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.
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.
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