downstream side. These cuts, from my own experience, are always shallower at the mouth and if you are lucky enough to get over the shallows they will get deeper as you move back into the chute. The tricky part is going slow enough to keep from breaking something if you run aground while keeping enough headway to overcome the strong Mississippi river flow.

As we approached the mouth, Mickey perched on the forward bow to look for snags, although if you remember Samuel Clements' quote, "the Mississippi is too thick to drink but too thin to plow", (I guess it could have been John Stennis or some other famous person or even unfamous person who said that but it doesn't matter) he couldn't have seen anything if his life depended on it but it made us feel better anyway. The depth was sufficient to allow our passage and we glided slowly into the slack water near the sandbar and dropped the hook for our second night out but the first on the real river. I remember how enjoyable it was to finally cut the engines off, relax on the bow seat and enjoy our first cold beer of the day; it was the first of several. We washed the beer down with vienna sausages, crackers and potted meat. I think I remember a cookie or two to top things off.

As the night rolled on, so did the river and the non-stop commerce it supports. Towboats have an unmistakable sound and the huge ones on the river can be heard for miles. They don't throw much wake from their bows but prop wash from the big turbine engines can be frightening. When a cruiser passes downstream the turbulence from a multi-engine towboat and sometimes two towboats pushing the same raft of barges upstream is well "snotty". The other issue, as I think I mentioned in an earlier post from a night on the Arkansas River, is the powerful search lights. These lights are so intense that, I promise, you can feel the heat of the red hot bulb as an inquisitive captain tries to figure out what idiots are spending the night on their river. We had several take second looks. The sound of the big engines, the waves kicked up by those six foot across props, the spotlights shining through the windows and our anxiety on being so near the dangers of our river made the night a long and unnerving experience. Daylight brought a pleasant end to a test of endurance that we seem to have survived along with Detour, which remained securely attached to mother earth under three maybe four feet of the mighty Mississippi.

"Low impact running" My New Thing

I didn't Google "low impact running" so someone else may be writing about the subject but if you read this account, you are reading my system and mine alone.

I'm not an expert runner or even an accomplished one but I do run on a regular basis.  I also have been able to compete in a half marathon and in numerous local 10 and 5 K runs.  If I live long enough, I think I may win an age group category, but I will have to live a very long time.

On the subject of competitive running, it helps me set goals that keep my training on a more steady schedule.  However, as I continue to run, I am less interested in competing and more interested in staying alive. 

The low impact part was a matter of necessity because I didn't begin my running life until the age of 62.  I found myself semi-retired with more time on my hands than ever before and decided to start taking a walk each day; don't all old folks take walks.  Oh, yeah, I needed to lose about 20 pounds or so; don't all old folks.  That brings up the issue of diet, which I've tried to manage with more of a "left coast" perspective but I'm talking low impact running and diet is whole 'nother blog.

Back to walking; wow did I hate walking.  It just about bored me to tears.  And all those other old folks look like they enjoy it so much.  I just couldn't handle it.  So I started walking faster and faster.  That didn't seem to work either; got shin splints. I Googled a bunch of stuff and figured I needed a really good pair of shoes.  I  did, but it didn't help my poor legs.  Someone, I think at the shoe place, suggested that I try jogging slowly to get different muscles working and see if it would help.  I did... it did and for some reason, my bordome became important "private" time to think, plan and dream.

  As I think about how many folks my age with new found time on their hands, we "baby boomers" and all, there must be others struggling through the agony of neighborhood walking.  I'm sure those of you who have thought about the prospects of starting to run are hearing the same warnings that I heard.  You are going to drop dead, you will destory your knees and "I know a guy who ran and he....".  Well, it all could happen but it probably won't.  You will probably be just like me and feel great, get off your high blood pressure and cholesterol meds and lose those 20 somthing pounds.  It would be a good idea to pass the idea by your personal medical consultant and get a fresh warranty.

I have no idea about the medical implications of the constant impacts of running on an old body but I have been developing a low impact system that works for me.  I do have masters degree in physical education so the idea of exercise method is not totally a mystry to me either.

I haven't tried to give advice on any matter in my blog but during my runs over the past few weeks I've been thinking that my system might be interesting to some of you other old guys and gals.  It might help you believe you can run also.

Here goes, start with a good pair of shoes.  I actually have two pair; one pair of 10.5s for a left shoe and one pair of 11s for my right foot (my right foot is a half size larger than my left and it bothered my on long runs).  There are lots of good shoes out there and some good fitters.  I had to buy several different makes before setteling on Asics (Gel Nimbus 11).  They may not work for you but they give me more cushoning than any of the others and that is the most important element in the low impact system.  Also get "real" running clothes; it will make you feel like others think you know what you are doing.

Let's talk running posture.  Keep your head up, shoulders back and arch your lower back.  Arching your lower back or keeping your hips forward put your spine in a more stable alignment and help guard against low back problems. 

Now for your legs.  I have a tendancy to develop shin splints so I try to use muscles in my upper legs as much as possible and focus on relaxing my lower legs. I keep my feet as close to the ground as possible, whithout having my toes scrape the ground as the come forward.  I stike the ground with my heels but don't let my feet slap the ground as my foot rolls forward.  Don't bounce your body like those young flat-bellies do; it will increase impact.  It is actually a smooth running style and uses as little effort as possible to move the body forward.

I've been running for a little over 2 years now and to date have had very few body part problems.  Get good "soft" shoes and explore the limits of your old body; it may surprise you.

Redifining Life After "Real Work"

Wow, I always thought I would re-package myself as I reached the "golden years" to become a little more like J. Buffett would appreciate; no  church, long hair, no underwear, etc.  However, I have realized that my parents, bless their harts, began my repackaging a long time ago.  I find myself just becoming more like myself, with a little more freedom to express feelings without protecting my employer, with due respect to my current employer, me. 
While I am enjoying my life now, I can't help but consider what comes next.  I have always had a vision for a new career.  From football coach and biology teacher to school principal during the integration days in Mississippi, my early professional experiences launched me into a life of what I recall as most challenging and satisfying.  For some reason, I accepted a position at my Alma Mater (Mississippi State University) in the development office and spent the next thirteen years helping fund public education's insatiable thirst for private funding.  I served at MSU, University of Pittsburgh, Converse College and Erskine College.  Somewhere along the way I completed a doctorate in educational leadership.  Mrs. Latta, my senior math teacher, would be mortified, along with Mrs. Hutchinson and a number of my other high school teachers.  I remember Mrs. Latta's exact words to me one day, "Jim Hemphill you are climbing fools hill just as fast as you can".  I fail to remember the incident that precipitated the tirade. 

Development in higher education gave way to my foray into the world of political informantcy.  Sounds a little "white water or watergatish" but actually it was one of the most rewarding posts of my career.  I served as the special assistant to the Mississippi superintendent of education and for four years my life revolved around providing information to our Mississippi legislators concerning proposed legislation hopefully beneficial to the students of our state.  As a registered lobbyist, I learned how much I didn't know about the legislative process of our country and especially Mississippi.  Through my experience in working with the legislature, I became absolutely appreciative of our legislative process; it works.  It may not be pretty and I didn't like it much sometimes but it works.  Just remember, never watch sausage or legislation being made.

Now, my dear father is sure that I simply can not hold a steady job or Mrs. Latta was right and I'm getting close to the top of "fools mountain", but at the end of my four year stint working as a lobbyist, I retired early from the State of Mississippi and started the Victor Group, Inc.  My consulting business that, after a time away to work in the student loan industry, I have re-invented and is operating today.  One of my first consulting contracts involved working in the non-profit student loan industry (I knew a lot about non-profits and very little about the student loan industry) and through a happenstance meeting with the CEO of a national top-ten student loan group (who thought I knew a lot more about the industry than I actually did) became the manage of one of his businesses in Little Rock, AR.  Crazy as it sounds, the business did very well and after five years there he asked me to manage one of his corporate business divisions in Knoxville, TN.  After a couple of years, our nation's new president did away with private/public student loan cooperatives and I re-opened the Victor Group, Inc.

The Victor Group, Inc sounds like a number of consultants working in a intellectual "think tank" or a task force focused on solving the economic crisis or the Gulf oil spill.  It could be a team or even a couple of sharp operatives managing a political campaign or controlling damage in the wake of an unsavory corporate time of turmoil but no; it's just me and the memory of Mrs. Latta's perception and timely proclamation of my life's focus. 

Retrospective is a common phenomenon that, as we mature, becomes an important manner in which to convey the importance of our life's accomplishments.  As the years go by, the more clearly we can recall the details of our prowess as athletes, businessmen or women or other experiences important for our unknowing associates or prospective clients to be aware.  Mine get clearer each day.

If you don't mind... it doesn't matter

I don't have a reference but I've heard that age is matter of the mind. I'm sure, if it were actually said by someone of reasonable character and expertise, the someone making the revelation was of few years. I, being of many years and having my mother's endorsement of irrefutable character and more experience than she would like to admit, am striving to overcome the ravages of age. The only relationship I can find between my body, mind and the pain I continue to endure seeking a more healthy existence is the increasing possibility of mental illness.

Giving my forefather's genes the benefit of the doubt and the realization of the possibility of the mental deficiencies aforementioned, I remain committed to becoming a runner.

I've tried to evaluate the folks that I'm running against presently because I want to become a particular type of runner. Probably more accurately stated, I don't want to become a liberal runner. You know what I mean, beard, long hair (maybe a pony tail), funny hat and dirty shoes. They always drive old (really old) Volvo station wagons or Saab's and have "ying yang" bumper stickers. 
I want to become a conservative runner but not too conservative.  About as conservative as Jefferson (Thomas not Davis) might be, although I don't know much about TJ(or Jefferson for that matter), I believe he might chose to buy his wife a BMW but would always want to be seen in his Chevy truck and probably would not want bumper stickers of any description.  I also believe he would not want to participate in timed events, as he would want to pick his own route and own times to run. 
Now, I have great respect for Jefferson, being from the South and all, and Jefferson would probably fit in well in today's polarized political climate, but I just can't see myself sporting a Palin sticker.  I like Sarah and her family and the way they have captured the hearts of many good conservative friends; I fear she may reduce the opportunity conservatives have to regain the White House by further "splintering" the party.
Initiating a running lifestyle at 62  (I thought it wise to also start taking my social security at 62 just in case the new hobby became my last hobby) brings lots of interesting lifetime realizations.  One is in the way I drink. I have never been a big water drinker; beer, scotch, bourbon all seem to have been more appropriate, but as a runner I've become a water drinker.  All my running buds hydrate with special concoctions that taste really bad (and have peace sign tattoos), I drink water and don't have a tattoo.  I'm thinking I might get a tattoo in honor of my daughter who has many but I don't think I will ever be able to really hydrate.
Now, for that half marathon in Virgina Beach mentioned in the last blog post, I finished 12, 246 out of 22,000 runners, give or take a few but who's counting.

Life calls... East on the Tennessee

Well, a lot of time has passed since putting over in Knoxville. It is now August 2009 and I am semi retired and building a consulting business (The Victor Group, Inc.). I have just completed an eight month consulting contract at Hinds Community College in Raymond, MS and am in the final stages of training for my first half-marathon. Pam and I will be traveling to Virginia Beach, VA the first week of September '09 for the race. I'm hoping for no catastrophic events... especially those that may not have medical intervention. About three years ago, in anticipation of moving back to Mississippi at some time in the future, I added my name to the waiting list of the marina at Pickwick State Park. It's a great marina; I found Detour there in July of 1999 and purchased her on my birthday in the same month. I then berthed her at Pickwick for a year when moving to Little Rock. It's difficult to get a dock there because of the popularity of the Pickwick Lake so I started early. Well, as fate would have it, I got the call that a berth was available and with our house not sold in Knoxville (market is so slow it could take a year or more), I had to make the difficult choice of moving the boat almost six hours away or missing the chance to get a berth on Pickwick and closer to our eventual home in Mississippi. Decision made, Pam and I shoved off from Choto on Wednesday, July 29 and tied Detour up at Pickwick on Sunday, August 2. We had five great days on the river and other that a storm or two and a short delay at Wilson Lock (it is under repair; as it was when Mickey and I were heading north four years ago), the trip was without major difficulty. Our trip began smoothly, although I was somewhat anxious about making a 400+ mile river trip with a brand new starboard motor, and we planned for about a 67 mile or so run to Watts Bar Lake and an overnight berth at Terrace View Marina. We cooked steaks on the boat and visited with several other boaters up from Chattanooga for the weekend. Day two was the longest of the trip, 113 miles and took us through the most scenic part of the Tennessee River. The TN river between Chattanooga and Hales Bar Tennessee is by far the most beautiful river I've ever cruised. Night two is spent at Hales Bar Marina, the site of an old lock, dam and electric power plant no longer in operation. What is in operation is the "Dock". The Dock is a restaurant and bar that is mostly bar. However, we had just traversed over one hundred river miles, didn't want to cook and braved the revelry to try the fried catfish. The experience merits one repeatable story. As we sat to eat and the waitress asked us what we would be drinking, I asked if they served beer or wine. "No" was the answer "it's a dry county, but we have Jello Shooters (w/Tequila) in nine different flavors... they are the best in town... I made them myself". I'm still wondering how they do that. Anyway, the strawberry/banana were the best of the group... catfish, well, it didn't seem to matter. The trip to the next marina, Alred's, spanned 73 miles. Alred Marina was the most expensive we stayed in and had the poorest service. Won't be back. Our Saturday trip to Joe Wheeler State Park marina was cut short by one of the worst summer thunderstorms I've boated in for a while. It rained so hard that we really couldn't see past the anchor pulpit and had to rely on the GPS to slowly make our way down river. I was relatively confident until the wind became so strong that I had to turn the bow into the blow and just hold position. Then the lightening began to change the experience from exciting to dangerous and I felt we should look for a place to "hole up". I got out the Quimby's and started looking for marinas. Quimby's is an annual publication of all the marinas on the inter-coastal waterway and one of the most important references a river cruiser can carry. It just so happened that there was a marina close on the descending west bank. I headed that way (It happened to also be marked on the GPS). I couldn't see anything but I knew I was getting close, so I called them on the VHF and told them of our plight. I got an immediate response to "come on in and spend the night". I finally found my way in and they met us on the dock to assist in our landing. We didn't get to see Joe Wheeler State Park but we did have a safe night and a good dinner in the marina restaurant. Sunday's cruise was quiet and we made our Pickwick berth and new Detour home port about 3 PM. It was a long day because we had to clean up Detour and make the 5 1/2 hour drive back to Knoxville. Life moves on.

Circumnavigation Complete... On with Life

Detour was looking great when we returned to Demopolis to begin our cruise to Knoxville and our new berth at Choto Marina on Lake Loudoun. Lake Loudoun is located in Louden County, TN (notice the spelling difference... I have no clue) and Choto Marina (MM612) is approximately 9 miles upriver from the Loudoun Lock and Dam. The Loudoun Lock is first lock and dam on the TN river, depending on which end you're on, and because the TN flows north for many miles most serious cruisers specify upstream or downstream (upbound or downbound if calling a tow for passing instructions... which most Loudoun boaters fail to do or even know to do) to indicate cruising directions. Don't mean to be too hard on the Loudoun boating public but most of the great advantages of living on a navigable waterway are lost in the desire to join the revelry of the Vol Navy and boating to the Big Orange football games. SeaRays were born here and there are lots of those "big 'ol skiboats" zooming all over. Most of them have modern VHF radios available and many have never been turned on. Now, that being said there are lots of knowlegeable cruisers and a number that have completed the Great Loop and other cruising adventures. I believe, however, that Detour and I are the only ones that have circumnavigated Mississippi. I think it was Yogi Berra that said, "if you done it, it ain't bragging". Wow, did I get off track. I think I was talking about making the trip from Demopolis to Knoxville. We, Mickey, Pam and I, boarded Detour and left cruising north into the TennTom Waterway, it starts at MM 217 just north of the Demopolis Yacht Basin, and we will travel its winding waters to the Yellow Creek Canal that will take us to the beautiful Tennessee River. The Yellow Creek Canal is anything but beautiful and is commonly known as the "ditch". The first day's trip will take us to Marina Cove (has a new name and owner now but I don't remember the details). We will then lay over a day or two at Columbus Marina, Columbus, MS. Pam will have to drive home and go to work, leaving Mickey and I to complete the trip. From Columbus we will climb the hill through the seven TennTom locks between Columbus and the Tn river and overnight at Bay Springs Marina on the really pretty Bay Springs lake. The lock at Wilson Lake is under repair and we anticipate a potentially long wait there. Seems a barge hit the gate and made a real mess. All traffic must be raised in the smaller two-stage lift auxiliary lock. As I recall, our wait was about two hours and it gave us time to have lunch and chill for a while. From Wilson (MM259.4) we moved through Joe Wheeler (MM274.9), Guntersville (MM349), Nickajack (MM424.7), Chickamauga (MM471), Watts Bar (MM529.9) and our home lock of Ft. Loudoun (MM602.3)without much delay or fan fare. On the last day of our trip, we covered 183+ miles; the most mileage I've ever done in a one-day cruise. Detour rose to the occasion and completed the long day without missing a lick... the crew was not so fortunate and spent the next few days recovering. Docking at Choto began a three year period of little long range cruising and a brief membership in the Vol Navy. However, I do know how to use my VHF.

Closing the "Little Loop"

Bobby's is somewhat of an enigma, I am anxious to get there (because it is just about the distance I can travel on a full load of gasoline from Dog River and sometimes not quite enough) and because of the always high gasoline price (only gas between Mobile and Demopolis) and rustic docking provisions happy to leave. As previously mentioned the only good reasons to stop at Bobby's is the fried catfish and intense anthropological experience... either of which tend to fill one quickly. After the experiences on the lower Tombigbee the trip on to Demopolis is rather uneventful. I always enjoy getting to the Yacht Basin as Detour was a resident there for the first three years of my ownership. It's a coming home experience and I enjoy being there. Arriving at Demopolis marked a "semi" ending of the trip, at least for a while, because we were having Detour "hauled" for a bottom paint job. The time spent in the very nasty water of New Orleans just after Katrina and the month anchored in salt water at Dog River had completely covered Detour's hull with a healthy layer of aggressive marine life. The green slimy living mass had grown to at least two inched thick and probably was the cause of our not having enough gas to make the trip from Dog River to Bobby's. Gas mileage and speed had been drastically sacrificed, but on the bright side we had provided trillions of marine aqualife a healthy environment from which to thrive. However, I'm not much of an aqualife "hugger" so the good ole boys at the Yacht Basin got out the high pressure washers and, I'm sure, "non-eco" friendly concentrated hull cleaner and went to work. As we loaded our car and headed back to Knoxville the guys were hard at work getting Detour ready for our eventual return for the completion of the trip to our new berth on the Tennessee River. Tired and weary, we pulled the car onto the highway and I began to quietly ponder the trip, its trials and accomplishments, and soon realized that reaching Demopolis marked a significant milestone for me and for Detour. We had circumnavigated my home-state of Mississippi. It wasn't something I had planned to do, it just worked out. I wonder how many folks have circumnavigated the state they call home? I wonder how many states can be circumnavigated? I wonder why I feel so good about circumnavigating my home state? I wonder if I'll ever do it again?

Dog River to Bobby's Fish Camp

When we arrived at Grand Mariner Marina we found Detour floating and well cared for in the first slip behind the marina office. Ron Rieter had made arrangements with the marina to look out after her until we were able to make another leg of the trip. As I recall, she stayed berthed at the marina for about thirty days or so. The most immediate need was to clean her up and make her ready for an early morning departure the next morning. Captain Ron had asked me to call him when we picked up Detour so he could come over and meet us. I gave him a call and invited him to have dinner that evening in the great restaurant at the marina. He agreed and by the time we had completed our chores and packed our trip provisions, Ron arrived and we moved our group upstairs for a very nice dinner and visit. Anyone interested in having a boat delivered get in touch with the Grand Mariner and they can hook you up with Ron. I had asked Ron to fill the tanks when he berthed Detour so we didn't stop for fuel before leaving just after daylight the next morning. Leaving Dog River at sunrise is a beautiful sight as you head directly into the glow of the eastern sky. Its beauty is only rivaled by arriving at Grand Mariner as the sun sets in the west as my picture shows. I will have to say, Grand Mariner and the Dog River combine to make one of my favorite stop overs in my cruising experience. We proceeded up the bay and into Mobile harbor and as usual it was busy with tugs and tows most everywhere. We motored past a new US Navy ship being made and didn't realize until later that the chances were good that it was the USS New York. The Navy supply ship that contained steel reclaimed from the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center. We didn't get a picture but have appreciated seeing her just the same. The waterway becomes a little confusing when one leaves the harbor and its best to look closely at your charts or GPS as you make your way through the convergence of several rivers (Tensaw and Alabama Rivers and lots of creeks and bayous) and finally find your way to the lower Tombigbee. You may have heard of the interesting folks who live along the sparsely populated shores of the lower Tombigbee; I haven't heard the stories, I've experienced them. I've been shot at (I'm sure they were just trying to "wing" me and not do irreparable harm... a big difference in the area) for leaving too large of a wake. But on this particular trip we had a new experience with the good ole boys. We were making our usual nine and a half knots and just before the highway 43 bridge at Jackson, Alabama, we noticed a number of skiers and PWCs playing in the river. Bridge crossings are popular weekend water gathering areas for locals. I really wasn't paying a lot attention to them until I noticed a boat pulling a youngster on a tube was turning directly in my path. I surmised he would simply go in front of me and pass on my port side. To my concern, he headed right for us. I slowed and maintained heading as I wasn't sure which way he would chose to turn and just at the last minute he turned starboard and passed closely on my port. The gravity of the situation was heightened by the fact that the child being pulled on the tube came quite close to our bow. We all were feeling relieved that no one was hurt and feeling really irritated that the guy had taken such a dangerous chance. About that time, the boat turned sharply around and came up to our port side and begin to yell accusations at us about the incident being our fault and that he would call the next lock and have the sheriff waiting to pick us up. I think the folks there feel the river is theirs and really do not like larger boats trespassing. Anyway as the situation became more heated so did Mickey. I did too, but I didn't want to take a chance on the sheriff being this idiot's uncle or something. I could see us spending the night in the Jackson, Alabama jail and paying a big fine for reckless boating or something. I finally got Mickey calmed down and we continued on without incident. I really can't say that continued without incident but I can say that the folks we sought help from were quite different from the ones we have just chronicled. Our incident was one of a recurring nature; I'll explain. About six or seven miles from the Coffeeville Lock, I heard that all too familiar sound of the starboard engine gulping for that last drop or two of fuel. Not again was my thought but I had heard that ominous sound enough time to know exactly what it was and that we were about out of gasoline. Our hope was that we were close enough to Bobby's Fish Camp (about a mile or so north of the lock) that we could make it on the gas left in the port tank. We slowed as much as possible and pushed on. We passed under the highway 84 bridge and rounded the big bend just before the lock and with the lock in sight the port engine also swallowed its last bit of fuel, coughed a time or two and quit. We were dead in the water, out of gas and laying directly in the middle of the navigation channel. I have heard of being run over by a large tow but surely didn't relish the thought of having that experience; not to mention I was responsible for my wife and best bud, Mickey. I knew we had passed a boat landing at the 84 bridge a few mile back and that we might have enough daylight for me to row the dingy back there and talk someone into a ride to the nearest filling station for gas. This would be the second time I'd had to resort to begging rides for gas on the trip. The biggest immediate problem was moving Detour and its passengers to a more secure position out of the channel. You may never have seen a grey haired guy rowing a nine foot inflatable dingy tied to a 32 foot 12,000 pound cruiser but if you had been there that day you would have, and to my credit, I moved Detour to the edge of the waterway and secured a line from a substantial stump to her bow cleat so that she and her occupants would be in a safer environment. I then began my long trek back to the landing and hopefully a good Samaritan with a running pick-up truck. I had not rowed long until a man in a bass boat pulled up and asked if he could tow me to the landing. What a question, I guess he thought I was out for my afternoon exercise. He cut his engine and we tied the dingy on I got in the boat and when he tried to crank it up again... nothing! I didn't believe I could take much more but finally he got the motor to fire up and we sputtered to the ramp and civilization... well, at least humanity. Enough of this, twenty dollars later for the truck and twenty to a cat fisherman on a pontoon for a ride back to Detour and we were on our way through the lock and to some of the best fried catfish on the lower Tombigbee River at Bobby's Fish Camp and hopefully a good night's sleep.

Lake Pontchartrain, Gulf of Mexico and Mobile Bay

Working my way through a natural disaster one morning and taking my first dry land shower that evening in my own Knoxville home was much too much of an abrupt change. I can only imagine the psychological shock soldiers go through when they are wisked away from the heat of the battle and promptly inserted into an orderly world of everyday hum drum. It took me a while to adjust to the calmness and safety of home. Pam made a wonderful dinner and I, pretty much exhusted, retired early to a night of needed sleep. Although, I did wonder if the marina manager evicted Mickey and Detour after I left. I knew that my stay at home would be short as the conditions in New Orleans were much more difficult than I had imagined and significantly worse than were related to me when I called to reserve the berth for Detour. If I had to do it again I would not have chosen to lay over in New Orleans. As luck would have it, my work schedule begin to look as if I would be delayed significantly in my continued circumnavigation. My options were limited; leave my boat in the unfriendly confines of management and highly poluted brackish water (with all sorts of nasty disolved and not so disolved remains of whatever hurricanes leave behind) or locate a suitable delivery captain to move the boat to a more appropriate environment of the Dog River on Mobile Bay. I had refuled and nighted over at the Grand Mariner Mariner on several other occasions and had been well treated, that coupled with the fact that I couldn't stand the thought of Detour being in the hands of those not terribly concerned with a transient boat or captain whom threatned to sink his boat in the only channel leading to their much battered marina. I called the marina office at Grand Mariner and inquired about about the whearabouts of a qualified delivery captain. I talked with the owner (I understand that the good lady died last year and was something of a legend with the cruising community because of her knowledge of the bay and surrounding rivers and Alabama/Mississippi coasts) and she gave me a name Ron Reiter and a number at which he could be reached. She also gave him a good recommendation as a person and captain. In hindsight, I agree with her evaluation as Ron picked up Detour in New Orleans and ferried her to Mobile Bay and the Grand Mariner. I must diverge just a bit to relate a story that took place before the turn of the last century that includes the lady mentioned above. I had planned a trip to Orange Beach, Alabama and at that time in my life didn't really understand how to use my GPS. I stopped at Grand Mariner for gas and the night (the restaurant there is still the best on the west bank). Early the next morning I stopped at the marina office to get first-hand information about the best route across the bay. I knew I could travel the ship channel to the intercosatal and then turn left. But I also had heard that you could cut the corner and save a good bit of time. When I inquired, the lady said, "its easy" and gave me the instructions to go south in the ship channel to the Mid Mobile Lighthouse where you then take a 217 degree heading to the intercoastal not far from Bon Secur (again I am writing from minus ten years of memory and warn that no value should be placed on the the accuracy of my recall). My next quesion was, "will I know when I get to the Mid Mobile Lighthouse" and her reply, without hesitation, was "if you don't you don't need to be out there"! I would have to agree with her but when I got to the lighthouse, it didn't look a lot like the lighthouses I was accustomed to so it wasn't a "gimme" but I made the right choice because I ended up right where she said I would. (Note: Hurricane Katrina totally destroyed this historic lighthouse August 2006) Ron Reiter and his brother-in-law moved Detour across the Gulf. After they laid over in Biloxi to allow the water to calm in the bay, they resumed their trip to Dog River and the Grand Mariner. It was difficult to miss the gulf crossing and I am planning to make that trek soon to complete my circumnavigation of Mississippi.

More "Katrina Syndrome"

As the fog lifted, Mickey pulled the anchor and stowed the rode and I carefully started the Port engine; you will remember that the starboard tank is bone dry and has been for the last three or four miles. It was my first time in the lake and I had no idea where the marina was located. However, I knew we still had a couple of miles to travel. I may have not mentioned this but my GPS maps didn't cover this particular part of the trip so we were were navigating on our instincts. I could see in the distance what looked to be a marina entrance. After the difficult trip down the river and experience in the Inner Harbor Canal, my courage was renewed and I begin to feel as if we would be able to put this part of the adventure behind us in short order. I steered Detour toward the small canal leading to the marina. We pulled slowly in and I begin to hail the marina office. Nothing, not only nothing but no body and piles and piles of boats. All kind of boats and all piled up. Before I realized what was happening, we had moved slowly into the marina and right in the middle of the debris field of destroyed crafts. I became quite concerned that we might damage running gear or worse compromise our hull on jagged unseen objects of most any description. When I think about the experience, I was almost completely overwhelmed by the enormity of the devastation I was in the middle of and my mind wouldn't let me sort out the fact that I had entered the wrong marina. I still don't know what marina I was in and we were so addled by the experience that we completely forgot to chronicle the sights in our digital cameras... well Micky still uses film but it would have done a very satisfactory job if we had just had the presence of mind to use it. We got turned around without incident and returned to the relative safety of the Lake. I had the telephone number to the New Orleans City Marina where we were to leave Detour for a few weeks while we returned to our homes to recuperate. I called the marina and learned we only a few hundred yards from the correct entrance and we made our way to our slip. We did make pictures on the way in that will illustrate some of the disaster aftermath. We had a slip number that had been assigned to us when I reserved the berth. I moved through the marina until I found the slip and true to our recent experience, there was boat there already. Oh well shouldn't be a big problem, I thought, someone forgot to remember we were coming. There was one slip open in the marina and as I pulled into it I begin to wonder if it was empty because something big and dangerous had been deposited there in the storm. However, it seemed to be clear and we tied up and made our way to the temporary marina office; a FEMA trailer pulled in to replace the office that had been blown away. I had used my credit card to reserve the slip and talked with a lady named Judy. Mickey and I entered the trailer and asked for Judy. The marina manager, she had a name tag that said manager, informed us that Judy wasn't there and that we didn't have a slip. I reminded her that I had used a credit card to reserve a slip a few weeks before and she said, and I quote, "you must not have heard, we had a hurricane". I became somewhat upset and I can't remember exactly the words I used but it was something like... "you're going to give me a place to put this boat until I can get back to get it or your going to have another sunk boat in your harbor because I'm going to knock a hole in the bottom and give it to you". She said, it can stay for a while but not long. I said fine and Mickey and I left. I have never been in combat but I think I know what can happen to a person when he is placed under constant pressure to the point his mind refuses to comprehend the obvious and decisions become almost incoherent and certainly not rational. Thank goodness those guys in battle handle things better than I at that moment. I gathered up Mickey and we begin walking. I don't know where we were going but we were walking. As we walked, I saw a marine broker and we climbed the steps to the office and went in. Mickey had no idea what I was about to do and I think my next statement to the broker had him questioning my sanity. I told the broker I wanted to sell my boat, right now, today, before I catch my plane back to Knoxville. The broker also had the look of someone talking to an irrational individual. I know because he was talking to me. The broker was kind and talked me out of selling Detour. I don't know even want to think about what he and his partner said about me when we left. I finally decided to get on the plane and fly home and not worry about the boat or the marina. I packed up and left Mickey on his on for the night and his train ride back to Mississippi. I didn't hear from the marina and will explain how I got the boat to Mobile in the next installment of the blog. I'll close by telling you that recalling these experiences and the difficulties of this part of the trip have left me out-of-breath and exhausted. I wouldn't give anything for the experience but it was truly a soul-searching event and most difficult in most ever sense of the word.

The Big Easy... Katrina Style

I grew up in Jackson, Mississippi and spent a good bit of time in New Orleans through the years but this trip was much different. For one thing, I was seeing the city from the river and it seemed distant and a little sad. Unfamiliar, I think because of my perspective from the water; a little sad because eight months earlier it experienced the ravages of a lady named Katrina. The city was silent and absent of the revelers that were always there, day or night, and even though it was always somewhat disheveled now it was in disrepair. If you just looked at city the damage was not that evident but when you looked at individual structures the strength of the August Lady was easily remembered. It didn't take long for the sentiments of the storm to subside when that all too familiar sound of the starboard engine, attempting to gulp the few last ounces of fuel from the bottom of its tank, brought me back to our own sobering plight. We were running out of fuel again with the only marine gasoline in the city more than 12 miles or so away. I knew we could go several miles on the port engine but didn't know just how far. We throttled back to a idle and made our way through the ship yards, passed Canal Street, the French Quarter and south to the Inner Harbor Industrial Canal. The Industrial Canal connects the Mississippi River to Lake Pontchartrain and cuts the trip from Louisiana to Mississippi by about one half. It had been a long day on the river and we were hoping to get locked through the canal quickly because there were several draw bridges and railroad bridge to clear before we could get into the lake. There was tow being lowered when we arrived at the entrance to the lock and a tow waiting in the canal to be raised into the Mississippi. I eased Detour over to a old bridge abutment and Mickey held on and made us secure so we could kill the port engine and help preserve the precious little fuel we had left in our tanks. I can't remember how long it took but I do recall how low the sun was getting on the horizon. As the tow moved slowly out of the lock, I cranked the only running engine we now had and proceeded into the lock. The lock at the Inner Harbor Industrial Canal was a little different than other locks on the rivers north. It had no floating bollards the lock attendant would simply throw a line down, fore and aft, and you would hold the line, taking up slack or letting it out (as was the case with us) as the need arose. Things were going smoothly when we got our first dose of "Katrina Syndrome" from the lock attendant. Definition: "Katrina Syndrome" a psychological license to blame anything, everything and anybody on the hurricane. The syndrome struck us several times and while we became thoroughly "pissed" at the attitudes we begin to understand, as time went on and we lived a short while in a world of people who's lives were unkindly rearranged by the ravages of nature. Case in point, I looked up and asked the lock attendant how far the New Orleans city marina was from here. He didn't hesitate to respond but the response was a little different than I expected, "do you have a chart... if you don't you don't need to be in a boat". Well I had a chart and I knew about how far but I figured a local might be able to give me an estimate of how long it would take us to get there so I might have a better idea of my fuel usage. Either "Katrina Syndrome" or a really unhappy lock attendant. We moved carefully out of the lock and into the canal and my perception of the attendant's reply begin to become more understandable. The canal cuts a path through a portion of the ninth ward; the area so badly flooded in the aftermath of the hurricane. This industrial section was totally empty of humanity except for the occasional face we would see looking out from behind a deserted warehouse or washed out building or moving quietly along looking any object that might provide a means of income or maybe protection. I'm not sure I had ever experienced anything like this before; it was like those newsreels you see of a country in war where everything is pretty much destroyed and people are making the best out of survival. The inner harbor canal is topped by several lift and stationary bridges that must be traversed when making your way to the lake. The St. Claude bridge was opening when we pulled out of the lock; I'm sure they heard us on the radio. We were fortunate to find the Claiborne Ave. bridge high enough for us to get under and the Florida Ave./Southern Railroad bridge opened on our channel 13 call. The Chef Mentour Blvd. bridge and the US 90 bridge are both very high and no problem for Detour. (I'm sure no one one would attempt to use this blog as a navigation guide and that's good because in writing from memory I may be taking liberties with the accuracy of the content.) We could see our final obstruction to our freedom into Lake Pontchartrain, the Sea Brook Railroad lift bridge and the Sea Brook highway bridge, also high enough to not cause a problem. I knew from the cruise guide that the bridge master monitors channel 16. I hailed in my most captain-like tone and.. no reply. I think I may have used the wrong pronunciation and irritated the bridge master... or another "syndrome" issue?? We slowed to a halt and waited; no response. A train was moving across the bridge and we felt sure the bridge would open when it cleared. Not... when I called the bridge master, and after minutes of silence we received a response, another train was following the one on the bridge and we would have to wait. I asked if we could tie to a empty barge close to the bridge and save fuel; long radio silence followed by nothing. Mickey tied us to the barge and we waited for the bridge to open and darkness. Our delay at the L and N railroad bridge was lengthy and when we finally cleared and slowly glided into Lake Pontchartrain we were beat mentally as well as physically and both had become seriously infected with a bad case of the "Katrina Syndrome". I was blaming bridge and lock attendants for contriving delays so the "outsiders" would be as unhappy as they were. But, seeing the moon rising from the eastern shore and the stars popping out in the night sky completely removed any grudge or negative feelings and we were on our way. We were only eight miles from the safety of our reserved berth in the New Orleans Marina... or at least that was my thought process at present. Being a fresh water cruiser, I had little experience with crab pots; those wire baskets with white Styrofoam floats that bob harmlessly in the shallow waters of our nations coasts. As Mickey and I made our way in the dark carefully toward our berth, we realized that all the crab pots in the the gulf had some how been drawn into the lake and were directly in the path of Detour. We dodged and weaved our way until I had had as much fun in one day as I could stand and we stopped, dropped anchor and opened a much needed bottle of Miller Lite. We were following the lake edge as closely as we dared to help us navigate in the dark and anchored about 400 yards off of what looked to be a park on shore. During the night we were reminded of the condition of the city as police cars, with sirens blaring traversed the park most of the night. We finished off a can or two of potted meat and vienna sausages and several Millers' and tried to settle nerves frayed by a day of excitement on the lower Mississippi river. The last thing I remember before sleep was the thought of so little gas remaining in our port tank. As usual, we arose to one of those thick south Louisiana fog banks and a delayed day's departure. Normally, a late departure wouldn't make much difference but I had to catch a plane home in the afternoon and with a no change ticket, I didn't want to afford to miss it. Mickey had a little more leeway because he was catching the train to Tuscaloosa tomorrow and Carolyn, his wife, would be picking him up for the trip back to West Point.

Baton Rouge and Beyond

The night at Fancy Point Towhead was restful because we were so exhausted that we didn't worry about being overun by a tow boat or dragging an anchor. We intended to get an early start to help regain some of the time lost at Vidalia (however, remember the cruisers law, "don't get in a hurry and never depend upon being somewhere on-time) but our early start was put on hold by one of those lower Mississippi fog banks. Moisture from the blue gray cloud just didn't settle on the boat and occupants but consumed us and every nook and crany of Detour. We could hear towboats stopped on the river, engines running but making no headway.

I don't remember exactly what time the fog lifted and allowed us to carefully make our way out of the perils of our shallow anchorage and back to the perils of the big river but I knew we had a perfect record of delayed departures. The pressure of keeping a schedule continued to encourage my urge to increase speed and ignore the real issue; gasoline usage. But, Mickey and I have never been very logical in our reasoning when trying to catch fish, hunt or any of those other guy deals.

The weather had moderated from the cold windy conditions of the first two days of the trip and had taken on the more normal warm and humid feel of late April. We set a course for New Orleans and pushed the throttles up to 3000 RPM's and looked to see the tall state capitol building of Louisiana and the city of Baton Rouge very soon.

In the middle of the afternoon, it seemed our trip was to be one of those rare occasions of "no issue" cruising. But never jump to conclusions; the starboard engine began to sputter and I quickly realized that our haste and subsequent waste of gasoline had put our trip again in jeapordy. Not to mention the hazards of being without power in the busy channel of the lower Mississippi River. I knew from experience that Detour's starboard engine used fuel about a gallon an hour faster that the port engine and that we had used the generator, which pulls fuel from the starboard tank, for about an hour. Now, my confidence in calculating fuel useage had taken quite a "hit" and the increased speed had complicated my calculations but I figured we had about an hours gasoline left for the port engine if we idled along.

What to do? We know that no marinas on the lower Mississippi allow pleasure boat to approach their docks (insurance issues) and very few even carry gas (only diesel). I had read a blog written by another pleasure cruiser that there was a small salvage yard owner in the area that would assist if gasoline became a critical issue. This was a critical issue. I began to look through my planning notes (I did prepare) to see if I could find the telephone number of the slavage dock. Just as always when Mickey and I get into trouble, we found the number and made contact with the dock. Bottom line; yard owner allowed us to dock at his yard, loaned me his pick-up and I drove to the nearest gas station, filled up four six-gallon cans with "high test" and headed back to the salvage yard. The owner would not accept payment for his kindness and I, to this day, marvel at being able to get gasoline in under those circumstances.

I knew we would be very close on gas getting to our marina in New Orleans, so we slowed way down and made our way through the unbelieveable sights of the highly commercial waterway north of the Big Easy.

Fancy Point Towhead

If my memory serves me correctly, we shoved off the barge/dock at Vidalia about 1:30 or so and anticipated an interesting trip as the Muddy Mississippi became wider, muddier and much more congested. I had figured the fuel use carefully and my calculations had been pretty close to correct to date. However, the delay of the morning and the anxiety of a close schedule lay heavy on my mind and heightened my natural tendency for a need for speed. My plans were to get as far as light would take us and find the safest anchorage possible on the lower/lower Mississippi... which in any ones terms is the grandest of "oxymoronisms".

If I haven't mentioned it before now I want you to be sure and understand my shock and awe of the lower Mississippi River. It is almost without description, at least any I could craft, and I won't attempt it except to say that it is, in its own way, beautiful with a hint of terror. It has a mesmerizing personality that lures you into compliance with its aura and snaps you to conscientiousness with its strength and its vast array of inhabitants, biological and man-made.

After a few miles on the river, we put our "waiting for gas" frustrations behind us and settled in to our river cruise routine of watching for nasty things in the water before they smoothed off Detour's bottom of all mechanical implementation. As I think back now of all the things that could have gone wrong on our adventure, I wonder why we didn't destroy the running gear on partially submerged flotsam. It was our good luck because there was no way we could see it all. The best that I can recall, we made about 105 miles or so after the long delay in Vidalia; not a bad day's run. We found a large cut-off or Towhead at about mile marker 258, called Fancy Point Towhead and pulled in as closely as possible to anchor. The water was 80 to 100 feet deep in the river but as we carefully pulled out of the channel, the depth jumped up to 12 or so and we anchored in about 6 feet as I best remember.

Anchoring on the Mississippi is, as I have alluded to before, is a practice of faith. You know stumps abound in the shallows but you must get far enough away from the channel to ensure one of the monstrous tows won't run you over. I wanted to get close to the towhead point to keep out of the way of small tows that might decide to use the channel behind the island to save time and cut-off a portion of the river. Now, about the current; I would say that it was flowing 4 to 5 miles per hour. Now, that doesn't sound to fast but believe me it is very fast and very frightening. I could see us in the night with a broken anchor rode and cruising backwards to the Gulf of Mexico, or worse into the path of a big ole tow.

The evening came quickly and we hurried to get the gas we had in barrels transferred into Detour's tanks. Now, lets see, those dangerous river things I was describing a while ago paled in comparison to having 60 gallons or so of gasoline in the cockpit and using a hand pump to move it from the barrels to the tanks. I tried not to think about it in hopes that our luck would continue to hold up. It did and we settled in for the night after another quick supper.

Hurry Up and Wait; Vidailia, LA

We pulled out of our anchorage above Vicksburg early; the sun was rising and a kind of wispy mist was suspended over the river. You couldn't really call it fog but it gave the morning a very calm demeanor and set quite a different perspective for us after a couple of days battling the cold winds and snotty cruising.


As we began early, we made Vicksburg by the middle of the morning and chose not to stop because the fuel dock had ceased providing services. Our plan called to fill every extra barrel and can with gas, which we did, at Greenville and try to make Natchez/Vidalia by night. We made previous arrangements with a gasoline distributor in Vidalia to bring us gas at the river. There is a small dock just north of the Natchez - Vidalia bridge where you may tie up close enough to the road for a truck to deliver the gas.


The day was, as I recall, a nice cruise day and we made Natchez about 4:30 pm. As usual, we had no plan for anchorage but I had noticed a small creek on the chart just south of Natchez and upon arrival it looked as though we could pull Detour into the mouth and out of the swift Mississippi River current. We pulled in slowly because of the stumps and debris. We, as we were many times on the trip, very lucky to have not destroyed some important under water machinery.


Dinner was simple; Vienna sausage, crackers and beer. I think we had a Twinky for desert but I can't remember for sure. They say the mind protects one from trumatic memories. It finally got dark and we quickly fell asleep. I slept better because we were in an anchorage that was safe from the perils of the river... unless of course you counted cotton mouth water moccasins and alligators.


About 7:00 am I called the gas guy about our gas that was to be delivered at 8:30. Couldn't get the guy but I talked with the office person who assured me that the delivery would be there on time. I hoped we had enough gas to get back upstream and to the Louisiana side of the river which was about three miles; a long way when one is traveling upstream on the largest river in the US and most other parts of the world. When we arrived at the dock and secured Detour we noticed a water hydrant on the hill above the dock and I decided that a good way to spend the time waiting on the gas would be to carry water and fill our tank. When I climbed the hill, I would say a couple of hundred feet, I found that there was a hose long enough to reach the boat so I was saved from carrying the heavy cans. Evidently, the work boats that were using the pier to refuel were also filling water tanks.


I finished filling the water tanks and recoiled the hose in its place and realized the gas had not arrived. My watch said it was a little after nine. I didn't get too worried because I figured he was just slowed down for some reason and would be here shortly. Mickey and I took the opportunity to explore a little as we had not been off the boat for any appreciable amount of time in the last three days. About eleven the gas was still not there so I called the office person again and was assured me that the truck was on its way and probably had to make a stop or two before it got there.


I think somewhere in our discussion to date we have mentioned that cruisers should not try and stay on a schedule as there was too much margin for error. Well, we learned that lesson again. It didn't matter that I had a plane ticket from NOLA to Knoxville and Mickey had a train ticket home that were not transferable and had to be used at the prescribed time, which was carefully calculated to get us back to work when we were due. It didn't matter that we were tied to a precariously little dock on the Mississippi trying to keep all manner of floating objects from becoming tangled in the rudder and screws. It didn't matter that we were becoming more irritated by the minute with no recourse. So, we had a beer and relaxed on the boat and tried not to think about it.


I believe the truck arrived at our outpost about 12:45 or so and the driver very unapologetically said that he had several other stops and it took a little longer than expected. I had several things I would like to have said but I couldn't take the chance on him packing up and leaving us without gas and stranded. The gassing was more complicated than I figured because the truck had to back onto the dock; actually a small floating barge, in order for the hose to reach our tank. We had to get gravel and logs to put under the wheels of the truck in order for it to gain access. There was a time he said that he might not get the truck out on the barge but I quickly found more filler to place under the wheels and we competed the filling up process.


Now our task now was to get from Natchez/Vidalia to NOLA, actually past New Orleans and through the industrial canal and about 8 miles up Lake Pontchartrain to the New Orleans City Marina. A full two day trip and we were a half a day late already. The real problem was we had to make it on the gas in our tanks and the barrels we had brought with us.

Three Days on the Mighty Mississippi... Now I know why they call it MIGHTY

As the White River takes you to the confluence of it and the Mississippi, you begin to have emotions that liken themselves from thrilling to shear terror. I believe, after having done it a time or two, the knowledge and fables of the violent history of the river and its magnificent power seems to raise your psyche to a point that is at least equal to your first childhood viewing of the Wizard of Oz... Well, maybe not that extreme but almost.

I think I mentioned in the blog post of making the turn out of the Mississippi and into the White as an exciting venture and the same can certainly be said about the trip in the opposite direction. To review, the White River is about twelve or so feet deep when it empties into the Ninety-something foot depth of the Father of Waters. The sharp bend in the Mississippi creates a rolling turbulence that reaches up, grabs your boat and hurls it downstream in a manner that is if not frightening at least challenging as you add throttle and steer a course that will put you safely into the mainstream and not broadside into the descending bank. Please know that we made the turn and began our eventful cruise sometimes at the mercy of not only the river but also the whims of humanity that we harkened upon as we traveled south.

The month is April but the temperature would have you believe it was February with the wind velocity of March. Kind a round about way of saying it was a difficult day weather wise. To describe the conditions further, the wind was blowing out of the south at about a steady 25 knots accompanied by gust of up to 35. The river was whipped to a froth and spray was regularly hitting the isinglass bridge enclosure making visibility quite difficult. If you cruise the rivers and inland waterways you know that high water complicates navigation as it introduces numerous free floating snags and other debris that, if hit, will pretty much ruin your day and any running gear that might be involved. I had thoughts of collision with submerged objects destine to remove wheels and rudders leaving gaping holes in the aluminum hull of my beloved Detour. I also had thoughts of what the cost would be to have Detour removed from the navigable barge channel as it became a sunken hazard to the world’s maritime system, not to mention fines from the EPA because of the pollution it caused from spilling a hundred gallons or so of gasoline and oil. Thank goodness terrible things didn't happen.

We entered the Mississippi about ten o'clock and made it through the wind, floating debris, waves and many large tows to the fuel dock at Greenville in the middle of the afternoon, about three o'clock or so. The current in the river pushed us along at a surprisingly quick rate. I kept the engines turning at about the same speed as normal (2300 -2500 RPM) and we picked up about 4-5 knots over the 11 or 12 we find at those revolutions. I realized later that fuel consumption was about the same (1.1 mile/gal). We fueled up at Greenville, which is the last marina that serves pleasure boats, unless Vicksburg has added gas pumps, until you reach New Orleans and Lake Pontchatrain. To make the trip possible, I carried two large barrels of gasoline (I don't recommend), one twenty gallon and one thirty gallon. I made my calculations for fuel consumption figuring the river current would increase my mileage by 10 to 15 percent. Bad assumption; when you turn your engines at the same RPMs all you gain from the current is speed, not fuel mileage. If we had throttled back we might have been able to benefit from the current.

This was a difficult time in the trip for me because Pam, my wife, was leaving the cruise and Mickey and I were continuing. It had been a very difficult day on the river and the thought of trying to make a hurricane ravaged New Orleans under dangerous river conditions without the assurance of sufficient fuel was enough to challenge my good judgment in continuing. However, the adventure of the journey was heightened by the danger and unknown and quickly overcame my apprehension and Mickey and I shoved off to see what was in store for us as we moved on

Look out NOLA; here comes Detour

Fast forward about five years and a bunch of life. It's Easter weekend sometime in April 2006. Mickey meets Pam and me in Little Rock and we make final plans to move the boat to its new home in Knoxville, Tennessee. If you have been keeping up with the blog you remember My President Elect; if you haven't been reading it would be a good time to review that post.

Again, car management is an issue when cruising. Carolyn, Mickey's wife drove him to Greenville, MS and a good friend and work associate of mine was kind enough to pick Mickey up in Greenville while on a business trip and deposit him at Detour with us. Pam and I have been gone from Little Rock since the first of the year as my job has moved us to the great state of Tennessee and so a night on the boat before leaving was in order.

Our plans were to get to bed early, rise early and get an early start on the day and the trip. If you remember my warnings in earlier posts for all cruisers, you will know that cruisers should not get in a rush and not be surprised if well made plans are quickly disturbed. It was certainly the case on the next day as we begun our trip bright and early.

The Murray Lock and Dam or Lock and Dam Number 7 is about 3 miles from the Little Rock Yacht Club and we made our approach to the lock at approximately 7 o'clock. My excitement on getting the trip underway was blunted a bit when I realized that a large tow boat and raft of barges had beat us to the lock. It wasn't just a large tow but a "double tie" tow which meant that it would take two lockings to complete the transition. We had no choice but to tie up and wait out the lockings. I believe it was nearly 11 o'clock when we were whistled into the lock. It didn't take us long to get ahead of the large tow and we hurried to get far enough ahead to make sure we didn't have to wait again.

The first days trip was relatively routine and we anchored on the inside of a long bend in river just off a shallow sand bar. I couldn't find a suitable off river anchorage and felt the depth of the water and inside bend would put us a good distance from passing nighttime tows. The moon was full and we talked about the view of the sandbar out of the starboard salon windows as we enjoyed a final glass of wine before turning in for the night. During the wee hours of the morning, about 4 am as I recall, the door of our berth opened abruptly and Mickey was standing in the opening and, in an excited voice, said, "if we hurry we can get out of the way of that tow boat". In my low level of awareness, given the time of day and the frantic awakening, I calmly said, "let's wait for about an hour or so before we move". Mickey then said just as calmly, OK and

went back to bed. As we discussed the event in more lucid circumstances, it seems that Mickey had gotten up during the night and looked out the starboard windows to check the position of the boat and make sure the anchor was holding. As luck would have it and taking into account his drowsy state, the wind had shifted and swung the boat 180 degrees making his view out the starboard window a down river view and right into the searchlight of an approaching tow. As you can relate, it was quite unnerving. We all survived the event and continued our trip to the Mississippi the next morning.

The April day, as sometimes is the case, was downright blustery and maybe even bitter. The wind was out of the South and blowing at sometimes up to 30 miles per hour and the

temperature was in the mid-forties. About a mile or so from the mouth of the Arkansas River, I noticed that the voltage on the starboard engine was fluctuating nervously and it was a sure indication to me that the voltage regulator was dying a slow death. I knew because this engine has a history of digesting regulators. I also carry several spares to be ready for just such an event. I knew a change would be much easier on the Arkansas than it would be on the Mississippi so I found a suitable sandbar and nosed Detour over and put her fast to the bar. I made the necessary maintenance and we were back underway in under thirty minutes; my best time yet.

We entered the Arkansas Post Canal, the connection between the Arkansas and White rivers and made our way to the the new Montgomery Point lock. It is interesting to note that there is no entry to the Mississippi from the Arkansas as a low-head dam is constructed across the mouth of the Arkansas to help maintain sufficient depth as you will remember from my posts on the trip up the Arkansas. The Montgomery Point lock was not mentioned in the upstream post five years ago because it was not completed. This lock is not used unless the water level is low other wise you simply proceed over the dam as if it didn't not exist. It reminded me of the "wicket" dams of the Ohio river south of

Paduccha, Kentucky. Our interest in the new lock was soon overwhelmed by the ominous view of the mighty Mississippi.

The Towboat Catherine Ann

We began the last leg of our adventure just as we had every other with Honey Buns and Miller Lite, a little "hair of the dog" gave our heads a boost after closing down the nightlife at the Pine Bluff marina. I guess we were lucky to not have riled the locals badly enough to get shot... or worse. No one was in when we came into the marina so we tied to the gas dock and hooked up to electricity and water. We had to wait to leave later than we wanted to for the marina to open up so we could pay... I guess that's why they do not exist any longer. Anyway, we were on the way with the next stop Little Rock and Detour's new home for the foreseeable future. There is an old saying with cruisers, actually there are a lot of old sayings with cruisers, but this one is shared often; don't get in a hurry. Well, we were in a hurry and things seemed to be going just as planned. We were approaching lock number five, locks are numbered on the Arkansas; I think they have names too but the lock masters won't answer you if the names are called. I looked up and saw a tow boat entering the lock. Man, I told Mickey, this is going to delay our progress. Without thinking much about it, I called the lock master and told him we were in a hurry, as most any time before, and wanted permission to lock through with the tow. He answered immediately and gave his permission. He instructed us to wait at the long wall and enter the lock when he waved us in. I've never had a lock master walk out on the the lock wall and wave me in but that what he did. As I approached the lock doors and moved besides the tow boat so Mickey, who was out on the foredeck, could tie us up, I heard the tow boat captain ask on the radio, "is the recreational vehicle coming in here?" The ensuing conversation escalated quickly with the last transmission being, "I'm the captain of this boat and I don't want the RV in here"; "I'm the captain of this lock and he's coming in". At that point, I get on the radio to say, "hey, guys; no big deal I'm getting out". I put the transmissions in reverse and begin to back out of the lock when the angered boat captain put his transmissions in forward, turned his rudder toward us and throttled down. You'll have to imagine again because if I tell it like it really was, you'll think of that Marco Polo deal I was talking about in the last post. Let me give you a quick and dirty; the prop wash that came out from under that tow boat was enormous and picked Detour up about five feet or so and slammed us into the lock wall. We had fenders in place that kept damage to a minimum but it threw Mickey over the rail and the only thing that kept him out of the water was hitting the lock wall, actually the lock door, and then falling back onto the deck. Instinctively, I tried to counteract the actions of the tow captain by throttling my engines to try and keep us off the wall, which exacerbated Mickey's predicament and made our situation worse as we bounced off the wall a second time from my efforts. As I regained my composure and Mickey checked his extremities for blood and bone, I could hear the captain and the lock master saying things on the radio that the FCC would have been seriously concerned about... come to think about it I had a few comments of my own. I learned something that day and I have practiced it religiously since. Never enter a lock with a tow boat unless you first get permission from the captain and then the lock master. Maritime law dictates that a tow boat captain must obey the authority of the lock master when the boat is in the lock. However, please know and remember where you heard it; the lock master has the "authority" but the tow boat captain has the "power". Mickey and I made our way to Little Rock and as we passed the Catherine Ann gave the proper respect and even saluted her captain.

On to Little Rock

Because I'm writing this from memory and since have had significant difficulty on the Mississippi, this trip has been very smooth... other than the fact we could have been "mowed down" by a hyped up, gun tote'n group of casino security guards. Mickey and I shoved off early after a breakfast of Coors Light and sweet rolls. We had not more than gotten around the first bend and just passed President's Island when I looked up and saw the most humongous group of barges I've ever seen. I think you'll see in the picture that it is seven across and nine long. Sixty-three barges, give or take a couple either way is an unbelievable sight.

If you have experience with tows you'll know that the wake they produce is minimal; what you might also know is that the larger the towboat pushing the larger the prop wash. Well get ready, this raft of barges was being pushed by two big towboats each with three big gas turbine, read my lips... jet, engines and worse it was going upstream causing it to kick up a tremendous series of prop wash rollers. Well, I mentioned those of you who know of this prop wash deal. Ole Mickey and I didn't have any idea about prop wash but we were about to experience it first hand. I want to describe the significance of what we were about to encounter but I don't think there is any way I can without sounding like Marco Polo or some other person in your memory who always made the story much more interesting than the actual experience. You'll just have to think what you will but when we fell over the top of the first wave behind the tow and got into the bottom of the wave trough, I couldn't see over the next wave and didn't think Detour would ever be able to climb up and over without pitch polling over backwards. Did you see Perfect Storm? I won't go any farther with the story; you know the issue and obviously we made it through and I am reporting today but we were rocked pretty good and it was the first of a couple of close calls we had on our merry way to Little Rock.

We made better time than I thought on the big river and when our schedule called to overnight just inside the mouth of the White River we decided to push on to Pine Bluff. If you are not familiar with the White/Arkansas confluence with the Mississippi, it is a little interesting. There is a low-head dam at the mouth of the Arkansas that maintains a constant navigable depth upstream. One must enter the White, a few miles north of the Arkansas and traverse the Arkansas Post Canal that connect the White with the Arkansas. This system of canals and locks ensures positive water flow and steady navigable depths. A year or so ago the Corps completed the Montgomery Point lock that is downstream from the Post canal that is used in times of low water depth otherwise it doesn't come into play.

One other little tidbit of advice for those of you planning a trip up the Arkansas, when you steer your boat out of the Mississippi the water dept rises quickly from a little less than 100 ft to about 16 ft in the White and the mouth is in an outside bend. The resulting turbulence is surprising and should be undertaken with sufficient power to make an aggressive turn. Trust me on this one.

There are seven locks on the Arkansas between the Post canal and the Little Rock Yacht Club. We made four which landed us at the Island Harbor marina at Pine Bluff before dark. That's 71.2 upstream miles on the Arkansas after 137 miles on the Mississippi. That's a little over 208 miles and six locks which I would say was a pretty good day for a inland cruise. Everyone writes about the Rob Roy railroad bridge on the Arkansas because it is raised and lowered by a guy in Iowa or Illinois or somewhere far off. He knows you want to get under the bridge when you key your VHF mike about four times on a particular channel, that I can't remember now, and request the bridge to be raised. He raises it and asked you to key again when clear and the bridge mysteriously lowers. Kind of a neat deal.

The other neat deal is the nightclub at the marina at Pine Bluff. I understand the marina is now closed but hopefully the nightclub is still jumping. Me and Mickey never met a country nightclub we didn't like and this one was no exception. Try it when you stop over.

Memphis in May, Not Really... August

Each May, Memphis hosts the biggest barbecue in the free world. If I cruise there again, I'll plan better and make landfall just in time to join in the festivities. This time, however, it was early in the month of August; they say heat and humidity is good for the skin. I'll take "they" at their word. It was during one of those extended southern heat "spells" and while my skin was benefiting, I was wondering if good skin would make any difference in heat prostration.

We slept as long as we could in our questionable anchorage behind the casino at Caruthersville and spent some time clearing the Mississippi River debris that had accumulated around the anchor rhode during the night. This was another of those "bump in the night" nights as objects making their way under the casino boat hull bounced off Detour making their steady way to the Gulf. I remember lying in the V-berth and hoping a big cypress tree wouldn't become entangled in the running gear and take us to NOLA backwards. We ate the last of the Honey Buns, saluted the Isle of Capri' security guards finest and joined the other flotsam on the way south to Memphis.

The trip was smooth and unusually free of the big tows that are normally numerous. It gave Bo and I a good time to visit before he and Jack departed for home. Mickey would join me at the Mud Island marina close to downtown Memphis. I know its been several posts ago that I explained all the goings on to get automobiles situated and otherwise arranges but Bo and Jack's car was to be waiting at the marina and if we were lucky it would be without urban art and with all its wheels.

We arrived in Memphis about 3:00 pm on Friday August 8 and worked our way around Mud Island and into the Mud Island marina. Since we were to be there only one night, the marina manager let us tie up on the gas dock and spend the night. Bo and Jack took off for home, by the way, the car was in good shape with all wheels still attached. I enjoyed having Bo on board and Jack's dry humor kept things light, even when we thought the Isle of Capri security guards were going to "draw down on us". It was a little sad for me to lose them for the rest of the trip, however, Mickey brought a whole new perspective to our cruising experience.

Speaking of Mickey, he was waiting for us in the parking lot of the marina and it was good to see him after a year or so. He looked prepared and excited about our next day's adventure. Little did he or I know it could have been more dangerous than we expected.

Memphis was quiet relatively speaking; I guess folks were spending quality time in their air conditioned homes. Mickey and I took off to find a good dinner, a couple of drinks and an early bedtime because we had a long trip planned for the next couple of days.