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.

Caruthersville, MO and the Casino Security Guards

While we made it to New Madrid more quickly than we thought, it took a little longer to get to Caruthersville than expected. The delay made me somewhat uneasy as darkness approached and we were without a suitable anchorage. Anchoring out for the night on the largest river in the US with tows pushing the largest rafts of barges in the world with trees and other debris making its way to the Gulf of Mexico with no respect for my Detour or our lives was a thought I really didn't want to have. I knew there was an Isle of Capri casino at Caruthersville and that it would make a safe place to tie up for the night... if we could make it before dark. We cleared the final bend and I picked up the outline of the casino boat with all its lights aglow. I'm not a gambler but I sure did like seeing that big ol' floating bunch of one armed bandits. We pulled up behind the boat and looked for a suitable place to tie. There was a "fantail" of sorts and a large cleat that would do nicely. Several pic-nic tables and chairs were arranged on the large covered cockpit deck. We had just completed our docking, which wasn't as easy as it sounds as the swift current of the river was boiling up from under its long trip under the big gambling boat and buffeting Detour in all sorts of manner. But, we were security tied and more protected than we would have been on the river and quickly turned our thoughts to our barbecue grill and dinner after a long and tiring day on the river. Now, I've been around guns as a hunter all my life and understand just what they were made for and when the casino security team charged onto the cockpit with their holsters unbuttoned and bullhorn ordering us to untie and move our boat immediately we wasted no time in uniting and backing off. As the current quickly began to move us into uncertain waters we yelled to the guards and asked if we could anchor behind the casino because it would be dangerous to try to find a safe anchorage in the dark. The response was to anchor no less than one hundred yards from the casino. We floated back the required distance and dropped our hook. Dinner, although delayed was just as good as it would have been otherwise. Other than about one billion mosquitoes and no air conditioner because the generator wasn't running well; the night was very enjoyable and we woke early the next morning to make our way to downtown Memphis, Tennessee.

Mississippi River Mile Marker 953.8/Cairo, IL

I wasn't quite sure what I was looking at when the Ohio River seemed to open up into a much larger body of water. I glanced down at the GPS and realized we were approaching the Mighty Mississippi and before I knew what was happening, the swift current took Detour, shook it a couple of times, and changed our course without me having to move the wheel. The power of the river was immediate and unmistaken; it convinced me within the first few seconds that it was truly the most demanding body of water I had ever cruised. Cairo, IL is the town closest to the confluence of the Ohio and the Mississippi and when I realized I was in Illinois, I knew I was a long way from home. The mile marker on the Mississippi indicated it was 953.8 miles from the Gulf of Mexico. I wasn't going all the way on this trip but I would have been more at home in the Gulf at that moment than in Illinois. I didn't have much time to dwell on my place on earth because a very large raft of barges was moving slowly up the river which quickly captured my attention. It was the first view from river level of the immense size of these floating warehouses. I knew they were big and this one, I would soon come to realize, was one of the smaller ones. We gave it a wide berth and our trip down the Mississippi had begun... whether we liked it or not. Bo, I think was the most excited or maybe concerned is a better word. He has a cautious kind of personality but when he makes up his mind to do something he seldome retreats. He had duck hunted on the backwaters of the Mississippi and had experienced some of the power of the river from that perspective and knew how unpredictable it could become. Now he was in a much larger boat and it took a few miles to realize, that while the river was still unprecictable, we were well prepared to handle the trip. Thinking of Bo's independence and determination, brings to mind an instance in our past that illustrates it clearly. During Bo's junior year in high school, I was working at Mississippi State University as Director of Development and had the opportunity to take the same position at the University of Pittsburgh. I knew it would be difficult for Bo to move to Pittsburgh for his senior year but for a number of reasons I needed to accept the position. I took Bo fishing to tell him of my decision to leave Mississippi, where he had grown up and where he decided to stay when his mother moved away. Bo and I had been together through some difficult times and had no idea his response would be, "I understand why you have to go to Pittsburgh and I'm happy for you, I just hope you'll understand why I don't go with you". And, he didn't. We worked out an arrangement with one of his good friends to spend the next year with his family. It allowed Bo to finish high school with his class and maintain his life in as close to an normal setting as possible. As it turned out he made a good decision as the position at Pitt was not a good fit and I left after the first year to have similiar positions at two other schools within a five year period of time before returning to Jackson for a four year stint as Special Assistant to the State Superintendant of Education. My responsibilities were focused on advocating for positive legislative initiatives in the Mississippi legislature. Probably, the most personally gratifying position I've ever held. This was a difficult period of life personally for me but the multiple positions and experiences allowed me to develop skills I would have never developed if I had not gone to Pittsburgh. It was a difficult period for Bo also and I hope the experiences he had helped him as much as mine did me. This was really the first time Bo and I had the opportunity to spend time with each other in some sort of noteworth manner and even though the time was short, it meant a great deal to me to be able to have it with him. I had arranged to have an oil distributer bring gas to a boat ramp in New Madrid, Missouri and to also spend the night there. I had miscalculated the time it would take to navigate the locks on the Ohio and the speed we could travel on the Mississippi so we took on our gas and shoved off for Caruthersville.

Paducah to the Mississippi River

After a "one eye" night we brewed a pot of coffee and opened a package of sweet rolls and carefully untied from the now infamous Big E Marina and headed out for our cruise on the Ohio and ultimately the Big Muddy. There were a couple of locks on the Ohio that the "book" said, "if the water was at the proper level craft could navigate over the wickets and bypass the locks." Well, I had never navigated over a wicket and didn't really want to begin now. I had decided to take the safe route and use the lock. As I recall, it was about an hour and a half to lock #52 and when I realized I was approaching a lock I couldn't see a dam. I began to believe there was a "low head" dam and I couldn't see it because water was releasing over the dam. I was confused at that point which isn't an unusual occurrence but the fear of falling over the dam made the confusion a little more disconcerting. I called the lock master and had no response. I'm getting closer to the dam and still no word from the lock master. I guess my voice telegraphed my uneasiness with the situation and the lock master finally answered my calls. His words were something to the nature of "the wickets are down, proceed over the dam". I asked him to repeat his orders and the second time sounded exactly like the first. At that point, I asked him if he really meant for me to go over the dam and he realized this was my first wicket dam crossing and he quickly reassured me that no harm would come to boat or crew. I still didn't like the idea very much but he was right and we continued down the river hull intact, even if my confidence was severely bruised. We approached wicket dam #53 about 10:00am and I handled it with no hesitation. Mississippi River MM 953.8, the mouth of the Ohio River and I see the biggest river I've ever seen in my life. I've seen the Mississippi on lots of occasions but never from this vantage point. It is immense and before I knew what happening the current takes Detour down stream and on our way to Caruthersville and our first night on the Mighty Mississippi. I haven't talked much about Bo, my son, and his good friend Jack. As you recall, they joined me in Memphis and drove with me to Kuttawa Ky to make the trip to Memphis. It's amazing, they slept like babies at the Big E and had no concern at all as we faced the "wickets" on the Ohio. However, they like me were quite excited about getting to the Mississippi River. If you grow up in Mississippi you learn the lore of the "Mother of Waters" early in life and to finally be cruising her is a real thrill. The thrill is multiplied by the known and the unknown. The known fact is that it is the most dangerous navigable river in the US not only from the strength and unpredictable nature of the river itself, but also from the many large towboats pushing unimaginably huge rafts of barges. The tows, while dangerous, can be seen and as long as you have power and headway, you can avoid contact which is not the case with the floating logs and other debris. Many times these river hazards can not be seen as they are held suspended just under the surface by the strong currents. On several occasions, we experienced large cypress logs that had been forced deep under the surface by passing tows "pop" up from the depths from behind the large vessels. We quickly learned to stay very clear of the river traffic. All in all, a trip down the Mississippi in a pleasure craft can be risky to boat, life and limb but never mistake the fact that to have completed it is one of the most rewarding feats of my entire life. I really didn't dwell on the dangers of the trip before or during the experience. I since then have thought a great deal about them. I was always aware of the perils and the danger to me, Bo and others on the trip but I also felt equipped to make a safe cruise and prepared to meet the dangers as they might arise. I didn't talk about it much during the cruise of the Mississippi, I didn't want others to worry but I know Bo and later Mickey always knew too the possibility of some sort of catastrophe.

The Big E Marina

It's just a few miles downriver on the Ohio to Paducah, the mouth of the Tennessee and the Big E marina, our mooring of choice (because it was the only choice) for the night. Let me take a minute to describe to you the Big E. It will be a little difficult because ones mind tends to blot out traumatic experiences and this marina qualifies as just that. (I'm sorry I don't have pictures) If you have ever seen those steel grates that are hooked together by our country's air force to lay on level ground and make an outpost landing strip, you know what I'll be describing. If you haven't, any level of imagination will do quite well. These steel grates, made up of empty spaces connected by the grating, provided the walk space on the dock. A small child would be in danger of dropping through those grate openings and I'm sure many cell phones have been victims themselves. The grates were free floating on 55 gallon oil type drums. I want you to get the real picture here, free floating means the line of grates, connected together, were moored to the bank at one end a to an anchor out in the river on the other, with lots of slack to move up, down and all around at the unpredictable whim of the Ohio River and its many passing towboats and barges. It is safe to say that this was the most exciting night of marina sleep I had had at that time and for sure since. I understand the Big E marina no longer exists; I trust its demise wasn't catastrophic.

The Big E was important because it was the last on river gasoline until we arrived in Memphis. Let's see almost six hundred water miles and a boat with a one hundred and fifty mile range. I carried gasoline in cans, which is more dangerous than the perils of the cruise itself. I guess I had no choice but I don't recommend it to anyone who might read this account. To make the trip possible, I carried six gallon cans of gas on the front deck and cockpit to trim the extra load. About 100 gallons worth. Don't do it. The extra weight high high on the boat changed the handling characteristics and multiplied the effects of the river's strength. I changed my gas handling method on the trip from Little Rock to New Orleans and I'll talk about that as we progress along the circumnavigation.

Kuttawa to Paducah, Kentucky sure does have some interesting names

It is rumored that Kuttawa is Indian for "leave your trailer in the parking lot and it will get towed". Anyone who has ever cruised and had to make layovers can tell you the two most difficult planning elements are fuel and land transportation management. How do I berth in a distant port, get home, get back and not have cars or friends scattered all over the country. In my experience car management is the most difficult issue in long-range inland cruising. I look forward to the day I can use layovers to enjoy the local sites, sit on the cockpit, have a cigar, sip good scotch whiskey and not worry about how quickly I get home and back to work.

As you will recall, I finally found lay over at Kuttawa and made my way back to Little Rock by car and spent the next month planning the most daunting part of the trip. Cruising the Ohio and the mighty Mississippi. I took driving trips along the path of my trip on the Mississippi because I knew anchorages and gasoline would be of serious consequence. My travels took me to Caruthersville, MO because they have a casino there and I thought it might give me a place to tie up and hide from the floating dangers of the river. I visited the casino to survey for layover possibilities. In the back of the casino there was a work area that looked to be suitable for tying off. It was in the eddy of the casino hull and anything coming down the river would hopefully be deflected. I checked with the casino office and received the number of the marina division, evidently some of their properties have marinas. I was questioned briefly and provided my USCG documentation number. The person put me on hold for a while and informed me I would not be able to tie off. All I could surmise was that I had not lost enough bets there to receive accommodation.

My second land survey of the river was to secure a supply of gasoline. No pleasure boat fueling is located on the Mississippi and obviously I would need gas. I read an account or two of other pleasure cruisers having gas delivered by a supplier in New Madrid, MO. The chamber of commerce in New Madrid was very helpful and put me in contact with MFA Oil Distributors (877-748-5300) and they never hesitated to offer a riverside delivery at the concrete boat ramp in the offshoot south of town at MM 888.5 or so. Just give us a call about an hour before you arrive and we will meet you. I knew it would take about one mile a gallon and I added 20% because of the 4/5 mph downstream current; not a deal breaking decision but I don't recommend it. I used almost as much gas going downstream on the Mississippi as I normally do in lesser current. I guess at the same rpm it doesn't matter much about the current. The Mississippi's current is very confused; sometimes going downstream you can see snags moving sideways or even upstream. Never underestimate the power of the Mississippi River's unpredictable currents, eddys and whirlpools.

OK, listen carefully this is complicated. On the morning of August 6, a Wednesday, I loaded my autocross Miata on its trailer, hooked it to my Honda SUV and took off bright and early for downtown Memphis Tennessee to meet my son Bo and his good friend Jack. It was the first stage of a multifaceted car management plan to get cars boat and people from Kuttawa KY to Little Rock, AR and various other destinations. We met up at the Mud Island Marina where we left Bo's truck and my Miata in the well protected parking lot and headed off, with car trailer in tow, for Kuttawa and the first cruising leg of our journey.


After loading supplies, fueling up and filling the water tanks we pushed off for the trip to the mouth of the Tennessee River at Paducah, KY. It was about 2:00pm in the afternoon and the 53 or 54 miles to the Big E marina on the Ohio River shouldn't be a problem, especially with the existence of the single lock at the Barkley Dam. We chose to stay on the Cumberland rather than the Tennessee because the lock on Kentucky Lake was backed up with commercial traffic. The Barkley lock master never answered my calls and we cruised in circles for about thirty minutes before he whistled us in. Not the worst locking I've had but its always easy to remember the difficult ones. I'll share a harrowing one with you later that happened on Lock 5, Arkansas River. Remember Mickey, I almost lost him.


The trip to the Big E was quiet, peaceful and beautiful. I knew however, the two biggest rivers in the US and one of the biggest in the world lie ahead.

Arrival at the mouth of the Cumberland where it emptied into the Ohio was quite a sight. I was excited to be there but I knew it marked the part of the trip that was the most dangerous for myself, my crew and Detour. Motor trouble, collision with one of the many large snags floating just under the surface or any of the multiple issues that could render a boat inoperable would be very difficult and expensive to overcome. I had decided the best option if Detour became hopelessly disabled would be burial at sea, or river. But that's not a good idea either because the EPA would fine me heavily, the Corps of Engineers would bill me for the removal of Detour and then impound her for sale as salvage. After worrying about all the things that could happen, I decided to not think about it and hope to deal with it if necessary. Thank goodness, I've cruised almost four thousand miles on the inland navigable waterways/intracoastal and Gulf of Mexico with no serious damage or mechanical issues that I or any "kinda handy" captain couldn't handle.

On to Little Rock: Pickwick Lake to Kuttawa, KY

Kuttawa, KY doesn't sound to me like it is the short way from Pickwick to Little Rock and if you are thinking that too, your right. I'm not prone to remembering dates or most anything for that matter but I remember getting to Kentucky Lake on the Tennessee River. I am sure I've never see such a gathering of boats, really big boats. I had a couple of Mobile Bay crossings under my belt at that point and I would liken the roughness of the lake to one of my more memorable crossings. The wave action generated by the yachts and a passing summer thunderstorm made the arrival one I would not soon forget. There was one other small memory that hung around for a while, the one about the marina giving my reserved slip to another "local" boat. I'm sorry Mr. Hemphill, we don't have a slip for you. One of our young staff members rented it to someone else. I'm now sitting in the middle of Kentucky Lake with a "capping" four foot surface and a cell phone signal that looked like a flat line in the emergency room... oh yeah, the date, I almost forgot, July 4, 2003. I opened my trusty Quimby's and started calling marinas to look for a slip I could get for a month's layover; remember its the fourth. My calls worked their way around Kentucky Lake and across the canal to Lake Barkley on the Cumberland River and into Kentucky. I finally located a berth for my month's stay at Kuttawa Marina in, yes, Kuttawa, KY. I'm actually glad, now that its over and I'm writing about the experience, that I was forced thirty miles or so Northeast on the Cumberland and off course because it's a beautiful river that I would have never seen. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to cruise it again someday. It would be neat to cruise down to Nashville anchor downtown or out at the Grand Ol' Opry and enjoy a couple of weeks of slow living and country entertainment. Now that I am safely birthed and fed, Kuttawa Marina has a wonderful restaurant and great burgers but as I recall it not "wet" except for the boat slips (bring you own whisky). I had arranged to be picked up way over on Kentucky Lake but as it turned out, as car management usually does on a cruise, my driver had to negotiate about seventy-five land miles and a couple of "lost and found" experiences before arriving at the quaint little village of Kuttawa. I didn't mention this in the beginning but this part of the trip was my only solo cruising experience. I know its not a good idea but sometimes it becomes necessary and besides I wanted to see if I could negotiate locks, stay between the markers and not scrape off the running gear on some of the all manner of flotsam found on our inland waterways. It turned out fine; I think I'll go for a solo Atlantic crossing.

A Year at Pickwick

The layover in Columbus didn't last quite as long Detour's time at Pickwick Lake on the Tennessee River. The trip from Demopolis to Little Rock was put on hold for about a year while we waited for a berth at the Little Rock Yacht Club and to gain the knowledge and work up the courage to attempt a cruse in such unknown waters. The wait could have been a lot worse if Pickwick Lake wasn't such a beautiful place to cruise. Pickwick is really about the first place to make a long layover on the Tennessee. There are a couple of marinas that are well appointed and provide good service but we decided on the marina at Pickwick State Park. The folks are friendly, the price is right and they had an open slip. The range of services there are not as comprehensive as Aqua Yacht Harbor on the Yellow Creek arm of the TennTom or some of the other Pickwick marinas but it was convenient and it was familiar because I had bought Detour there about three years before. I changed her name to Detour from Recess, which I thought was a great name but wanted her to have a name that was original, at least to me. If you are in the area and need assistance Lee Spry marine services is available. Lee is a surveyor of some reputation in the area and did good work for me.

This doesn't seem like much to say about a year's stay but I didn't get over to Pickwick from Little Rock very often; it's a long trip. I took the time to drive the route, at least as closely as possible, that I would be taking from Pickwick to Little Rock on the rivers. I wanted to look at marinas and check on places to get gas, especially when I left the Tennessee and entered the Ohio, Mississippi and the Arkansas. The story line will get more interesting as we go forward... I hope.

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.