On to Columbus and Tibbee Creek

Marina Cove is only about 40 river miles from Columbus, Mississippi and it is always a planned stop on my trips on the TennTom. Available gas is always a planned stop but in the case of the Columbus Marina it is a pleasant stop also. Aside from my grandchildren living just a few miles away, it is one of the marinas that is well operated, by knowledgeable people (Chuck and Barbara Bigelow) who seem to care about transient visitors as well as they do the guys who pay on a monthly basis. We have berthed Detour at Columbus on several occasions and have no reservations in recommending them.

I have another friend in the vicinity, I believe Robert Louis Stevenson might describe him as the smartest person I know that lives on a gravel road. He's independent, he chose to live on a gravel road, and he and another of my friends, although not so close, commiserate daily about the issues in life that really make a difference... and that I probably won't ever get a chance to experience.

Mickey lived most of his life within a few miles of Tibbee Creek; although there was that time when his father worked at the Northwest Mississippi Correctional Facility, known at the time as simply Parchman. I've been to Parchman on occasion, back in the day before I knew Mickey, I visited with my church. We thought we might do some good but I think the old Baptist preacher that took us figured it would scare us worse than his best fire and brimstone sermon. Truth be known, the trip failed on both accounts.



Mickey's retirement retreat provides all the challenges one's senses can absorb. More can be experienced there than in the library, theater or concert hall. Yard art, hunting trophies, fishing stories, song birds, alligators, favorite dogs and friends all with lives and stories of their own that no one could script except maybe ole Tibbee Creek herself... and she ain't talkin'.

The Move to Little Rock

Circa 2001, I don't remember details but I know it was hot so it must have been summer in Alabama. Demopolis is a small river town that has a certain charm about it and friendly people. Well, it's like most any small town in the South, don't know much about the small towns in the North, charming but only accepting if you or someone important that you are kin to lived there. Blood is important in the South. I was always well treated during the three years I berthed Detour there and the Demopolis Yacht Basin is the only "real" marina I've ever used. I say real, they just know how to run a Marina and they pretty much treat all the owners the same. Just pay your bill, be a good neighbor and you will be ok. This is not a typical cruising log and I'm not writing it to give others recommendations on marinas, restaurants, haul-out facilities and the like but I'll make this one exception; the Demopolis Yacht Basin is run by good people who know what they are doing. I recommend them with no reservations. The Tombigbee River makes a big bend just upstream from the Yacht Basin at the mouth of the Black Warrior River. There is not much current and usually a number of tow boats. Demopolis is the only commercial tow boat facility on the Tombigbee/Tennessee Tombigbee Waterway. Dick, I call him Demopolis Dick, worked on the river, Corps of Engineers, and would tell stories of how steam powered "snag boats", stern wheelers, would slowly move up the rivers and remove "snags" so commerce could continue on the waterways. If you care about such things, you can see an old "snag boat" berthed at Alliceville, forty miles or so up river. Dick was one of my river friends. He was probably late sixties or early seventies and was single but hung out with what appeared to be a well-to-do widow. She would join Dick on his pontoon houseboat for short periods but never really seemed to enjoy the boat life although she endured because of her fondness of Dick. He didn't seem to mind if she was there or not, but in a nice sort of way... Dick was way cool. The Move to Little Rock was rather deliberate. That hot summer day in Alabama was simply a starting point; the ending point was over a year away. I guess it would be trite to say, "its the journey and and not the destination" that's most important but whoever coined the saying was absolutely correct. It took about three nights and four days to reach the State Park Marina at Picwick Lake on the Tennessee River. Mickey hadn't joined me at that point; it was in one of my former lives and I will defer details until later writings. The Tombigbee Waterway start es at the confluence of the Black Warrior and Tombigbee Rivers at about mile market 217 or so (please give my memory the benefit of the doubt and do not under any circumstances use my river markings as navigational aids) and pleasure craft find it a pleasant northern route alternative to the Mississippi, which Mickey and I can attest; details later. I've cruised the TBW from Demopolis to Pickwick on three occasions, one downbound and two upbound. It is has wonderful sights, a boring "ditch", lots of places cruisers must be mindful of wake and "good ole boys" who don't really think those "big ole yachts" ought to be down in the Heart of Dixie. They don't mind telling you either. I had to get between Mickey and one of these local enforcers once because he thought we were abusing his space. It's a good story but if I want to keep things in cruise order, I had better wait until a future installment before I share details. I will share this, on my original trip down from Picwick, after purchasing Detour (Recess at the time) and not knowing all the rules expected of cruisers by the home folks, let a roller off the stern hit a small boat tied to a dirt launching ramp mostly obscured by button willows. It was too late to slow so I continued down stream. I was remotely aware of the trailer house perched on the bluff above the ramp but it didn't compute until I heard the shotgun go off. I had heard stories of cruisers being shot at for leaving heavy wakes in inhabited areas but dismissed them as lore... don't believe for one minute that you can neglect responsible wake management without the possibility of retaliation. I don't guess I blame them; I'm just glad shotguns have limited range. I worried that the local Constable would be waiting for me at the next lock but I guess the shooter decided we were even. We spent the first night at Marina Cove, the second smallest marina with water, electricity and a gas dock between Dog River on Mobile Bay and the Tennessee River.

La Petite Roche

I don't remember the whole story or how to spell La Petite Roche, or Little Rock as the French keel boaters called it, as they traded their wares along it's shores, but it looked like I was destined to live there. My consulting job became my day job and I found myself working in a reasonably disfunctional non-profit, figuratively and literally, corporation in which I really couldn't make a difference. I knew I wouldn't be there long. Why did I abandon a consulting business that had become successful in its first year of existence and go to work for someone else? It wasn't the first mistake of my career and I'm sure it won't be the last, although my age will soon protect me from poor career decisions. The phone always is an inconveinience that bothers me and sometimes I just don't answer it; that's what machines are for. I answered it this time. Coach Patrick told me one time as he prepared to leave Miss State. I had become angry with him for leaving, how could you leave for the Univ of Kentucky. "If you don't take your career opportunities as they come, you only have yourself to blame". It didn't make me feel any better but it made a impact on my career path as the year's went by. I had just moved into the last home I would ever build; it was number six and the year was 2001. It's 2007 and this one is number 11. Number of houses are directly proportional to the number of careers or marriages, I guess. But I was about to own another home, this time in Arkansas. My consulting and new job had thrown me into an industry I didn't know much, anything, about. However, I made friends and the "make like you know what you are doing" concept was working. The phone conversation was short, "would you like to run a business for me in Arkansas". "Yes... what kind of business"? I was on my way to a new career and number seven. Detour is at home at the Demopolis Yacht Basin. 140 or so miles from Jackson by land, you can't get there by water, and a little over 1100 miles from La Petite Roche by water.

My President Elect

Circa 1998. Mississippi state retirement is a good thing. One can work in almost any capacity for 25 years and retire at any age at full benefits. Now, the state of Mississippi is a caring entity and wants the best for all its inhabitants but benefits mentioned here, while very helpful, would not support my need to cruise along with my need for food, fishing and some of the other finer things. It does, however, give me a little disposable income that can supplement my new career. Actually, my new career is the motivation for the circumnavigation of Mississippi. Some people know exactly what they want to do in life, develop a plan and work tirelessly toward achieving whatever it is they want. Some folks just kind of get into a "groove" and work until its over. My life, career and personal, has been a series of opportunities that I've been fortunate enough to experience. Some, not so enjoyable, but all valuable in my circumnavigation. It's difficult to write about experiences without mentioning multiple marriages. These are the only experiences I would choose to change if I had those elusive three wishes. The room was full of loud talking folks, mostly female, the crowd made it difficult to get around and visit. My consulting work with a non-profit corporation led me to a large casino on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. My charge was to hire a leader for the company's student services program. It would be a position that would generate a lot of interest. I didn't want to deal with a bunch of folks who were unhappy in their present jobs and looking for a new place to criticize. Guests filled the room quickly; the shrimp were more of an attraction than the alcohol. I could be mistaken about that. I had a room full of candidates for the position I was trying to fill. Now, how to single out exactly the right one to hire. I met a number of nice people but none interesting enough to merit a continued conversation. I moved to the front of the room; the plan was working, its difficult to move through the room. I focused on two guests, both attractive, well dressed and, at first glance, good "charactered" at least they weren't trying to clean the shrimp platter and carry the leftovers home. It was evident they knew; no, that's wrong... they were known and recognized by the group. As it turned out, one was the president elect of the state organization being entertained. Decorum called for a couple of additional candidates. It was pretty much done after the shrimp eating. The president elect served her presidency as an employee of my consulting client and the five years or so after that. We were married, July 17, 2005. I saved one of those wishes.

My Mickey

Mickey's walk is noteworthy, his right shoulder drops some and he kind of leans that way, looks down, up and takes a longer stride than you would think. He has a strong walk. I remember it better from behind. I followed him a lot. Practice was winding down and players were huddling in a small shady spot next to a bushy hedge, me too. August, 1968 seems like a long time ago in some ways but I remember clearly Mickey, at least I thought it to be Mickey, walking out on the practice field. Mr. Armstrong, our red-headed and red-tempered, superintendent had hired me to coach the junior high school but wasn't clear about what I was to coach. I didn't know why until a day or two earlier when he let me know about Mickey. He was worried about my experience level; can't imagine that. Mickey grew up in an experience loaded environment in places like the Kilgore Hills, Pheobe, Cedar Bluff, Drew and West Point, Mississippi. He coached in a big school in Atlanta and he worked one summer during college in Chicago at a Tottle House. He was experienced and I think my angel sent him. She, I guess angels are shes, also sent Mrs. Staggers. Mr. A, as Mrs. Staggers called him, hired me reluctantly on another occasion also. I remember him saying, "I wish you had more grey hair", it was the desegregation years in Mississippi and school administration wasn't what you would call a career opportunity. He hired me anyway. I remember him calling me to his office a few days before my rookie year began and without much small talk said directly, "don't make any big decisions until you talk to Mrs. Staggers". Mrs. Staggers had served as his secretary for a number of years and continues in that capacity. It didn't take me long to appreciate the wisdom of Mrs. Staggers and her careful way of helping me make the right decisions. Most of the time I even thought the ideas were mine; she didn't mind. A very rare quality. Mr. A never told me not to make big decisions without talking to Mickey but I am pretty sure he told Mickey he would be responsible if I made the big one. Mickey and I kind of grew up together, at least I kind of grew up with Mickey. He had an intriguing manner, that distinctive walk, dry humor with lots of wisdom in his quips and was pretty much the same everyday. A good friend and always said yes when the opportunity to cruise was mentioned.

My Detour

My Detour wasn't Detour at all, it was Recess. Actually, it started out as "Time Flies" and was owned by another Mississippian, whom I don't know, and was then sold to a Tennessean, whom I don't know, and then to another Tennessean, whom I do know, who gave it the name Recess. His wife was a teacher. I thought a very good name as I once was a school principal and understand the deep significance of Recess to the educational workforce... unless of course it is a playground "duty" week. I guess its still significant. However, a real boat person always wants to pen his own boat's title to portray the deeper understandings of... well, that's enough of that. I thought at length and developed a vast list of naming possibilities. Each time I believed to have the perfect moniker, I would discover that another deeper meaning kind of guy would have already had those uniquely personal and singularly intuitive revelations that led them to my perfect... that's enough of that too. Detour is a boat name that I haven't seen on the transom of anyone else's boat. I'm sure there are other Detours out there but I haven't seen them. If I do see another Detour, I am of the opinion that the statute of limitations on the privilege of others to lay claim to the name have expired and my Detour is the original and never to be questioned as anything other than the original. Deeper meaning; maybe. To me anyway.

My Green Canoe

I wasn't much of a reader but I liked the Popular Science that came in the mail once a month. It didn't take much reading; you could almost imagine what the words were saying because the pictures told a good story. It was late in my senior year of high school, 1964, and I found this canoe that you were supposed to be able to make at home. A redwood canoe that became a focus of my last months of high school; much more so than studying or choosing a college. I don't know if we could afford a canoe; I didn't really think about it, I just wanted one. In Mississippi canoes weren't very popular. There were only a few streams that could justify their use. But summer camps used them and I had canoe experience from being at camp. I also liked fishing and this redwood canoe would satisfy my need for boat ownership and fishing. As it turned out, it would have been more affordable to order a new canoe from Sears or somewhere. Redwood is expensive; especially in 2 inch thick boards 12 feet long. I don't remember how many it took to make the canoe but a number. This was a 16 foot long boat and the boards had to be cut into 1/4 inch strips, laid side by side on a form cut to the shape of my canoe to be. My father owned a residential construction company and it took one of his best carpenters pretty much all afternoon to cut those high dollar planks to material suitable to become my green canoe. The Popular Science gave explicit instructions for construction; I didn't like reading. They even would send the real plans for a few 1964 dollars but I knew that wasn't necessary because I had the pictures. Strip by strip that canoe took shape and it became obvious that I would soon have to test my hand at applying the fiberglass skin to those expensive redwood strips. I still remember being pleased that the shape of those strips were now closely resembling the shape of a canoe. Fiberglass is not a user friendly substance. It was also hard to find. Sears had green. The redwood was supposed to show through clear fiberglass but Sears had green. I could order clear but that would take longer than I wanted to wait. My green canoe began a lifetime association with boats and my circumnavigation of Mississippi and life. These writings really are about a lifetime cruise experience that took me and my friend Mickey around the state of Mississippi but it also gives me platform to chronicle a few lifetime experiences for maybe my family to enjoy when I'm gone. I look forward to sharing it... as long as I don't have to read it.