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.