tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5274805420892438612024-03-13T06:15:02.706-07:00Jon's River RunJon Ingersollhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15196961558989863459noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-13473937670887170262012-09-03T20:03:00.001-07:002012-09-14T12:40:05.241-07:00Day 67 thru Day 71Three Musketeers Tour South Florida . . . and go home<br />
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Day 67. Knowing that we had to get about 140 miles up the coast and into a marina in Miami today before they closed, Phil Berg, Dave Hewes and I got an early start from the Key West City Marina (Phil's the one kneeling).<br />
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The weather report indicated easterly winds gusting from 10-15 mph, so we knew we would be bucking the seas all the way back to Marathon. We motored around the west side of the Key, out into the Atlantic to the Hawk Channel route I had mapped on the GPS chart, and headed east.<br />
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We were fortunate to only encounter 1-2 ft waves generally, because we needed to make decent time. We maintained 22-23 mph, which was as slow as the boat could run and stay up on plane. This was a pretty tolerable level of slamming along, as long as we cut the speed when hitting a bigger "rogue wave", because that involved serious pounding. Dave and I rotated sessions at the helm, and Phil found that the best way to put up with the impact was to lie flat on one of the bench seats behind the console seats. This was our process for 4-1/2 hours until we ran under the causeway at Marathon, into quieter water on the Florida Bay side of the keys.<br />
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After refueling at Captain Pip's Marina, we headed north up the Intracoastal along the remaining keys. As we neared the mainland we encountered steadily more islands, and from time to time the channel ran through them.<br />
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We made very good time all afternoon, pushing hard. After crossing a couple of smaller bays, the channel opened out into the wide and very long Biscayne Bay. Thankfully the chop was light, so we could continue running hard. After a very long haul, we finally sighted the first skyscrapers in the distance (like Dorothy with the Emerald City coming into view).<br />
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We thought we were close to Miami, but it took another couple of hours before we pulled into the first No Wake zone there and motored slowly past downtown to our marina, arriving shortly before closing time. The Miami skyline is impressive.<br />
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Sea Isle Marina is not impressive, in my estimation. Every aspect was a little irritating, from trying to refuel to getting situated in our slip. We were not impressed with the management. But, it was adequately equipped and very secure, and Little Sadie was in for the night. We retreated to Springhill Suites for the night, where we had lovely accommodations, a very good supper (black bean soup and a Cuban sandwich for me, in Miami what else?), and the best free buffet breakfast we had ever seen.<br />
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Day 68. Back at the marina, a local yachtsman confirmed our fear that if we went north through the protected Intracoastal Waterway (IWW) we would have trouble making the ninety-odd miles up the coast to Stuart today, because of all the No Wake zones/Manatee zones. The weather report indicated moderate winds, but from the east-southeast, so the seas would be from the side and behind.<br />
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We ran out into the ocean through the Government Cut, the main Miami ship channel. As we reached open water, we were suddenly bucking serious 4-5 ft. waves and I thought we would have to turn back into the IWW. But, as we pushed a little further and turned north, the seas moderated to the level we were expecting. I later learned that there is a lot of current and turbulence as water funnels into that narrow channel.<br />
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We progressed northward, and were struck by the "gold coast" of high-rise condos and hotels that went on literally to the horizon north from Miami. This made what I had seen on the Gulf coast seem "sparsely populated" by comparison. What a glut of beachfront construction. And money. As we went north, the high-rise skyline rose up periodically, around centers like Hollywood, Ft. Lauderdale, Pompano, Boca Raton, Palm Beach. It was a pleasant relief for me to see stretches of just one-story, single-family affluence.<br />
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This day was somewhat smoother than the run up the Keys, but still a steady diet of banging along. We made good time, however, and by mid-day went inside at the Jupiter Inlet. We chose to run the last 20 miles up the IWW because of a report that the St. Lucie Inlet might be shallow and hard to navigate. In due course we reached the intersection with that river, turned left and followed it to the Monterrey Inn & Marina, just past Stuart. We had to pick our way through shallows (a well-developed talent of mine) to get into a slip at the marina, but once in, this was a very adequate place to spend the night.<br />
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Day 69. This morning Dave ran up to nearby Ft. Pierce to visit the factory of Maverick Boat Company, who make the renowned Hewes light-tackle boats, used for fishing in shallow-water flats. Amazingly, that Hewes is no relation to Dave's family who have made aluminum boats in Washington state for over a half-century. Upon his return, we left hurriedly to get to the first of several locks on the IWW going across the state -- because this one only opens on the odd hour. We did get there in time, and went through with two other waiting pleasure craft. I was pleased that I now had two crew members to man the bow and stern lines in the locks, so I could just drive and take pictures. Here are busy Phil and multi-tasking Dave.<br />
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We had a 30-mile transit through the St. Lucie Canal to Lake Okeechobee, and were watching storm clouds building ahead.</div>
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Happily, at mid-day we reached the next lock at the entrance to the lake and found it was currently being kept open. The water level in the lake was not significantly different from that in the canal. We started across the 30-mile-wide lake and were pleased to see the dredged channel was well marked and charted on the GPS. We buttoned up as we approached a rapidly-building storm cell, but our intrepid helmsman Dave pushed on and the channel took us under the edge of the storm, so we mainly encountered rain.<br />
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After clearing the storm we motored into Clewiston, where we had reserved a room at Roland & Mary Ann Martin's Marina. (Roland is the TV bass-fishing guy, I'm told.) We refueled and tied up along their dock and checked in. Imagine our surprise when they said there was a problem with the room we had reserved -- and they were upgrading us to a condo for the same (very reasonable) price. We enjoyed a fairly luxurious condo (swimming pool, etc.) for the night. Dave and I posed with Little Sadie as we got our bags out.<br />
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This was Friday. The open-air tiki bar at Roland Martin's is a happenin' place in remote Clewiston on a Friday night. We had a very good supper there, then Dave retired to do some emailing and Phil and I settled in to enjoy the pretty good blues/country/southern rock band. The music was great and the people-watching in this redneck cluster was as well. After a time, I wandered over to the open windows overlooking the dock, to check on Little Sadie in the failing light. I was struck that she was there, tied up and waiting patiently like my dog on his chain, and I felt an affection for the little boat akin to one's feeling for a faithful pet. Almost shed a tear. Must have been the vodka-tonics.<br />
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Day 70. We were halfway across Florida, so had to go some 70 miles today to Ft. Myers, and another 25 miles north on the GIWW to Cabbage Key, our island destination. And, on the way we had to negotiate three locks on the Caloosahatchee River, the drainage from Lake Okeechobee west to the Gulf. The third of these locks was another one that opened only on the odd hour. To make the 1:00 opening, Dave and I were pushing all morning, running along the river at 30-32 mph. Again, Phil elected to not do the driving chore, which was fine because Dave and I enjoyed it. As luck would have it, we arrived at the lock about ten minutes early, which couldn't have worked out better. <br />
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Things were a bit busy and confusing through the sprawling Ft. Myers area, but we followed the IWW path on the GPS and another boat that was also making for the Gulf Intracoastal north, so we made no wrong turns. I had set a GPS waypoint on the coordinates of Cabbage Key in Pine Island Sound, so we readily recognized it and motored up to the dock by mid-afternoon. Jeff the Dockmaster got us situated in a slip in the midst of patiently ushering all the boating-over-for-lunch locals in and out of the docks (like herding cats, I thought). We got checked in and shown to our room by our friendly hostess Marlene, and started to survey the place.<br />
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I was happy to get a room in the inn here, because my relatives Ray and Cathy had described it as a unique and delightful place to stay. It is great. Originally the 100-acre island was owned by a wealthy couple who built their home here. Then in 1944 new owners turned the home into an inn and built several cottages on the island as well. It is touted as a slice of "old Florida", and it is a very charming, rustic, laid-back place to stay.<br />
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Dave and I walked a lengthy nature trail, exploring the jungle flora, and climbed a watch tower to survey the scenery from the center of the island.<br />
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Phil and I sat on the front patio and basked in the balmy day until a large storm moved in and moved us into the inn.<br />
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We had excellent seafood dinners in the open-air dining room, now quiet because all the day-trippers had boated back to Ft. Myers, Port Charlotte or wherever. (I failed to mention that a boat is the only way to access Cabbage Key, save maybe a helicopter.) The main dining room has been decorated for decades with dollar bills taped up by patrons, giving it a shaggy feel.<br />
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Unlike our earlier accommodations, our bedroom had two smallish beds and not much floor space. Since it was Dave's turn at the "extra" bed, he opted to bed down on a Therma-Rest on the adjoining screened porch. It was hot and humid, of course, and he did not have a good night.<br />
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Day 71. After breakfast we recognized that a huge storm system was coming toward us from the south. We hurried and got underway, and once back on a northerly course in the GIWW, set about outrunning the storm. By the time we crossed Charlotte Harbor we had pretty much done that.<br />
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I advised Dave and Phil that since this was to be the final day of my cross-country odyssey, I'd like to just pilot Little Sadie on in to Tampa. They agreed. We stayed inside on the Intracoastal through the canal stretch up to Venice Inlet, and then moved out into the Gulf to avoid numerous No Wake zones. There was some threat of thunderheads building, but they fortunately dissipated. <br />
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We ran up the coast, following the underwater topography lines on the GPS to stay far enough out, and bounced along in moderate seas. When we reached New Pass we turned to go into Sarasota Bay. I saw a light-colored strip (deeper water) heading in there on the GPS, and without seeing buoys marking a channel in real life, started to follow that strip in. About the time we saw a boat speeding along off to our right, following small buoys, I realized I was in two feet of water and running aground. I had not seen the small print identifying my "deep-water strip" as Abandoned Spoil Area, which is the place they dump the stuff they dredge up out of the channel. We were out on a broad shallow flat.<br />
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I hurriedly raised the motor almost out of the water and raced it as we labored, painfully slowly, toward the channel across some twenty yards of frightfully shallow water. Montana deja vu all over again. We slowed almost to a stop, pushing along on the sand, and I had Dave run up front with Phil and me. That seemed to raise the stern just enough to let us break free and slide out into deeper water. The GPS chart had served me exceedingly well over these many weeks, but obviously I was still hanging precariously on its learning curve.<br />
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After a most enjoyable lunch with Phil's long-time friends Kristey and Tom Richardson, we headed north up Sarasota Bay. We soon passed Bradenton and Anna Maria Key and by mid-afternoon were out into open water where the Intracoastal crosses the ship channel under the Sunshine Skyway Bridge into Tampa Bay. A storm was developing to our west, and the water was getting rougher, but not too rough for a portrait with the Skyway in the background. <br />
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We made our way north up past the Gulf side of the bridge, and soon turned west into the channel into Fort DeSoto island and the boat ramps there. After some more picture-taking, we took down the boat top and stowed all the gear as well as we could, before a drenching thunderstorm drove us to cover ashore.<br />
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My brother-in-law Ray and sister-in-law Cathy arrived with my car and trailer, and the rain storm moved on. We trailered Little Sadie and all went back to Cathy and Ray's for the night. The 71-day boat trip was at an end.<br />
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EPILOGUE. The next day I put Dave and Phil on a plane to Denver (which turned out to be the first leg of Dave's trip home to Colville, WA). I hadn't known how the three of us would do in close quarters for five days, but we had a great time. We became great friends, through a little adventure, plenty of interesting new sight-seeing, and lots of laughs. I spent the rest of the day hosing and scrubbing down the boat, storing all the gear, and cinching down the cover. The next morning, offering many thanks to Cathy and Ray for all they had done, making much of the Florida part of the trip possible, Little Sadie and I headed for home.<br />
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I timed my return to rendezvous in Tallahassee with another Navy buddy, Jim Pearce, and his wife Mimi, dear friends for decades. They came over from Jacksonville and we had a memorable evening catching up on my trip and our lives since we had last gotten together.<br />
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It also worked out that I could participate in an informal annual gathering of the alumni of my high school near St. Louis. I joined about forty Western Military Academy alums at the Loading Dock bar and grill on the shore of Alton Lake in Grafton, IL. Though it was a rainy afternoon, we were under cover and had an excellent gathering. I saw a few more classmates that I hadn't seen in decades.<br />
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After two more days, I returned home to the foothills outside Denver and backed Little Sadie down the driveway to her spot next to my '49 Ford pickup.<br />
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My <a href="http://www.hewescraft.com/" target="_blank">Hewescraft boat</a> had served me well. The size and shape of the 200 Pro-V was
optimal for the range of conditions I would encounter. The design worked
well for a ten-week camper "living space". And I was MOST grateful for
Little Sadie's reliability and durability.<br />
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Like Odysseus, I enjoyed the fact that my old pup Riley immediately recognized me. And Delly and I were glad to have me home. <br />
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Acknowledgments: This extensive bucket-list voyage would have been more difficult or impossible without the help of the following, in no particular order: All my shipmates (George, Larry, Randy, David, Rachel, Adam, Bryan, Cathy, Delly, Ray, Dave & Phil), Nan & George Ingersoll, John Zeck, Phil Berg, Ray Gadd & Cathy Peckett, Dr. Jim Allbright, David Miller (The Complete Paddler), Ted Meeker, John Salter, Larry & Elizabeth McPhail (DuroBoat), Sam Evans (Captain's Choice), Capt. Bruce Peterson (Yacht-Pro), John Stamas (Stamas Yachts), Laura Cannell (Marine Navigation), Austen & Dave (Valentine's Marine), Michele & Paul (Paul's Custom Canvas), John Gunter & the folks at Northwest Marine & Sport, Dave, Clint, Brian & the folks at HewesCraft, Lowrance, Navionics, and Honda Marine, all our gracious marina hosts, my wife Delly . . . and everyone who gave us a good word or a helping hand that I've failed to mention here.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-67281731949384762922012-08-31T08:33:00.001-07:002012-08-31T08:33:42.655-07:00Day 62 thru Day 66Onward to Key West<br/><br/>My wife Delly, her sister Cathy Peckett and I were driven to the boat in Tarpon Springs early, to make the 140-mile transit down the Florida west coast to Ft. Myers before the end of day and hopefully before any afternoon storms. We ducked into the office of Stamas Yachts and met John Stamas, who had provided a docking place for Little Sadie. We had a nice visit and saw some of John's beautiful boats, then got underway early. We had been watching the weather report, and as predicted we motored out of Anclote River into a wonderfully calm Gulf of Mexico.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899721712" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8457/7899721712_a0fa12af34.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726321.5989" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>Since Cathy is an experienced hand with motorboating, I let her take the helm pretty much all day. She and her husband Ray had been up and down this coast numerous times, so she knew the territory.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899721054" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8320/7899721054_e3e0b0152a.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726296.7417" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>We made good time running down along the coast, and I was interested to see from the water the solid line of resort development along the barrier islands that border the St. Petersburg area. I knew from driving along the other side of this stretch that in general this is a very old resort area. Some of the old hotels should be in the National Register of Historic Places.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899722388" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8316/7899722388_1ab5b09d9e.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726323.6667" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899722950" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8322/7899722950_8c817faa87.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726307.131" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>After we crossed the channel going under the Sunshine Skyway Bridge into Tampa Bay, maneuvering around behind a fast freighter making it toward the port, we continued south past Bradenton to a pass from the Gulf inside to the protected GIWW, at Longboat Key. As we made our way to a dockside restaurant for lunch, it was interesting to see dozens of boats parked in the middle of the bay along a sandbar, the people parked on their beach chairs in and out of the water. Apparently all these folks ducked out of work before Friday noon and were setting up to have a weekend beach party.<br/><br/>After lunch we went back out to the Gulf and ran down past Sarasota and Venice, then moved inside through another pass, and turned south on the Intracoastal Waterway. Cathy said this strategy allowed us to avoid many No Wake zones by staying outside to this point. From here we stayed in the GIWW all the way to Ft. Myers. The passage alternated between canals and bays, and we made good time. Some of the bays, such as Charlotte Harbor, were quite large, but the day marks and the route on the GPS made the channel easy to follow. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899723462" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8174/7899723462_7699e371ff.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726344.6384" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899724024" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8446/7899724024_ed3a0c9ee0.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726266.5698" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>In Ft. Myers late in the afternoon, I had to decant a Jerry can into the gas tank and we got directions to a fuel dock. After refueling, we tied up at the dock at the Pink Shell, our destination hotel for the night. I was piloting the boat, and learned how powerful tides can be as I struggled to get the boat maneuvered into a slip. The Pink Shell is a very luxurious, and pricey, resort hotel, but we were celebrating this get-together after my long odyssey, and I enjoyed a little luxury after sleeping on the boat so many nights. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899724616" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8303/7899724616_4275910604.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726298.7656" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>Cathy's husband, Ray Gadd, had driven down from Tampa and met us there. He thought the Pink Shell was trying to be a little like Disney World, with an over-the-top variety of visual features and activities. We had a nice seafood dinner in their open-air restaurant and settled in for the night. I enjoyed the view from our balcony west across San Carlos Bay toward Sanibel Island.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899725532" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8031/7899725532_86936ec83e.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726280.2117" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>Day 63. The girls drove the car back to Tampa, and Ray and I headed out of the bay into the Gulf and moderately choppy seas. I programmed a waypoint into the GPS with the latitude-longitude coordinates of Captain Pip's Marina in Marathon on the keys, our destination for tonight. Ray had learned that the recommended transit was not directly to Key West, but to this point on a key about halfway between the mainland and Key West. After we got some distance away from the coast, we set a "GoTo" line from our position to the destination. This feature displays a straight line to the target on the GPS chart, and your boat is a moving icon along it. All you have to do is follow the line. Very cool, as long as it doesn't lead you over any islands. This one actually did, so we went further west and set a new course that kept us well away from the coast. Ray took the helm for most of the day, and I took pictures.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899738084" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8300/7899738084_2e348eee2d.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726282.0452" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>We passed Naples, Marco Island, and Cape Romano, after which there is practically no settlement along the coastline and its Ten Thousand Islands, as this stretch to the Keys is all the western limit of Everglades National Park. Soon our course took us out of sight of land.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899738796" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8440/7899738796_e9fcbb428c.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726320.5862" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899739496" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8439/7899739496_1a9529612e.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726352.5513" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>It was interesting to see the water color change, with the sunlight and the depth. We agreed that we liked the green color that the Gulf usually presents at this latitude.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899740000" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8457/7899740000_becace94d2.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726333.5684" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>By mid-day we were still riding moderate waves, but far to the south we could see an almost unbroken line of clouds building. Ray had explained that a squall line is indicated if the bottoms of the clouds start to show a flat, continuous dark underside. I thought these were starting to do that, and I was quite concerned that this line was probably between us and the Keys.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899740550" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8034/7899740550_9f292b6601.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726290.4912" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>We kept running up on plane as fast as the chop reasonably allowed. Fortunately, as the afternoon wore on, the line of clouds slowly moved off to the east. We sighted land again as we passed Cape Sable, the south westernmost extent of the Florida mainland, and entered Florida Bay. As we approached Marathon we tried following some channel markers, but eventually slowed and called Captain Pip's for directions through waters fraught with islands and shoals. Barbara, the manager there, guided us through to the harbor entrance and into the marina's docks. We had enjoyed a good day's run down the Gulf coast.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899742708" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8437/7899742708_0630d4518b.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726352.7424" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>We were shown to our room in one of the guest houses, which were a little hard to navigate through among the gardens and palm trees, but charming for that reason. I felt that Capt. Pip's was a homey, old-style Florida Keys resort, and I wished I were staying longer than one night. Barbara and the guys on the dock made us feel right at home.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899741228" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8305/7899741228_296f3d6da9.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726301.9143" class="" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div>Ray and I had an excellent seafood dinner at the on-site open-air restaurant and settled in for the night. I checked on Little Sadie and took her picture in the failing light.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899742228" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8438/7899742228_3208f25f88.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726376.0115" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div>Day 64. Ray had learned that the preferred route from Marathon west to Key West was to go out into the Atlantic, because the Gulf side (referred to as "the Outback" by locals) was too cluttered with shallows and islands and shoals. We listened to the weather and it sounded like we would have 1-2 ft. waves, but from the southeast, so more or less from behind as the line of the Keys curved to the west.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899790590/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8029/7899790590_f0d19a04ab.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726361.3132" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899793404/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8442/7899793404_1b6c065eec.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726347.1296" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>I was concerned about running into shallow water along the Atlantic side. Back up in Carrabelle I had watched Capt. Bruce Peterson plotting courses on his paper charts, so I pulled out my chart book. I found that there was a handy recommended course drawn along Hawk Channel and lat-long coordinates printed at every point where this route bent progressively from south to west. I plotted these into the GPS, and we had a safe course to follow right to the turn up into the west side of Key West. Ray ran this course in good time, and we found our way to Garrison Bight (harbor) on the north side of the Key before noon. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899795682/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8296/7899795682_287c308447.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726342.4702" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>We tied off in our slip at Key West City Marina and took a taxi to historical Old Town and our B&B hotel, Pearl's Key West.<br/><br/>By late afternoon Delly drove in from Tampa, with my buddy Phil Berg, who had brought my car and boat trailer to Florida from Denver (so I could trailer the boat home after completing my voyage). We gathered up Ray and walked about 17 blocks down the "main drag", historic Duval Street. Delly and I had been here about 40 years ago, and it was now much changed. Apparently largely spurred by the arrival of cruise ships, this area had become a carnival scene -- bars, restaurants, galleries, souvenir shops, consumer offerings of every description without end. I didn't care for it, particularly because there was this evening a cruise ship in port, and Duval Street was like a swarming anthill.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899799732" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8176/7899799732_dd33c60989.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726342.8767" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div>I was pleased to see one of the landmarks from yesteryear, Sloppy Joe's Bar. Ernest Hemingway had lived and written his best-known books a few blocks away, for a dozen years in the 1930s, and this was his watering hole. The owner, Joe Russell, was one of his best friends and deep-sea fishing buddies. I'm a life-long Hemingway fan, so I find all this very interesting.<br/><br/>Day 65-66. These days were just tourist days in Key West. Ray flew back to Tampa and Phil nosed around town pretty much pursuing his own interests. Delly and I did a satisfying trolley tour around the historic old town area. I was interested to learn that after a fire burned much of early Key West, the city fathers made it a law that all the buildings had to have metal roofs, and they do. Here is the view from our balcony at Pearl's. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899843042/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8455/7899843042_960af2e538.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726294.1514" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div>Delly enjoyed the butterfly pavilion one afternoon while I worked on the next leg of the trip. She also drove up to the next key and went through the botanic gardens. One day we had lunch at Sloppy Joe's, and on another occasion I enjoyed some excellent key lime pie (one of my reasons for coming here, after all). <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899840960" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8451/7899840960_71ae7cf112.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726309.1638" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899841532" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8313/7899841532_1d4b51855d.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726299.9192" class="" alt="" width="373" height="500"></a></div>My favorite turista outing was when we toured the Hemingway home, and while the large stone house, outfitted mainly with antique Spanish furnishings, was beautiful and interesting, I liked seeing Ernest's study above the carriage-house. Kind of a shrine.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899840230" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8441/7899840230_7424d61b7b.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726319.7595" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899822774" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8319/7899822774_7eeb6ce704.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726351.1038" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>One evening before supper Delly, Phil and I went up on the roof of the La Concha Hotel, where folks congregate outside the rooftop bar to watch the Key West sunset. This hotel, built in 1926, is the tallest building in old town -- six stories tall. It was cloudy so the sunset was a bust, but I enjoyed the view over the city.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7899842368/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8462/7899842368_bd77740e53.jpg" id="blogsy-1346420726351.462" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div>I was unsure about how to get back up to the mainland, out in the Atlantic or through Florida Bay on the Gulf side. Because it had been so rough coming west along the keys in the Atlantic, and every day the wind was coming from the east-southeast, I had real concern about beating against the seas all the way back along the 75 miles to Marathon. After Marathon, a well-marked Intracoastal channel goes up the inside, along the keys in Florida Bay, and would be no problem. However, on the Gulf side from Key West to Marathon the chart indicated that one would have to make a wide circle to the north, to avoid all the shallows along the keys.<br/><br/>Here came another random guardian angel. One morning while I was puttering around on the boat, a young fellow named Tony Conner came up and remarked "That's an Alaska boat." "Oh, you know about that? Yes, it's that type." We got to talking and I asked if he did boating, and he does. I explained my dilemma, and he said "If you try and go up through the Outback (the Gulf side), you really better know what you're doing. It's a mess." After some discussion we agreed that, even though it might be rough, the best bet would be to follow my charted route along Hawk Channel in the Atlantic back to Marathon, then shift inside and go on up in the Intracoastal sheltered by the Keys. Now all we would need the next morning was not too much wind and waves.<br/><br/>The final leg of the trip, now that I had reached my original end-point at Key West, involved looping around south Florida and returning to Tampa to disembark there. This would mean going a third of the way up the Florida east coast to Stuart, following the Intracoastal canal across the state through Lake Okeechobee to the west coast at Ft. Myers, and backtracking up the coast to Tampa. <br/><br/>Months ago, when I had described my planned trip and blog to Clint Kirry, the marketing manager at Hewes Marine (the boat manufacturers), he said that he and/or the president Dave Hewes might be interested in coming along on the trip for a couple of days, to see me and the boat in action on this very unusual application. Discussion evolved to the plan that Dave Hewes would fly in to Key West from their headquarters in Colville, Washington, and accompany Phil and me on the final five-day leg of the trip.<br/><br/>At the end of the day Tuesday Delly and I met Dave at the airport, properly outfitted for boating, with all his gear in a large backpack (complete with fishing pole). We got Dave set up at the hotel, met Phil, and over dinner started getting acquainted with our new arrival. I outlined my in-process agenda for the next five days, requiring reaching certain objectives each day in order to put Dave and Phil on airplanes in Tampa early the morning of the sixth day. Because the first day would be a push to get out of the Keys and some distance up the coast to a marina in Miami, we planned getting underway early the next morning.<br/><br/> <br/><br/>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-60652097197487229882012-08-28T11:48:00.001-07:002012-08-28T11:48:09.759-07:00Day 57 thru Day 61Big Water<br/><br/>Day 57. The next section of my trip, from Mobile, AL to the Tampa, FL area, would involve crossing Mobile Bay to the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway (GIWW), following it to its eastern end at Carrabelle, FL, and crossing the Gulf from that panhandle jumping-off point to Tarpon Springs, just north of Tampa. The GIWW is a system of canals and bays protected from the Gulf by barrier islands, thus a relatively comfortable transit for barge and pleasure boat traffic. My nephew Bryan Ingersoll would join me from Pensacola back to Tampa, his hometown, and I would do the first seventy-mile day to Pensacola on my own.<br/><br/>I said goodbye to my Australian friends Brian and Susan, who were flying home that day, and discussed the next days with Capt. Bruce, who was taking their yacht Invictus along the same route I was planning. Bruce said, about the transit to Tarpon Springs, that he'd feel better if I followed him across. The northern Gulf can get ugly, and in a hurry, he advised. I said I'd feel better too, so we agreed to meet in Carrabelle in 2-3 days.<br/><br/>Advised about a course to set to short-cut across Mobile Bay, and setting a GPS waypoint on the GIWW near the southeast corner of the bay (30-odd miles away), I set out in a calm morning. I ran along up on plane making good time, exhilarated to be offshore, knowing my way, on a beautiful day. I was so excited I emailed this first shot home with the subject line "Hoo Hah!".<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881755422/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8434/7881755422_4faf23c9e0.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178641961.9111" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881761664/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8425/7881761664_e55deb9a4c.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178641980.182" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>At the south end of the bay I entered the Intracoastal and proceeded east along a sequence of alternating canals and bays. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881766146/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7280/7881766146_6555b8a605.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178641982.8616" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>I was happy that the GIWW was marked by dotted line on my GPS chart, because the physical markers out in the bays were often far apart and difficult to spot. But for a few NO WAKE zones in the canals, requiring idle speed, I made good time. I was to see many such zones in the coming days. The barrier islands on my right were increasingly populated with resort high-rises, but in some areas were just sand barriers.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881769938/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7253/7881769938_f832494554.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178642008.2373" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881773552/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8285/7881773552_560f3d7612.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178642026.913" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>I was looking for an eatery recommended by Elizabeth the looper called Floribama at the state line, and at one point pulled close to some young boaters on a dock and asked if I was in Alabama or Florida. "Florida -- Alabama's back that way." I said "Don't want to go to Alabama -- been there." They laughed and applauded. Easily amused. I moved on.<br/><br/>Bahia Mar Marina was a good place to stay overnight in Pensacola. I spent the afternoon staying relatively cool in my covered boat slip and worked on blogging and emailing. At day's end an excellent duo started singing in the open-air on-site sports bar. I enjoyed the entertainment, and continued what was becoming a nightly seafood diet. The other thing I enjoyed about the marina was watching the incredibly efficient process of moving boats between dry-storage bins in a tin building and the water. These kids had the technology.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881776098/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8289/7881776098_123f0623ca.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178642023.3975" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/>Day 58. Bryan showed up early, and after discussing the destinations for the coming days, we set out for Panama City, some ninety water miles to the east. The day was overcast, and afternoon thunderstorms were forecast by the NOAA channel on the VHS radio. We progressed through several bays and canal stretches. On some of the barrier islands we could see trees killed by hurricanes.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881779568/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8439/7881779568_384ff3a984.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178642019.2388" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>Here again, the manufactured stretches of canal were referred to as "the ditch". Between the long Choctawhatchee Bay and West Bay near Panama City we motored through a long stretch of the ditch.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881785288/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8437/7881785288_b4d1f39f1d.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178642014.1726" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>By the time we crossed West Bay and came into St. Andrews Bay at Panama City, a following storm overtook us. As the wind, waves and rain hit us we ducked into an unidentified boat slip along the shore, tied off, zipped up, and waited it out. I was impressed with how a storm cell could quickly boil up a relatively narrow bay. After the storm blew by we found the marina, fueled up and tied off in our slip.<br/><br/>We were in luck for a place to stay, because a close friend of Bryan had made his house available to us in his absence. And, the friend's mother Marian also lived in town and came and took us to the house. Then Marian further shuttled us to the store to pick up supplies and dropped us in an area with restaurants. And all this while interrupting her very lucrative run at the bingo hall!<br/><br/>Bryan and I ate supper twice. The first waterside spot got my vote with a dozen big oysters on the half shell for $5. The second, nearby Captain's Table, had wonderful fish dinners, and sitting at the bar we were entertained by the banter with the guys shucking oysters (dangerous pastime, I thought) and dishing up the good chow.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881788328/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8294/7881788328_cb9583677c.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178642030.0928" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>Our walk home took us through the city park, where we happened upon Panama City's prized four-headed Pindo Palm, the only known one in the world. Definitely worth the price of admission. It was very hot through the night, so we were thankful that the house was air-conditioned.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881791108/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8285/7881791108_1a37ecacec.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178642014.7747" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>In the morning Marian picked us up and took us to the marina in the rain. She reported that she had returned to the bingo hall and had continued to rake in the big bucks the night before, so we didn't feel so bad about interrupting her run of luck. She also reported that the weather outlook was not good and thought we should stay over. We deliberated at the marina, but decided to push on as the rain slackened.<br/><br/>We ran out of Panama City through good-sized East Bay, seeming to outrun the storm cell over the town. At the east end of the bay we made our way through the longest stretch of "ditch" so far encountered in the Panhandle. During this stretch, I was pleased and puzzled to see SUPERTUG tied up along a dock. Someone yelled "JON!" as we slowed, and we swung around and came alongside. Skip and Katy greeted us and I introduced Bryan to these buddies from the Tenn-Tom. Skip said they had developed a problem with the towboat's steering, and were delayed a few days waiting on parts. We were invited to tie up and come aboard, but we begged off because we had much of the hundred-mile run to Carrabelle yet ahead of us, and an approaching storm behind.<br/><br/>The rain caught us by the time we came out of the canal into Apalachicola Bay and approached the little town of Apalachicola. I had set a waypoint on the coordinates of the town marina, so we pulled in there and tied up at the public dock. Since we were wet just from getting the boat secured, we zipped Little Sadie up and walked into town as the rain abated. Bryan had been here years earlier with his dad (my older brother Al), so we made our way to the Ore House restaurant to see if they still had the to-die-for buffalo wings. They didn't, but we had a good cheeseburger lunch as we dried out.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881808712/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8430/7881808712_2c9edbd5ee.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178642008.712" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>By the time we left town and ventured out into Apalachicola Bay, the wind was up, and we had a couple of hours of pitching and rolling as we made our way across that bay and up the length of St. George Sound. I was constantly thinking of my friend John William Davis's song "Hurricane", warning of death and destruction across Apalachicola Bay. This was giving us both food for thought about getting out fifty miles offshore in the Gulf in a day or two.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881812526/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8434/7881812526_cde4194a3e.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178641997.5107" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>We motored up the river into Carrabelle in late afternoon and checked into The Moorings, where we put the boat in a slip and retired to a very nice on-site motel room. Later we walked the several-block length of town, noting the many signs of a local economy that had dried up. So many Closed and For Sale signs on businesses of all sorts. The town was almost eerily quiet. We were unable to find a place to eat, other than maybe a Subway, so we went into the town's lone watering hole, Harry's Bar, for a beer. It was an ancient place, delightfully full of character. And characters. <br/><br/>Joel, an enterprising pizza vendor sitting next to us at the bar, hearing our plight, offered to go back to his closed establishment, make us a pizza, and bring it to us. We agreed to an exotic type that he recommended, and off Joel went. Sure enough, in 25-30 minutes he rolled in with our pizza. It wasn't the odd one he'd suggested, but was the house "Everything" model. We were famished and thought that was just fine and tipped Joel handsomely. We took the long walk back to the marina and turned in, happy to have good beds in an air-conditioned room.<br/><br/>Day 60. By this time Bryan and I thought it best to take Bruce up on his offer about crossing the Gulf. So, since Invictus had not pulled in yesterday, this was a layover day in Carrabelle. One fine-looking establishment was the library, so Bryan holed up there most of the day and prepared for his upcoming opening days as a math teacher in Tampa schools. I did my usual downstream logistics and blogging, and some odds and ends on the boat -- where I got caught for the afternoon downpour.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881822082/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8423/7881822082_e6147a6176.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178642020.4507" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div>Invictus motored in by late afternoon, and Bryan and I went aboard and visited with Bruce and Ryan, his second-in-command who had joined him in Mobile. We all found a nearby fish house that was open, and over dinner arranged to meet before daybreak and be ready to embark at first light.<br/><br/>Day 61. I did not sleep well anticipating this day's trip, and did not welcome the early alarm. We cleared out of the motel, pulled out of the slip, gassed up the boat, and with some final instructions and coffee, shook hands with Bruce and Ryan, and started down the river in the first dim light. The early start was to improve our odds of beating late-afternoon storms in our 160-mile passage.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881828278/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7267/7881828278_984ef7af98.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178642043.623" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>We fell in line behind Invictus across the Sound and past Dog Island into the Gulf, then set a southeasterly course for Tarpon Springs. Waves were choppy, but we were making 20-23 mph and in their wake we enjoyed more rolling waves than choppy. (My GPS readout computes mph, so I don't talk about knots - nautical miles per hour. Pretty much the same, 1 kt=1.151 mph.) <br/><br/>Things went well until late morning, as we headed toward a very broad cloud mass, and Bruce radioed "We're gonna get wet in 7-8 miles." Bryan zipped the side panels closed all around and we went on. In a few minutes things changed rapidly. The skies darkened incredibly, heavy rain started pelting us loudly, and the oncoming waves rose to 3-4-5 feet. Invictus slowed to maybe 10 mph, but I had to slow much more, as the slamming through waves became steeper and more jolting. There was no Hoo Hah about this open water -- more like Oh Hell! I radioed Invictus "I'm losing sight of you in the rain." Bruce coached "Just keep on this heading and when you get out of it, we'll find you." They had radar.<br/><br/>The slamming was so intense I was concerned Little Sadie might split a seam, but Bryan was confident because these welded aluminum boats are made to go fishing in the Pacific off the Alaskan coast. We labored on for another 15-20 minutes until skies ahead started to lighten and the rain and waves started calming. At this point for the first time Bryan freed up his grip and shot a picture.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881834126/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8303/7881834126_befd05388c.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178641986.8308" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="400"></a></div>Capt. Bruce let us catch up and announced the decision to run east toward Steinhatchee, to get to shallower water and so we wouldn't be "taking it on the nose" so badly. Further, we would try to make Cedar Key for the night. To my protestation that we really kind of needed to get to Tarpon Springs, he advised "In boating in open water, you can't have a schedule -- you have to take it as it comes." Chastised, I replied "Okay. Thanks, Bruce." We'd just have to work out our downstream scheduling problems.<br/><br/>True enough, things were much calmer in 25 feet than in 50 feet of water, and we started making good time down the coast. After a while, though, I radioed that the slow going had used up so much gas that we were going to have to refuel from some of our five Jerry cans, and we would catch up with them. The gas tank is at the rear corner of the boat, so leaning out on the motor cuddling five-gallon gas cans in rolling choppy water was challenging. Bryan held the back of my belt and I got ten gallons decanted without dropping a gas can overboard. The operation was a success.<br/><br/>The instruction had been to follow course 165 degrees to catch Invictus. My too-small, mounted-crooked compass was little help, and I hadn't learned how to use the compass functions in the GPS, but I found I could line up my iPhone with the edge of the "dash" and do quite well staying on course using its compass app. We pushed as fast as we could and eventually caught sight of the yacht, and soon fell back in line.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881867086/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8429/7881867086_13b9d0368b.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178642013.06" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="400"></a></div>The anticipated afternoon squalls were apparently not materializing ahead on the radar, and we were relieved when Ryan radioed that he was setting a course for Tarpon Springs. We were happy to run along at their speed in that direction. We watched thunderheads form and dissipate along the horizon, but nothing threatened for the rest of the afternoon. It was sunny and the seas were again moderately choppy.<br/><br/>As we approached Anclote Key, where the Intracoastal resumes heading south, Bruce said he was going to stay out in the Gulf and run on south to Clearwater. He gave us instructions about how to find the starting markers for the GIWW, we wished each other safe travels, and our courses diverged.<br/><br/>I had little trouble following the day marks past the inside of the Key to the turn into Anclote River, and as the sun went lower behind us, we motored the few miles up the river into Tarpon Springs. I had been there before, on other people's boats, so knew my way fairly well. The problem was to find our arranged mooring for the night.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881844492/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7113/7881844492_2997aca21b.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178641986.9556" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>My DuroBoat friend Larry had put me in touch with a fellow boat manufacturer in Tarpon Springs, John Stamas of Stamas Yachts. After some wandering around the channels in town, I got in touch with John by phone and he graciously guided us to his company's dock. I knew I already liked the guy. Bryan and I tied up Little Sadie and were glad to step onto dry land.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7881845676/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8425/7881845676_b7d902c79e.jpg" id="blogsy-1346178642048.6038" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>We had had a good run together, with varied experiences and an exciting day to top it off. Bryan's friend arrived and took him home, and my wife's sister Cathy arrived soon after to take me to their house. My wife Delly was simultaneously being picked up at the airport and would join us at Cathy and Ray's lovely place in nearby Land o' Lakes. Delly and Cathy and I would come back to the boat early tomorrow and continue south.<br/><br/> <br/><br/>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-57057793305124103012012-08-26T11:58:00.001-07:002012-08-26T11:58:25.332-07:00Day 50 thru Day 56Tombigbee to Mobile<br/><br/>Day 50. After cousin Michael Baskin left and we dropped Rachel at the Memphis airport, my son Adam and I drove back to Midway Marina on the Tenn-Tom Waterway at Fulton, MS. Very generously, George (the fellow on duty at the marina) loaned us his nice car so we could run the twenty miles to Tupelo and drop off the rent-a-car. Nice man. Let me comment: all down through the "deep South" I was repeatedly struck by the hospitality, courtesy, politeness, and generosity of folks we came into contact with. It was a real pleasure to me to have practically everyone I passed look me in the eye and offer some pleasantry, respond to my greeting, etc. This is not the case everywhere I go, and the difference was very noticeable.<br/><br/>Since it was Sunday evening, the restaurant at the marina was closed, so we cooked on the boat. Our pantry was not well-stocked at this point, but Adam cooked up some red beans and rice burritos, which really hit the spot. As it turned out, this would be the last supper cooked on the boat, because of the heat at day's end and the availability of restaurants near our docking places. Tonight it was hot into the evening, but the marina was quiet and we slept all right.<br/><br/>Day 51. We were already 50 miles along the Tenn-Tom, and still had 400 miles to Mobile, Alabama. Today we had an easy cruise to Columbus, MS and the river was beautiful.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861090834/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8432/7861090834_32eb95a788.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040871.306" class="alignnone" width="500" height="375" alt=""></a></div>We had to go through four locks and were unsure about what delays they might present. We got out fairly early, and had only short waits at all the locks, so made good time to Columbus Marina, arriving early afternoon. Adam took the helm most of the way, and became a proficient deckhand in the locks.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861090088/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8293/7861090088_472722f65e.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040864.555" class="alignnone" width="500" height="375" alt=""></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861089112/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8434/7861089112_07fc8c8a0f.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040937.9175" class="" width="375" height="500" alt=""></a></div>We were greeted at the marina by T. Caldwell, the manager, who got us into a covered slip and invited us up to the store/office which was deliciously air-conditioned and had a lounge area and cold beer. We spent the afternoon visiting with T., who entertained us with tales of his Air Force time in Colorado and Wyoming, his avocation as a competitive barefoot water skier (new one on me) and other tales. T. And his assistant Jimmy run a clean, efficient, well-maintained marina and they're good company. We enjoyed the stay.<br/><br/>Some days earlier I had gotten a call from another of my WMA high school classmates, Loren Horn, in Tuscaloosa, AL, and we had arranged to meet in Columbus. Again, this was a first contact after 49 years, but living four years in a military boarding school makes pretty strong bonds. Loren came and picked us up and we had a great visit over dinner in Columbus. He retired after a career in the Marines, and then retired again after a career in the aerospace industry. Hopefully I will see him again next year at the 50th reunion. (50th reunion?? How the hell did that happen??)<br/><br/>Day 52. By this point on the Tenn-Tom, ACE had started dredging out the original channel of the narrow Tombigbee River as much as possible, and were only cutting a new straight stretch through the forest where the river was too tightly serpentine for reasonable navigation. We saw these spots, on the chart and along the river, where oxbow side channels departed and entered the waterway. All along, there was very little of interest to look at. T. Caldwell at Columbus had warned us that "Up here you have some homes along the river from time to time, but further down, nothing but trees for days." During this day the river wandered across the border into western Alabama, and T's prediction was more and more correct. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861091650/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8428/7861091650_996fd52161.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040862.21" class="alignnone" width="500" height="375" alt=""></a></div>The river continued to be all ours, but for an occasional fisherman along the bank, and two towboats. We passed through a few more locks without issue, and by late afternoon were happy to finish a 120-mile cruise and pull into the Demopolis (AL) Yacht Basin. There are not many places to stay along the Tombigbee, and this is the second of three along the 335 miles between Columbus, MS and Mobile, AL. You are kind of "out there" -- but not "out there" like you are on the Missouri River in Montana, I reminded myself.<br/><br/>Because, of course, it was impossibly hot and humid and the marina had no "customer area", we fueled up, secured the boat in a covered slip, and repaired to the on-site restaurant/tavern. During happy hour we got into a very interesting conversation with Jim Goodreau, a local fellow at the bar. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861092416/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8286/7861092416_fc08f7b5e9.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040923.2783" class="aligncenter" width="375" height="500" alt=""></a></div>Jim had gone to the NASCAR races at Talladega numerous times, and had gotten mobile-camping sites inside the track. The tales he told were very amusing -- crazy folks running around there. The tales he told of a hurricane slamming his town down along the Florida panhandle, and damaging boats people had brought seventy miles up the Tombigbee to escape the storm, were all but amusing. I'm glad I live in Colorado. Jim was good company. After we had dinner and the evening had cooled slightly, we went back to the boat.<br/><br/>As we were setting up our bunks, we noticed a few little brown ants filing along the gunwale. We brushed them off and I thought "Okay, somewhere along the way we've picked up some ants. We'll see if they become a problem." I think we established that they didn't seem to bite, and they weren't very numerous. We went to bed. It was hot.<br/><br/>Day 53. Imagine my surprise, as I quietly crept out to the bow the next morning and found it fairly swarming with little brown ants! I stepped off onto the dock and looked at the stern line, where we had trussed up the side of the boat snugly against the dock bumper. The line tying us there was covered with ants, scurrying back and forth. They were coming aboard from here!! I cast off the stern line, leaving us secured at the bow, which line did not yet show a brown parade coming down its three feet to the boat. It would shortly.<br/><br/>I thought it was interesting that, when I asked in the office/shop about borrowing a courtesy car to go out and buy ant spray, they had Raid on the shelf right there. A known issue. I went back to the boat and Adam was up. His Therma-Rest pad lies on the deck, but he hadn't gotten bitten during the night. At least that was a good thing about our little brown stowaways. We recognized a serious management problem now. We could not spray anything we would be handling (lines, etc.) because the danger of getting Raid in our eyes, etc. would be too great. We did a little spot-spraying and set about getting out of there as fast as possible. <br/><br/>But, that brought up another issue. We were at the end of the row of slips, next to the shore, and for some reason every bit of driftwood in the marina basin had drifted over in front of us during the night. This was a logjam, with logs up to 5-6" thick. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861095004/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8299/7861095004_6dfdd2c494.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040943.2078" class="alignnone" width="500" height="375" alt=""></a></div>After Adam shoved some bigger ones aside, I gunned and then stopped the engine. We lurched out of the slip and coasted through the debris (which could have damaged a churning propeller), floating clear. As we pulled out onto the river and headed south with our hundreds (thousands?) of new passengers, we did not have a very glowing memory of Demopolis Yacht Basin.<br/><br/>The only haven for boaters in the last 218 miles from Demopolis to Mobile is Bobby's Fish Camp, about 100 miles down the line. It's just about the only sign of civilization through that stretch, as I recall. We had called and reserved a small cabin there, so went through the last Tombigbee lock and ran the hundred miles by early afternoon. Bobby's is an interesting spot, with a dock running maybe 150' along the river bank as the total accommodation for boats. If there are too many boats, they then double-park, one tying off outboard of another, their fenders and good graces making this a workable deal. Actually, a sign in the office prohibits tying up more than four abreast! It would block too much of the river. <br/><br/>As soon as we tied up and checked in, we removed all the storage boxes, coolers, etc. from the boat and laid a heavy stream of Raid around the perimeter of the deck area. Ants had not gotten into food, though they were in the storage boxes. Thank goodness for zip-lock bags. We closed up the boat to fumigate, as we had a cabin to go to for the night.<br/><br/>Lora Jane Dahlberg McIlwain runs Bobby's. Bobby was her dad who ran the place all his life and passed away a couple of years ago. Her great-grandfather started the business in the 1880s as a place for steamboats to refuel, presumably with wood. What a tradition. Lora Jane runs a good operation. There is a sign as you come off the dock prohibiting a list of activities, ending with "Bad Behavior". Among their claims to fame is Best Catfish in the Southeast, but this was a Wednesday night and the catfish were off on Wednesdays.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861098364/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7134/7861098364_4181739863.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040867.491" class="aligncenter" width="500" height="374" alt=""></a></div>As the afternoon wore on, four sizable yachts pulled in to the dock, and Little Sadie had just room to tie up at the narrow downstream end, where she was politely bumped to make room for the yachts. One of the others was outboard of a second one. We got to visiting with the folks on two of them. Janet and Harold Creel's boat "Bucket List" is from Merritt Island, Florida. <br/><br/>The other yacht, "La Marie", is owned by Brian Morisset and Susan Fisher of Adelaide, Australia. The boat's master is Capt. Bruce Peterson, whose boat services business Yacht-Pro is out of Aventura, Florida. The three of them were taking La Marie (soon to be re-christened "Invictus") from its previous owner in Chicago to Mobile. Then the owners would fly home to Australia, and Bruce and a first mate would take the yacht to Ft. Lauderdale for painting, then to Savannah, GA where it would be loaded onto a ship and taken to Australia. Bruce will fly there to meet it in Melbourne, and he will pilot it a thousand miles down the coast to Adelaide. I know, and the answer is: They don't make boats like this in Australia! It is an absolutely gorgeous 58' craft, and Adam got a distant shot of it before other boats had come in to dock.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861097182/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8448/7861097182_6f74a2d794.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040890.9927" class="alignnone" width="500" height="374" alt=""></a></div>Capt. Bruce prevailed upon Lora Jane, and she and her assistant opened up the kitchen, feeding the crews of Bucket List, Invictus, and Little Sadie our fill of The Best Catfish in the Southeast. And it really may be that. So good. Adam got the group: Jon, Janet, and Harold on the left, Susan, Brian, and Bruce on the right. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861099576/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8443/7861099576_63e857acef.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040948.3645" class="aligncenter" width="374" height="500" alt=""></a></div> Then all the three crews repaired to the upper deck of Invictus and sipped wine and shared stories until late evening.<br/><br/>Day 54. By the time we rallied the yachts had gotten underway. We set out into the pleasant morning, again having the river to ourselves, again having nothing to look at but trees. Unlike the Missouri River country, where cottonwoods dominated the riparian strip, here the unbroken thicket was a mix of many deciduous varieties, and gave the impression that if you left the river you would be jungle-crashing through it for miles. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861095876/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8425/7861095876_7755324ffd.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040887.7043" class="alignnone" width="500" height="375" alt=""></a></div>The water was calm, so we were up on plane, cruising easily at 25 mph. We each, when piloting, found it refreshing and relaxing to stand up in the open walk-through door, head and body out in front of the boat roof, enjoying the wind in the face while controlling the boat with minor flicks of the hand on the wheel. The river was a bit monotonous, but truly beautiful.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861093030/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8433/7861093030_18d1f59cd0.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040951.2266" class="alignnone" width="500" height="375" alt=""></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861093732/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8445/7861093732_0e53f273ca.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040899.0615" class="" width="500" height="375" alt=""></a></div> <br/><br/>As I had read in a boating guide, the sudden shift from pristine forested river scene to industrial frontage opening to the Mobile area was a little shocking. The changing weather as we passed the downtown area was as well.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861463980/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8436/7861463980_0592a49a7d.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040874.5178" class="alignnone" width="500" height="375" alt=""></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861127058/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8428/7861127058_d01ae37e2b.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040950.1409" class="" width="500" height="375" alt=""></a></div>As we left the city and followed channel markers out into Mobile Bay, we could see that a large storm was overtaking us from behind. I had set a waypoint on the GPS for Dog River Marina, down the right-hand shore several miles below the city.<br/><br/>The prescribed approach was to go past that point down the main channel toward the Gulf, then turn back to the northwest and enter the mouth of the river. In this area of the bay, getting out of a channel could quickly mean running aground. Because rain and wind and waves were picking up rapidly, I elected to try a shortcut showing some depth on the chart, as an alternate access across the bay to the river mouth. We followed the line on the GPS and the depth gauge intently for fifteen minutes, bouncing in two-foot waves and heavy rain and depth hovering at 4-1/2 feet with momentary dips, and we were very quiet. Then we were through the shallows, joined the channel into the river, and were much relieved to pull into the marina, albeit in a downpour.<br/><br/>Dog River Marina is a good place to stay, and Little Sadie was set up in a covered slip now for three nights. With some coaching from another boater we tied the boat so it would properly handle tides, which was an issue for the first time. If the dock doesn't float and you tie up too tightly, then you can have problems with the water level rising or falling, sometimes a couple of feet or more -- potentially tipping your boat over. We teamed up again with the Invictus trio, as we knew they were also going to stay here for a few days. We continued to get to know the Aussies Susan and Brian and the Floridian Bruce over dinner at the nearby yacht club that looked out over Mobile Bay.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861130416" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8425/7861130416_1491cd7bff.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040893.1135" class="alignnone" width="500" height="374" alt=""></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861129288" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8287/7861129288_b48fea5b37.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040938.056" class="" width="374" height="500" alt=""></a></div> <br/><br/>We turned in for the night on the boat, but during the night Adam had to rearrange his bed because the fumes from the Raid had not dissipated yet. It was hotter and muggier than ever.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861132080" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7127/7861132080_1a0bfc8bd4.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040916.1208" class="" width="500" height="374" alt=""></a></div>Days 55-56. We spent a lazy Friday and Saturday around the marina, I doing laundry, housekeeping, blogging, and making arrangements with downstream crew members and places to stay. And, we spent time relaxing and reading in the shade and breeze on the office/store porch, where we also enjoyed lots of stories offered by the manager Ricky, about the marina, boats and boaters, and many things. We also spent time on the boat and were happy for a covered slip during the daily afternoon downpour.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861131180" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8432/7861131180_2055202a6e.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040884.2275" class="aligncenter" width="500" height="375" alt=""></a></div>Friday evening we went with the Invictus folks across the river to The River Shack, which was an excellent no-frills fish place. Adam caught this evening view up the river from the Shack.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7861133412" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7112/7861133412_729b23df3b.jpg" id="blogsy-1346007040972.5513" class="aligncenter" width="500" height="374" alt=""></a></div>Saturday afternoon Adam said goodbye to our fellow travelers and I took him to the airport. We got the Tenn-Tom week done on schedule, and got him home to Denver in time for his first anniversary on Sunday. It was a fine and memorable week. <br/><br/>After I returned to the marina I enjoyed the company of the Invictus folks at dinner, and then I returned to the boat to get ready for an early departure south across Mobile Bay. I was a little concerned but mostly excited, to be venturing out into such a big open body of water, and going alone.<br/><br/> <br/><br/>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-18746695055285360712012-08-22T22:15:00.001-07:002012-08-22T22:15:54.345-07:00Day 44 thru Day 49Rachel Bags Four New States, and Memphis<br/><br/>Days 44-45. Daughter Rachel and I headed south out of The Breakers marina early, up Kentucky Lake past the broad mouth of Big Sandy River. I was happy to have the GPS display of the channel up the Tennessee River, because it would be easy there to go up the wrong river valley. Our boating friend Larry McPhail had armed us with a list of marinas ahead, and after some research we decided to make it a long day and go for one he recommended at Clifton, TN, with the idea of laying over there for a day. We could afford that luxury because we really did not have too much distance to travel to our weekend destination near Tupelo, Mississippi.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842513288/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8435/7842513288_8a4c54ffd3.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917732.12" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">In a few hours we saw the lake narrow as we approached the inflow from the river itself. On the river we saw practically no other boater activity, perhaps because it was a weekday. As we made our way up the river we passed a few towboats, but we had no problems passing in the fairly narrow channel.<br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842650978/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7125/7842650978_331a31c7e6.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917667.3906" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">The scenery was beautiful (I should be able to sell this shot to Mr. Honda for the big bucks, I think).<br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842514806/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8448/7842514806_f109408d6e.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917722.9084" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842515470/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7131/7842515470_01fa25c1a9.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917666.4348" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>By late afternoon we came to the small town of Clifton and ducked into the marina's basin. As we pulled up to the gas dock, a lady hurried out to take our lines and tie us off. She helped us gas up the boat, and indicated that the only covered slip was off in a far corner. But, considering a moment, she rushed off and moved her own boat out of a nearby slip, so we could have easy access to the main building, showers, restrooms, etc. This lovely lady was the manager Sonja, and I later told the owner that I hadn't seen such a friendly and helpful welcome anywhere on my trip.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842516972/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7268/7842516972_d652d988e5.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917750.3503" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>Rachel and I totally enjoyed our two-night stay at Clifton Marina. Owner Gene Davidson is a congenial sort, inviting boaters and locals to spend time in the store/office/cafe. We ran a couple of errands in their courtesy car, but mostly just relaxed at this down-home friendly place. We visited with a couple of yachtsmen whom we would see again further south, and I was put on guard by one fellow who had just come north out of the Gulf. He had spent the worst two days of his life slamming across from the Florida west coast to the Panhandle in 2-4 ft. seas and more. I was looking forward to that passage in reverse, in a lot smaller boat. The second night Sonja cooked up a tasty supper for a few of us boaters, then we got a picture of her and Gene, and said our goodbyes, anticipating an early start in the morning.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842516398/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8283/7842516398_a440d40794.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917683.6733" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>Day 46. We continued about sixty miles up the Tennessee River to the dam at Pickwick Lake, and Rachel was trained as a deckhand in her first lock. She was very interested in this process, and took dozens of pictures in this and subsequent locks we went through as the week progressed. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842518896/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8304/7842518896_41b8d849a7.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917736.6772" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/>I had gone through four already on the trip, so at this point was fine-tuning the boat's approach to a bollard along the wall to which the deckhand would attach a line. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842518164/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7246/7842518164_f4bf5f7912.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917724.4258" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>Then it took one of us in the bow and one in the stern to keep us attached and fend off the wall so the boat didn't scrape on the concrete as the water level was raised or lowered. We got fairly proficient with it, eventually.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842519716/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8424/7842519716_a18c8bf83a.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917743.673" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>A few miles after emerging into Pickwick Lake, we reached the exit point, where the Tennessee-Tombigbee Waterway starts off to the southwest, and our journey left the Tennessee River. In 1985 the Army Corps of Engineers completed this system of canals, locks, and dredged river channels to allow barge traffic to go between the Ohio River and the Gulf of Mexico, via Mobile Bay. I was delighted to learn, years ago, that my trip would not have to involve the lower Mississippi River, which is boring, boater-unfriendly, and potentially dangerous. Most north-south pleasure boaters, such as great-loopers, opt for this "Tenn-Tom" route.<br/><br/>The lock at Pickwick Lake steps a boat up, as the travel is still up the Tennessee River. Once on the Tenn-Tom, a long descent begins, through about thirteen locks stepping down to the Gulf. So at Pickwick Lake we were at a high point in our travels since leaving the Ohio valley. Also, since this is a popular pleasure-boating area, there are several good marinas to choose from. We settled in for the next two nights at the Aqua Yacht Harbor Marina, soon after leaving Pickwick Lake.<br/><br/>Immediately as we pulled in to the fuel dock there, I saw a familiar sight. Tied up along the dock was a large towboat, under conversion, named SUPERTUG. I had run into these folks a week earlier at Hoppe's Marine on the Mississippi, south of St. Louis. After we got the boat tied off in our assigned slip, Rachel and I borrowed one of the marina's courtesy vans and went down the road to a fish restaurant. After we sat down at our table, the people at the next table got our attention. I realized they were the SUPERTUG crew, recognizing me from Hoppe's. We chatted there, and then went aboard for a tour after we got back to the marina.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842545094/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8286/7842545094_8228350549.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917749.736" class="alignnone" alt="" width="374" height="500"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842545912/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7264/7842545912_8f7779953f.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917721.7488" class="" alt="" width="374" height="500"></a></div> A. C. "Skip" Lembright and his daughter Kaitlynd were taking SUPERTUG from the Upper Mississippi River to Key West, FL, to set it up as a floating motel. Skip had already done substantial remodeling of the interior. After a career in the U. S. Merchant Marine, he is well equipped -- with experience, licenses, and skills -- to bring this post-retirement dream to fruition. Katy is a student at the women's merchant marine academy in New York, and was looking forward to hiring on with fishing boats in Key West, an apparently lucrative summer job. It was fun to visit with these guys and learn of their pursuits.<br/><br/>Day 47. This was a layover day at Aqua Yacht Harbor, and we spent a good bit of it sightseeing, using a courtesy van. We were very impressed with the nearby national military park at Shiloh. The park is beautiful, with drives that take you around through the various battlefield sites, set with plaques, statues, and shiny refurbished cannons. I was most impressed with the 20-30 minute film in the vistor center about the Battle of Shiloh. In very graphic action it puts you in the middle of two days in which over 23,000 men and boys were killed or wounded.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842546514/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8422/7842546514_bf86a0b5a8.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917759.8667" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>From Shiloh we went to nearby Savannah, TN to see the Tennessee River museum. This was very worthwhile, particularly because of my interest in the development of commerce on the inland waterways. That evening we again went out to eat, but the offerings were limited in the marina area. Pickwick Lake, incidentally, sits on the intersection of Tennessee, Mississippi, and Alabama. So, we crossed over Pickwick dam and went some distance to a little town in Alabama that had a few restaurants, and the fried catfish was very good. By this outing, Rachel managed in her week on the boat to see for the first time Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi and Alabama.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">Day 48. Today was Friday, and our goal was Midway Marina on the Tenn-Tom at Fulton, MS. This was only about a 50-mile run, but included the first three of the thirteen or so locks that step the Tombigbee River down through Mississippi and Alabama. The first of these is the most impressive, dropping the water level 84 feet. All the others step down about 30 feet each. You are way down in a huge box by the time you are let out of the first one.<br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842548278/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8301/7842548278_910e5c7a66.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917696.4229" class="alignnone" alt="" width="375" height="500"></a></div>They call the canal part of the Tenn-Tom "the ditch". It is not very interesting scenery, being the same the whole way. But, there was no barge traffic and we made good time, not having significant wait time at any of the locks. We reached Midway Marina, checked in, refueled, and tied off in the covered slip where the boat would be kept until Monday morning.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842550104/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8301/7842550104_ed9f4e3830.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917687.3284" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>Rachel and I were heading for Memphis on Saturday, to rendezvous with my son Adam (flying in from Denver) and their cousin Michael Baskin (driving over from Chattanooga). We all had blues and BBQ on the brain! But right now I was processing how to get the 20 miles to Tupelo to rent a car. Somebody at the marina didn't show, so nobody there could take me. But here came the kindly bystander. I had been chatting about my trip with Sam Evans there, and he volunteered to take me to town. It would create a long dogleg in his trip back north to Pickwick Lake, but he stepped up anyway. A very nice man.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842549372/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8308/7842549372_e09e6e0057.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917741.062" class="" alt="" width="374" height="500"></a></div>During the drive and over lunch I learned that Sam had run a substantial crop dusting business, until genetic engineering of cotton shut down that industry. Then he had somewhat accidentally gotten into the boat-broker business, and now in a short few years had grown Captain's Choice into one of the most successful yacht brokerage companies in the Southeast. (I was to see his business cards and promo materials in marinas all the way to the Gulf.)<br/><br/>That evening Rachel and I had a nice dinner in the restaurant next to the marina, and then spent some time with other resident and transient boaters, sitting on the dock swapping stories over beers. One young man broke out his guitar, and I found that I could still finger some chords and croak out some lyrics, even though I hadn't touched a guitar for most of two months. The evening was cooling pleasantly, the setting was mellow, and the folks were great. Here's a shot I took over the marina on the way back from dinner.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842550574/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8437/7842550574_0e91408944.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917751.284" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>Day 49. We made a breakfast stop in Tupelo at Waffle House (boy, does the South love Waffle House!) and drove the hundred miles to Memphis by late morning. We checked into a nice hotel around the corner from Beale Street (the blues-bar strip) and soon Rachel's cousin Michael rolled in. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842551182/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7121/7842551182_275c42b690.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917786.7158" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>To kill time until Adam's late-day flight, we toured the Civil Rights Museum and the Gibson guitar factory. And, we went to the Peabody hotel for a drink and to join a packed house of tourists watching the daily 5pm ritual where a bunch of ducks end their day in the lobby's fountain and parade out (on red carpet) to their home for the night. A long-standing tradition, I'm told.<br/><br/>After we retrieved Adam from the airport, we had a barbecue dinner at The Rendezvous that stood up to all the rave reviews we had heard. Wonderful place. By the time we reached Beale Street, it was getting dark and Saturday night was in full swing. They block off three or four blocks, where all the blues bars are, and the street is full of people. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842551922/" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8301/7842551922_79981aca5f.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917778.214" class="" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div>Drinking out in public is encouraged, so it is a steadily jollier throng. I thought it was like Mardi Gras without the parade. We heard some excellent blues and soul music in four or five places, and wandered off to bed around midnight. We had done Memphis.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7842552688/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8296/7842552688_1b1e777f4f.jpg" id="blogsy-1345696917782.2036" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div> <br/><br/> <br/><br/>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-7458586171439779872012-08-21T07:37:00.001-07:002012-08-21T09:43:07.327-07:00Day 40 thru Day 43Good Friends, Old and New<br />
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Day 40. After getting my copilot David to his plane in Louisville, I went to visit my dear friends from my Navy days, Tom and Glenda Bumpas. We had a lovely evening reminiscing about those times, when I was a junior supply officer on a guided-missile destroyer and Tom was the chaplain for our division of three of these ships. He was and is one of the kindest and most thoughtful people I've known, and is one of the few Navy folks I've had contact with since that time. He is now retired from a career as a minister and counselor, and Glenda has been a teacher in Louisville schools. They were gracious hosts and fun company.<br />
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After breakfast Tom gave me a driving tour of Louisville, and I was delighted to see neighborhoods of spectacular nineteenth-century homes. The city's cemetery is the largest and most beautiful that I have seen, including a substantial region of gravestones from the civil war.<br />
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At lunch time I took my leave and drove up the river a few miles to meet a classmate from high school (Western Military Academy in Illinois). Don Higgins had emailed me and asked if my boat trip would bring me anywhere near Louisville, and I replied that this side-trip certainly would. We had had no contact since graduation 49 years ago, but I felt like we were still close friends, and we had a great visit learning about each other's lives. Don has retired from a career mostly in the printing industry, and still pursues his long avocation as a flight instructor. Interesting guy.<br />
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In the afternoon I returned to Paducah for a night alone on the boat. While I relaxed there, in a covered marina slip, there was a substantial downpour. Soon after, kids arrived to feed bread to the turtles in the water. These turtles arrived in force, and they are as big as a plate. (All the little dark spots in the water are turtle heads.) But, the geese arrived and ate the bread, and kicked water in the turtles' faces. There was no contest.<br />
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Day 41. This was a laid-back marina day, which I have grown to really enjoy in the course of many days of pushing to stay on schedule. I had a leisurely breakfast, drank a lot of coffee, did laundry, straightened things up on the boat, and worked on the blog (really, I did). Green Turtle Bay is a well-run, well-equipped, and clean marina to spend time in. One of the best I found on the trip.<br />
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In the afternoon I went to the Paducah airport, eager to see my daughter Rachel, arriving to spend the next week of the trip with me. I was even more eager to see her after the several-hour delay caused by big storms between Chicago and Paducah. When the commuter flight came in it was late afternoon, so we went down to the cute riverfront area and had an early dinner at the very good Whaler's Catch seafood restaurant.<br />
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I am sure you can google Paducah river wall or something and see more examples. We joined the promenade there, and it was dark before we drove back to Barklay Lake and the boat in Green Turtle Bay Marina. We organized Rachel's gear on board, set up our bunks, and turned in for the night.<br />
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Day 42. This was another quiet marina day. We did some errands, looked around, turned in the rental car, emailed, planned the coming week, and read. Dinner in the on-site yacht club was very nice. We slept on the boat, anticipating a fairly early start south up Kentucky Lake on the Tennessee River.<br />
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Day 43. Some days earlier I had received an email from a fellow named Larry McPhail, who owns the DuroBoat company in Huntingdon, Tennessee, that makes aluminum boats. His regular web search "aluminum boat" had come across my blog and he invited us to meet him on the water as we went south up the Kentucky Lake. He mentioned that his two daughters had done the Great Loop around the eastern U. S. in one of his boats. I replied that I knew of the girls' amazing feat (6000+ miles in a 16' open outboard boat in about 75 days) and that we were most interested in getting together with him and his daughter(s) on our way south. This was the day we would meet them at a marina in Tennessee.<br />
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First, though, we made our way through the canal from Barklay Lake to Kentucky Lake and turned south. It was a calm morning, and I turned the helm over to Rachel right away, as she had done some time with the boat last year in Colorado lakes. We were immediately struck by how beautiful the scenery was, particularly along the Land Between the Lakes on our left side. This is a pristine nature preserve that separates the lakes in the valleys of the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers.<br />
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By early afternoon we were in Tennessee and met Larry, his daughter Elizabeth (the younger of the two "loopers"), and their friend and boat builder Sammy, at the Breakers Marina near Buchanan, where we arranged to dock the boat for the night.<br />
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There are a number of marinas in this area, and since it was Sunday, several drew large crowds with live music in their open-air bars. So, we spent the afternoon inspecting several of them and enjoying running the boats around the lake. <br />
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Larry and Sammy took turns at the helm of Little Sadie, and Rachel and Elizabeth raced along in a bright yellow DuroBoat -- the very boat Elizabeth and her sister Katy had used to cruise the Great Circle. (They had gotten to the Mississippi from Wisconsin, then followed the Tennessee-Tombigbee route to the Gulf, crossed Florida, went up the east coast to the Hudson, and followed the Great Lakes back to Wisconsin.)<br />
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We spent a totally enjoyable afternoon, learning about their business and picking up many tips about sections of the trip yet ahead of me. Here we are with the DuroBoat gang and this particular marina owner (2nd from left). After the DuroBoat gang went home, Rachel and I spent a nice night on the boat at Breakers, guests of Robert "Rookie" Edwards and his wife Terry.</div>
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A few days later, Elizabeth published an article about our visit and my expedition on the website the sisters maintain with information useful to river and coastal boat travelers. The link is</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-81658826482017452842012-08-07T11:29:00.001-07:002012-08-09T07:23:58.545-07:00Day 37 thru Day 39A Whole New Ball Game<br />
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Day 37. On Monday morning David and I left St. Louis, and got an early launch at the St. Charles boat ramp with gas, ice, and the good wishes of our buddy Ted Meeker, who had kept the boat in his yard over the weekend. Our goal was to get the remaining thirty miles down the Missouri River, through a lock in the Mississippi, and most of the two hundred miles down to the mouth of the Ohio before nightfall. That was a tall order.<br />
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We blew down to the confluence in short order, and I reflected that Little Sadie had made the first leg of the trip, the long 1,846 miles down the Missouri River from put-in in Montana. What a fine boat, more than equal to the task.<br />
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We immediately pulled across into a canal leading to the Chain of Rocks lock. The Chain of Rocks is a spot where the Mississippi River drops over four feet, over a rocky ledge. I wonder at how Samuel Clements and other steamboat pilots back in the nineteenth century were ever able to go up and down at that spot. But they somehow did. Now the towboats and "pleasure craft" step down through the lock.<br />
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A lock, as you may know, is an ingenious mechanism consisting of a huge concrete box (200'x600' or 200'x1200', typically) with pairs of huge doors at both ends. Water level in the box is adjusted to your height, you motor in and tie off to a large floating cylinder (bollard) recessed in the wall, water is pumped in or out to the level of the river at the other end, those gates open, and you motor on out.</div>
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The problem is that you might wait hours to get through a lock because of the volume of towboat traffic. We were now seeing a cluster of them waiting to "lock through", and in general a great increase in barge movement from what we saw on the Missouri.<br />
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David and I had read up on the correct procedure to follow, so when our turn came we motored in, tied up to a bollard with not too much lost motion, held there until the water was pumped down, and motored out when the gates at the downstream end opened. But, the wait had cost us three hours. We went downriver past St. Louis, getting a view of the Arch that not too many see. I was reminded that when I lived in St. Louis we thought of this Gateway to the American West as a grand croquet wicket.<br />
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When we refueled at Hoppe's Marine Service that afternoon, we were told that we wouldn't get anywhere near our objective in the Cape Girardeau area that day, but could motor into the mouth of the small Kaskaskia River a few dozen miles down on the Illinois side, radio the lock master at the lock there, and get his permission to tie up there. We did and cooked supper and had a quiet night there. <br />
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On the way into that quiet river, however, we heard a loud BANG on the side of the hull. Then we saw a sizable fish fly out of the water in front of us, and then another. We had been warned about the flying Asian Carp, which hang out in slack water and do jump out of the water, especially when excited by boat motors. We saw a dead carp on the concrete structure where we tied up, and it may have jumped there -- four feet above the water level. These fish grow to over two feet long and are stocky, so when one jumps up and slams your boat, it is attention-getting. They have been known to jump into boats, injure people on impact, even knock people out of their boats.<br />
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Day 38. The next morning we motored out of the Kaskaskia and ran at a rapid 30 mph down the Mississippi. We had to get down that stretch, up the Ohio River through two locks to the Paducah, Kentucky area, south up the Cumberland River to a lock, be lifted up into Barkley Lake, and find our destination, Green Turtle Bay Marina, before dark. Getting underway at 7:00 gave us 14 hours to make 210 miles and three locks. It seemed manageable, but a tall order. With all our spare gas cans full, we felt we had fuel enough to make it (there being no fuel short of GTB Marina).<br />
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The Mississippi was a bigger river than the Missouri, and the channel was wide and deep, so though there were frequent towboats encountered, we were not held up. The morning was calm, cool, and somewhat foggy. We made the 120 miles to the mouth of the Ohio before noon, and started up that river at Cairo, Illinois. <br />
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The last time I had seen that river scene was in August, 1965, when my brother Al and I carried out my father's last wishes. Being a lifelong riverman, he had expressed the desire to have, after his death, his ashes sprinkled over the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers. So Al and I did that, from the platform aside the pilot house of one of the largest towboats in the fleet of the barge line Pop had been running at that time.<br />
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Today, though, David and I were on another mission, and problems were now beginning. We were held up three hours getting up through the first Ohio River lock just above Cairo. We motored on eastward, feeling a little anxious about gas and daylight. We lost nearly five hours waiting to lock through the second one, and by then the sun was moving down in the West. We slammed upriver to the Cumberland River, and started motoring the 30 miles up it as dusk came and went. This was a very narrow, winding river, with nothing but trees lining it and scarcely ever any sign of civilization. It was dark. We had to get to our destination, because there was absolutely no place to tie off out of the channel. If we were sitting along the bank, a towboat pushing barges might never even know that he had run over us. We did know that small towboats did push small tows up and down the Cumberland.<br />
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I had never intended to do any boating in the dark. But, I had months before responded to an ad in Boating magazine for a four-million-candlepower (that's bright) hand-held spotlight, just because I thought it would be good to have. It was. We proceeded cautiously up the river, one of us sweeping the beam from one bank to the other, to show the pilot where to go, and to spot any buoys marking where the channel narrowed to go around an obstruction. This went on for a while until we rounded a turn and found a strange large expanse of lights in the river ahead. Soon we determined that it was a towboat pushing barges ahead of us upriver. Since it was generally too narrow to pass, we radioed the captain and established that we would just motor along and safely follow him to the lock and dam at Barkley Lake. It was slow. We had a beer. After an hour we did the math and decided that at 3.5 mph it would be long after daylight before this flotilla made that destination.<br />
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At the next straight stretch we radioed thanks and adios to the towboat and moved on by, into the blackness. We pushed along at the fastest prudent speed, about 7 mph, with David at the helm and me trying to do the best job I could showing where the banks were going and scanning for buoys. This was a bit surreal. Remember in "Apocolypse Now" when they were sneaking Martin Sheen up the narrow winding river in darkness, on his mission to track down the renegade Brando? It was like that. Mile after endless mile, for hours.<br />
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We did, of course, arrive at the pool below the dam eventually, and the lockmistress got us through in under an hour. It was a tall lift to the lake, and David thought being down in that dark box of water with glaring spotlights all over the top was kind of creepy, and I had to agree.<br />
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Then we motored out into Barkley Lake and I realized that I knew only that the marina was in a little bay a mile up the lake from the dam. But it was dark and we didn't know what that really meant. Fortunately David thought we should go in the direction a down-bound towboat was coming from. We did that, and following contours on the chart on the GPS we did see some kind of a bay to the right, about a mile up. We made our way in there, nearly going aground, and saw a sign at the narrow entrance. We were too tired to be jubilant, but we were greatly relieved, to shine the light over there and make out GTB etc. I did know where our assigned slip was, so we eased in, tied up, shook hands, and sat back with a beer. At 2:15 in the morning.<br />
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Day 39. This day was an epilogue to the voyage we had done from Kansas City to Paducah. However, even though the adventure had been wrapped up, the entertainment had not quite. On the map I had seen that an interstate (I-24?) went northeast across Kentucky to a short distance south of Louisville, where I intended to drive to visit friends and drop David off at the airport. <br />
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We bounced out of the boat fairly early, rented a car in Paducah, and headed east. I was driving, with too little sleep, and we were playing with the Sirius satellite radio. We made good time along I-24, not paying attention to how the mileage to Nashville was steadily coming down. When we pulled into a rest area and found that we were just into Tennessee, we knew something had gone awry. The map there demonstrated that I-24 forked off right after Paducah from some turnpike that went to Louisville, and we were now entirely across the state from our destination.<br />
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This rookie blunder added an hour and a half to the trip, but fortunately we had a cushion and were able to get David to the airport in good time. He went to his plane back to Denver, and I went off to find my Louisville friends whom I had not seen for nearly a half-century. Looking back at the challenges David and I had worked through, and particularly the previous night's entertainment, all that my tired brain could dredge up was: All's well that ends well. We had had a fine and memorable time.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-40465469270073631372012-08-01T18:24:00.001-07:002012-08-03T09:23:03.801-07:00Day 34 thru Day 36Day 34. In the morning David and I met Chris at the Old Dutch Hotel and had an interview over coffee, for her planned article in the Washington Missourian. She was smart and pleasant and it was a good meeting, also involving talk about the evolution of the book business, with which we had all been involved. After we left the hotel, Chris took some promo shots of us and we cast off and headed downriver. The article is pretty accurate and very well-written, and can be seen at www.emissourian.com, under the Features, People tab. I'm too apple-techno-challenged to be able to copy the link here, and I'm okay with that. (<a href="http://www.emissourian.com/features_people/feature_stories/article_b4ec1cfd-a7c9-5012-b493-e689ed393267.html#.UBSgiCaMcqQ.email" target="_blank">link to article</a>)<br />
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We had a good run to St. Charles, MO where we were met by a new friend, Ted Meeker. I did my high school years at a nearby military academy, Western M. A. in Alton, IL. The school is long gone, but the alumni population is pretty close-knit and involved. You get that way when you spend four years studying and marching around and scrubbing floors and playing sports and living 24/7 side-by-side. A very fine experience. <br />
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So I never knew Ted, who graduated a few years after me, but he contacted me out of the blue and offered to help my trip any way he could. And he did. Like Kansas City and a lot of other places, the St. Louis area is absolutely devoid of any accommodation for pleasure boating on the rivers -- a huge problem for me needing to leave the boat safely for the weekend. Ted rented a boat trailer, hauled the boat out and parked it in his side yard, and took us to the boat shop to get my new prop, and to the rent-car place. What a guy. <br />
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Another WMA alum who has been a friend a long time, John Salter, got us a deal on a room at the prestigious Missouri Athletic Club in downtown St. Louis. John's take on my river-rat appearance: "about an hour shy of Homeless". Anyway, John and classmate Bill Kaune rounded up a dinner party of about eight WMA folks and John's wife on short notice to celebrate our passing through. Great fun. Okay here are some pictures. <br />
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Day 35. David went off sight-seeing for the day, and I went visiting. I saw my step-sister Christy for the first time in over fifty years, though in recent times we had been phoning and emailing. A very satisfying visit with her and her husband Jim.<br />
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I visited my dad's best friend in life, who worked with him for decades in the river business and succeeded my dad as president of Federal Barge Lines after my dad's death. Pete Fanchi is 99 years old and I have enjoyed seeing him and his wife Rose many times in recent years. I then had a good visit over dinner with Rose and their son Pete and daughter Karen and their spouses. After dinner I made my way back downtown to the MAC, taking an early-evening tour down memory lane, cruising a couple of neighborhoods where I had lived. It's always an odd exercise. Nothing has changed, but everything has changed. I don't know why I do that.<br />
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Day 36. David went off sightseeing again (getting an early jump on the line for going up in the Arch) and I picked up Ted Meeker and we went to Edwardsville, IL to see my good buddy Conrad Kirby. For quite a number of years Conrad has been the driving force behind a renewed interest in WMA by the far-flung alumni. He established a website, published a newsletter for several years, maintains the database of contact information, and is the information "hub", broadcasting information on alums that comes to him. Conrad has been slowed down by two bouts with cancer, so now I make a point to run out to E'ville whenever in the area. A nice visit with Conrad and Sharon, as always.<br />
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Ted and I ran back, picked up David, grabbed a pile of BBQ and beer, and made it back to his house in St. Charles in time for yet another WMA gathering. Most of the same guys, but also with my good friends Darryl and Fran Slater and Joe and Chris Lange. After a fine evening of catching up and encouraging each other to make the class of '63's fiftieth reunion next spring in New Mexico, we went our separate ways. Ted and his wife Geri had been impeccable hosts.<br />
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I totally turned my back on the WMA connection for the first 25 years after graduation (for no good reason, just lack of effort), but since the 25th reunion I have recognized that these guys are among my closest and most valued friends. They certainly gave David and me a memorable weekend in St. Louis.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-62352010273217612182012-07-28T11:44:00.001-07:002012-07-31T09:08:08.041-07:00Day 29 thru Day 33Across the Wide (state of) Missouri <br />
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Day 29. After coffee David and I went up the road to the hilltop behind where Little Sadie was tied off, at the edge of Sibley, MO. We were delighted to find the wonderfully restored Fort Osage, perched on the bluff overlooking the river.<br />
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We toured the fort, and learned a lot about the fort's history from the storekeeper, Mike Duane.<br />
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Fort Osage was the westernmost of several forts built along inland rivers in the early nineteenth century. This one was intended as a deterrent to the possible invasion up the river by the British, with whom we were in a struggle for possession of much of what became the western states. Also it was a busy trading post to support the large local Osage Indian tribe, to develop them as allies. When we finished the tour, Joe Phillips, another staff member at the fort, gave us a ride back to the boat in his utility vehicle, and shortly we were underway.<br />
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By early afternoon we were in Waverly, MO, where we tied off and went up the hill into town to find lunch and ice. After we ate in the grocery/deli, as we were checking out with our 40 lbs of ice, out of the blue a local fellow, Shawn Russell, offered to take us to the boat in his golf cart. Waverly was one of many spots displaying their connection to the Lewis and Clark connection, all the way along the Missouri River.<br />
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Another unfortunate display all down the river was the sunken barge. We have seen many battered barges up against the bank, left for the ages. Apparently when a barge is damaged (usually in a flood) its owner has no responsibility to remove it, so it becomes a planter, slowly filling with mud and rusting into the river.<br />
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In early evening we tied off to the bank below the city park at Glasgow, clambered up the hill and walked to town looking for a place to eat. Things close up early on a Sunday in Glasgow, however, so we had a good walk around town and went back and cooked supper on the boat. Glasgow is a pleasant little river town, with very old and interesting architecture.<br />
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Day 30. After coffee we set out on a fast run 55 miles to Cooper's Landing, an oasis on the river near Columbia, MO which is now the only place to gas up on the water between Omaha and Alton, IL on the Mississippi River. Anywhere else you are hauling gas cans up Main Street. We were starting to see more topography along the river, including the first view of limestone bluffs, a feature of many areas in Missouri.<br />
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We found a good spot to tie off at the dock at Cooper's mid-day And settled in for a two-night stay. We wanted to get into Columbia for dinner that evening, and Dale Davis volunteered to take us the 10-15 miles and bring us back. A totally nice fellow who lives in Florida half the year and at Cooper's half the year.<br />
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Day 31. This was a badly needed layover day. Cooper's is a campground, a small marina, a store, a cafe, a live entertainment venue, a gas station, a bag-ice dispensary, toilets, shower, laundry -- pretty much everything the river traveler could want.<br />
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I did some blogging, ordered a spare prop (to replace one I had misplaced) to be shipped to a shop in St. Louis, did puttering around on the boat, and planned the upcoming visit to folks in St. Louis. David got a ride with Brian, an employee at Cooper's, to Columbia and had a good afternoon of sightseeing.<br />
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Behind Little Sadie at the dock was a reconditioned 1930s gambling boat, kept here all summer by a couple of U. Of Mo. Professors. A local friend of theirs, Billy Ray Duvall, gave us a tour of it. All the interior was original brass, woodwork, etc. and the boat, with original wooden hull, had been dropped into a custom steel hull, so now was very seaworthy. A diesel engine turns the paddle-wheel, and that is its actual propulsion. I want one!<br />
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I had a nice visit with Mike Cooper, the owner, and passed on paddler David Miller's best regards to him. "Coop" was not doing well at the moment, having been bitten by, he suspected, a Brown Recluse spider the night before last. Coop runs a great operation, providing much needed services, and we appreciated the stay. His staff, including Max (a Klinkit from south of Juneau), Dale, Brian, Vanessa, Melissa and others, were interesting and fun to do business with. After a great fried catfish dinner, we visited with locals, listened to more fireworks, and turned in. Again, because of the protracted dry spell in the Midwest, we had no mosquito problem. Just heat.<br />
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Day 32. David by this time has become a seasoned Missouri river pilot, and we made a fast run the 70 miles to Hermann, MO. Along the way we passed a beach party along a sand bar near the mouth of the Osage River, where easily fifty boats were beached and lots of folks were celebrating July 4th. <br />
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We were now in a stretch of days with 100+ temperatures, so we tied up the boat at the public dock at Hermann and fled to a motel. The Harbor Haus was very adequate, convenient, and cheap. Hermann is a German settlement in an area known as the Missouri Rhineland, because it is allegedly reminiscent of the Rhine River valley. There are several wineries in the area, and we tried some local wines with dinner. They were odd but good. After dark the town celebrated Independence Day with a huge fireworks display over the river, attended by probably everyone in the county.<br />
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Day 33. In the morning we went out for coffee and enjoyed looking at the wonderful Victorian architecture around town. Again we had a calm morning on the water, so we motored downriver to Washington, MO. Like the day before, we tied off the boat at a public dock and ran for air conditioning. I noticed that Washington also has its share of lovely old buildings. <br />
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We stayed at the wonderfully restored Old Dutch Hotel. Jackie Schell, the manager, put us in touch with her sister Chris Stuckenschneider, who scheduled an interview for the next morning, for <a href="http://www.emissourian.com/features_people/feature_stories/article_b4ec1cfd-a7c9-5012-b493-e689ed393267.html#.UBSgiCaMcqQ.email" target="_blank">an article she planned to do in the Washington Missourian newspaper</a> about our trip. Tomorrow would also complete the run across Missouri, and the beginning of a weekend stay in St. Louis, where I had several contacts to make.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-2309790436094645262012-07-17T20:11:00.001-07:002012-07-17T20:11:50.128-07:00Day 23 thru Day 28<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div>The Tamed Missouri River, Finally<br/><br/>Day 23. Randy, my nephew from Michigan, arrived on Monday and we got him moved in on the boat after checking out of the hotel in Sioux City. We needed groceries and ice especially, so we took a cab to Walmart and loaded up. We gained some tips on how to get along with the channelized river from fellow boater Kevin and his group at the local riverside bar, had some supper, and went to the boat and bed.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593252898/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8147/7593252898_9fc5bd9a1a.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833192.6975" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/>Day 24. Stocking up on ice again, since South Dakota summer was in full swing, we pulled out into the river and began to see what a river with predictable channel and depth is like. What a wonderful difference! The Army Corps of Engineers (ACE) maintains a channel that is at least nine feet deep and typically about 300 feet wide, unless there is need to restrict it in a spot. The ACE channel follows strictly the way the river will naturally flow. It will pretty much always round a turn following the outer, or concave, bank and continue following that shore until the river turns the other way. Then the channel will naturally cross to the other bank and follow the curve around that way. The water thus follows the path of least resistance, going straight until it is forced to follow a curve. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593254138/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8282/7593254138_17dd592b6a.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833224.7737" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/>So the ACE folks will dredge that channel if/where needed, and they have wing dams coming out from the shallow side of the river, to push the water over into the channel and keep it "flushed out" and flowing swiftly. Wing dams or dikes are walls of rocks running part-way across the river from the bank. We saw a few towboats hauling rock upstream for ACE, to repair the wing dams and retaining walls damaged by last year's flood.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593256274" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8143/7593256274_0a1578a9da.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833227.056" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/>Fortunately this year the water level is low enough that we could clearly see the wing dams, so were not likely to run over one and break the motor. The current at this point was going about six miles per hour, we estimated.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593255002/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8164/7593255002_5a18ef4ba1.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833151.1008" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/>We found that using day marks on the shore and buoys in the water that guided crossings, we had little trouble staying in the channel, which varied from 12 to 25 feet deep. There was one scare in the afternoon when we found a snag -- a tree stuck on the bottom in the middle of the channel -- and had to work around it on both sides to find good water. There were but two surprises of this type, though, and otherwise the deep water was easy to follow. We tied off at a boat ramp in a recreation area featuring an outhouse (always a nice touch), had supper and turned in for a quiet night's sleep.<br/><br/>Day 25. We met Rich Porter in the morning when he launched his flat-bottom fishing boat, and discussed the river. He is a bow fisherman, hunting carp with a specialized bow and arrow. He said that the Asian carp, which become quite large, eat all the food on the bottom that is needed by the fry of other species, and are starving all the other fish out. So progressively the carp are taking over the Missouri River. We would hear more about the carp as the trip progressed.<br/><br/>As the day heated up we got underway, and made a fast run to Omaha, NE, pulling into the Dodge Park Marina there. I called and got instructions from the marina superintendent, Mark Smith, and we tied off in an open slip. It was about 105 degrees out, with several hours of daylight left. Then to my amazement, out of the blue Mark called me and asked if we were docked out in the open. Since we were, he went out of his way to drive over to where we were, find a covered slip we could occupy for the night, and help us move to it. Then he continued on his way home. One of the many kind and generous folks we have met along the river, taking the trouble to make life easier on river travelers.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593521526/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8023/7593521526_3e001ecfb9.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833200.3828" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div> <br/><br/>We visited my niece Alice that evening, who made sure we were set up to take showers, and we went out for pizza with her and her friend JoAnn, then they dropped us off at the marina and we settled in. Randy found a garden hose and wetted himself down to cool off. It was very warm late into the night. I figured I had better just get used to it.<br/><br/>Day 26. We now had to get from Omaha (mile 630) to St. Joseph, MO (mile 450), with no likely source of gas between. Including four gas cans we thought that 68 gallons should be adequate, but were not yet sure about usage at different speeds. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593522856/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8019/7593522856_48bfbfe5c8.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833156.893" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/> We saw the sights of Omaha and then settled in for many miles of sameness -- the riparian strip always dominated by cottonwoods, blue heron the dominant bird on the river, with occasional cranes and one snowy egret, flat open country out beyond the riverside trees. From time to time modest wooded hills would stretch out to the west or east of us. We saw large new sand islands and dunes on shore, produced by last year's flood, which created dust storms when the wind blew.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593520252/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7274/7593520252_ddc13b589d.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833199.2764" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/>There was very little settlement along the river, and what there was bore testament to the devastating flood of last year. Clusters of low-rent houses and outbuildings were nearly always empty, with windows and doors gone, or wracked out of shape or flattened. I was too slow with my camera, but my favorite was one intact residence whose riverside wall of windows was covered with plywood sheets. Across these was the instruction, spray-painted orange: NOT ABANDONED -- KEEP OUT A**HOLES.<br/><br/>We pushed through the middle of the day and afternoon, past the mouth of the Platte River (thoughts of Denver and home), past Nebraska City and on the left the Iowa-Missouri line. A new affliction that was to visit us often in the coming days was the black fly. Just those little guys, but their bites on our legs really hurt. So whoever was in the passenger seat would grab off baseball cap and slap around frequently, briskly, to clear them off the inside of the windshield and out of the cockpit area. Something to do on a slow day. <br/><br/>David Miller's book told us about a river camp called McAdams Landing at mile 548, which would be a good overnight stop about halfway to St. Joe. Miller had a nice visit with locals there, and we hoped to find a boat dock, some company, an outhouse, maybe some ice. We got there and there was nothing and no one, except an unoccupied new-looking travel-camper. The flood had taken out whatever facilities had existed, and in walking around it appeared that the buildings a bit upstream were not occupied. Where there had been a boat ramp had filled in with mud so there was barely room to beach the boat just clearing the fast flow of the channel. We decided to stay anyway. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593523630/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8284/7593523630_fc6c40fce3.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833196.7634" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/>As we were getting situated, tying off the boat and popping a beer in the terribly hot stillness, we were alarmed to see an upbound towboat approaching, on our side of the river. Fearing that his wake could wash us up onto the mud, we braced with paddle and boat hook as he came by. Just as he came abreast of our location, the pilot cut his speed drastically, and we held through moderate wash as he continued by. We were very relieved. Within a few minutes we went to battle stations again, as a downbound towboat came by. Happily, he also slowed as he passed, so we survived. Tying off in or near the channel is not recommended, but we didn't have much choice. We just hoped that there would be no traffic during the night.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593524358/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7134/7593524358_fa7bc94550.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833218.8213" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/>Soon we were surprised and pleased to see a car pull in above us, and soon a fellow came over and hailed us. We went up and met Terry Gillespie, the new owner of this (previously Carl Iske's) property and a dentist from nearby Red Oak, Iowa. Terry had his camper-trailer here on the river and was looking forward to doing improvements to make it something of a river-traveler friendly camping park. Soon Ed Welte, the owner of the next-door residence we'd seen, showed up. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593525378/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8143/7593525378_4cf9bffc86.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833197.3352" class="alignnone" alt="" width="375" height="500"></a></div> <br/><br/>After getting our respective suppers out of the way, we went up to the (deliciously air-conditioned) trailer and drank coffee and visited with Ed and Terry until late, talking about the river, the flood, and the history of the place. I read them Miller's warm account of his stay there some seven years earlier. Ed gave us an update, saying that Bob McAdams was pretty elderly but now living in nearby Peru, NE. Ed had been to the funerals of three of the folks David Miller had visited, including Carl Iske, Sarabeth McAdams, and another gentleman. A thought-provoking note at the end of the evening.<br/><br/>Day 27. After coffee with Terry we shoved off early into a beautiful morning, happy for some cloud cover. At noon we pulled into tiny Rulo, NE for ice. We got that and great burgers at Wild Bill's Bar & Grill. A couple of farmers there told us about the desperate dry spell they were having, a theme I would hear often in the coming weeks. Wild Bill's was high up the hill, unlike the very large boarded-up Camp Rulo River Club, which went under the flood. On its sign was the offer FOR SALE $25000. I don't think they will get it.<br/><br/>With 60 lbs. of ice we pushed on toward St. Joe, adding fuel to the boat from our gas cans. Based on the authoritative Quimby's 2012 Cruising Guide, the Sunset Grill and River Towne Resort has gas and all services except maybe dancing girls. According to our binoculars shot as we came into St. Joe, they have yellow police tape and a KEEP OUT sign decorating the main building. My first clue had been that their phone was not in service. According to the Chamber of Commerce, they have been gone for some years, even before last year's flood. And the Chamber guy's suggestion was to go to the city boat ramp or someplace and get a cab to run us to a gas station. This was not looking good. We absolutely had to be full-up with gas now, since the next advertised source would be at Columbia, MO, some 280 miles downriver.<br/><br/>The ACE nav chart showed a St. Joseph Boating and Yacht Club a few miles south of town, so even though it was late afternoon, and their phone also was not in service, we decided to just go there and get whatever help was available (even if it was to call that cabbie). We motored down there and Whew! A boat dock, and a friendly guy coming down asking us where we're from and all that. At mile 444 the Club is alive and well. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593605488/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7264/7593605488_62fffc6f2a.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833189.6248" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593606438" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8153/7593606438_d43c6a4bec.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833179.6145" class="" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div> <br/><br/>Dick Lawson got us situated, and promptly drove us 2-3 miles to a gas station where we got enough gas to fill the boat's tank. Then we settled in with Dick, his wife Susie, and fellow club board member Bruce Steltenpohl in a shady fan-cooled spot under their (new, up on stilts) clubhouse and shared some ice-cold beers and traded stories. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593607288/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8005/7593607288_b1c3eb4a94.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833227.7358" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593608164/" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8430/7593608164_f00c6829df.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833246.1855" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div>As soon as I wondered aloud about having enough gas for the next leg, Bruce promptly took us to the gas station again so we got all the gas cans filled. Then we continued trading stories 'til midnight with these lovely folks and other arrivals at the club.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br></div>Day 28. We were awakened at first light by Bruce, who brought us breakfast sandwiches from McDonald's on his way out fishing with Dick. We got going, took pictures, bid goodbyes and thanks to Susie, and headed south. After a couple of miles we passed Bruce and Dick with a Thanks Again and a Like Your Hat, and motored on.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593609020" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7126/7593609020_aafa6a763d.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833184.931" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div>Today was the day that we were to arrive in Kansas City, where the next Executive Officer relieving process would occur. Randy would fly out to Michigan, and the new XO -- my dear old fellow graduate of the book business, David Youngstrom -- would fly in from Denver. Now, Kansas City is pretty completely riverboater-unfriendly. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593740178/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8163/7593740178_d131c10fcd.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833182.3064" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/>Independent research by Randy, David and me had found no good place to tie off the boat and do the switch. Happily, David had early in the day made his way downtown, rented a bicycle, and done a several-mile reconnaissance of the waterfront, and had selected a state park boat ramp below downtown to guide us to.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div>By early afternoon the cab arrived with David and several bags of ice, Randy and I wished each other safe trips, and David and I headed out. We wanted to "get the hell outa Dodge" well before dark, being uncomfortable with tying off in a big city waterfront. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7593741174" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8290/7593741174_98630f2cb4.jpg" id="blogsy-1342568833169.8005" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> <br/><br/>Thirty miles downriver we pulled in by the boat ramp at Sibley, MO, just below what a local fellow reported as not-to-miss, the venerable Fort Osage.<br/><br/>We visited a bit with local young folks up at the ramp's parking lot. It was Saturday, June 30th, and July 4th festivities were getting underway. We hoped that this contact, since the boat was somewhat hidden below the bushes, would make it less likely that an errant tossed cherry bomb would explode amongst the gas cans on our bow later in the evening. We cooked and ate a lovely Pad Thai supper, washed dishes and settled in for the night.<br/><br/> Then yet another perfectly generous local person, we dubbed "camo guy", came slipping and sliding down the bank, not spilling a drop of his beer, and offered to go fetch, or take us to town for, practically anything we could think of. We thanked him and said we were pretty well equipped. But we learned that he was there because he and his buddies were about to launch and go Bullfrogging. We didn't know about that.<br/><br/> In Bullfrogging, you go toward the shore in your boat and shine a very bright light, hopefully blinding and stopping short an unwary bullfrog. While he is mesmerized, according to camo guy, you jab him between the eyes with a gig, some kind of a long-handled harpoon. Then, after some more labor-intensive steps, someone eats the frog's legs. The economics of Bullfrogging are suspect, we think. We got a good night's sleep, despite the boys just upstream doing Bullfrogging, as well as fireworks, bugs, rain, train, and Sibley power plant noise and lights.<br/><br/>It was the end of June, a full month since I left home. I had traveled over 1500 miles down the "Big Muddy" Missouri River, leaving a bit over 300 miles to the confluence with the Mighty Mississippi. Randy and I had had a very interesting and educational week. It was not as intense as the previous three weeks had been, but I welcomed that change. The next ten days with David promised to be interesting, and satisfying, in very different ways.<br/><br/>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-55705660376840290452012-06-24T16:38:00.001-07:002012-07-03T08:48:46.771-07:00Day 16 thru Day 22Larry and I Get 'er Done <br />
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Sunday afternoon Larry Lavin arrived, driven over by his friend Carol from southwestern Minnesota. We loaded his gear on the boat at the Oahe Marina, agreed on a time to meet in the morning, and they went back across the river to Pierre. I thought Carol posed a very interesting question: "What has surprised you the most"? I replied that the seriousness of the phrase "pick our way" through the shallow river reaches since Montana surprised me the most. Larry was to be similarly impressed in the days to come.<br />
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Day 16. After replenishing gas and ice, and getting a late update from marina owner Steve and a visiting ranger, we launched and headed south. The wide bay we soon traversed was beautiful in the clear morning.<br />
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We went through a narrow chute where Antelope Creek carried a lot of sediment into the river, which was a problem area Steve had warned us about, but we followed some fishermen and found our way out into the main channel without incident. We were into deeper water in Lake Sharpe in a short time. Larry took the helm and jumped the boat on plane and made good time down to the Big Bend Dam. Larry has been a boat guy in the lakes around Okoboji, Iowa, for decades, so had complete comfort working with Little Sadie.<br />
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The terrain around the lake was fairly hilly and somewhat wooded, and very lovely where we pulled into the boat ramp at Big Bend. That was a good thing, because we were to spend a little time there.<br />
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We contacted the local fellow with whom we had arranged portage, and got out of the heat in a picnic pavilion nearby. After some time, Pat Koster pulled up towing a trailer. But it was just a little trailer, suitable maybe for loading Pogo's flat-bottom fishing pirogue. Communication is a tough business. But Pat was undaunted. He made a couple of calls and took off to get a trailer big enough for a 20-foot V-hull wide boat. After some more time went by, and a follow-up call by Larry, Pat arrived with a bigger trailer. He backed it into the water and Larry drove the boat up onto it. I stood to the side, looking at the neat circle of bubbles coming up from around the wheel rim on the right wheel. By the time the rig was pulled up onto flat ground, the tire was entirely flat.<br />
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Pat was undaunted. With the front of the trailer perched precariously on a car tire jack, he went for another wheel. After some time he returned, changed the tire, and took us around the dam to a ramp at a downstream campground. There was no one around because the campground had been inundated by last year's flood and was still closed. We ended up thinking Pat was a trouper. Despite repeated stumbling-blocks due to bad equipment, he had stayed in the game -- focused, diligent, polite, good-humored, and very hard-working. He is a jack-of-all-trades, supporting his family doing odd jobs (sounds like about three at a time), with a rock-solid work ethic. Our kind of guy. We didn't mind that the portage operation had taken three hours.<br />
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We beached the boat in a little protected cove, nosing the bow up onto the bank a bit, so it would be somewhat stable. We tied off, set up the table and cooking gear, and had one of Larry's batches of chili for supper. Marvelous recipe. We moved things around, from cooking to sleeping configuration (which is by now a well-practiced routine) and turned in. The enclosure was buttoned up against the wind and the possibility of rain.<br />
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Day 17. During the night we had the impression that the boat was a little lower in the stern, because our crossways bunks were a little inclined that way. In the morning we found the reason. Since the dam release was cut back, the water level had dropped most of two feet, and we were as high and dry as Noah's ark in those fanciful pictures you'd see in tabloids of it supposedly being discovered on a remote mountaintop.<br />
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We thought that the water level would come back up when they started the daily release of water from the dam, but we didn't know when that was or how soon it would float us. Apparently that schedule is related to the need to generate more electricity to meet the peak (air-conditioning) usage, in whatever market the dam is serving. In our experience, water level was expected to come up by mid-morning. So, we had a leisurely breakfast with eggs and coffee, did dishes and got ready to go. The water was not rising very much very fast. Fortunately, we saw a group of five men up in the parking lot, and Larry applied his winning ways to enlist their help. (I learned this great intro when asking for help: "Have you done your good deed for today"? Works every time.) It was all that six of us could do, with Larry revving the engine in reverse, to launch the boat, but we eventually did. We bid our thanks and goodbyes and left Ft. Thompson.<br />
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We had good water for the 60 miles or so before getting into Lake Francis Case, not long after running under the bridge at Chamberlain.<br />
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Clouds were building, but the lake was not rough, so Larry jumped the boat up on plane and we made a fast run to Ft. Randall Dam at Pickstown. Cory Donlin from Donlin Marine, a local boat sales and service shop, picked us up, ran us by a gas station to refuel the boat, and stopped into their store. His dad Chris was very helpful with information about the seriously difficult river reaches we would encounter the next day, and about a nice protected cove we could duck into for the night below the dam. As predicted, a storm blew through about four in the morning, with blasting wind and driving rain. Again, things were a little damp around the edges but the boat top did quite well. It was good that we were tied up to an old homemade houseboat and somewhat sheltered from the wind and waves. <br />
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Day 18. The next morning we set things out to dry while we contemplated the weather report. I told Larry I was very fearful about this stretch. Brother George had warned about the area around Springfield, and my concern was that with wind and/or rain roughing up the river surface, it would be doubly hard to get clues about where the channel now went. Larry was more confident, so we set out. Most of the day the weather was not bad, though we did get into a rainstorm in the afternoon, and did have to fight our way off sandbars on several occasions. The last of that stretch, the inflow to Lewis and Clark Lake, was a confusing maze of shallow channels threading through many small islands. Without George's waypoints pointing the way, we would never have found our way through it.<br />
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We finally got out on the lake, greatly relieved, and I picked up speed to run down to the dam. Before I could spot it happening on the depth finder, WHAM! -- I ran us aground. After some work we got off the sandbar and went on. It turned out that the lake was surprisingly shallow, so it took some time to work our way to the dam at Gavin's Point. We were happy to go into a nice marina there, gas up, park the boat, and head up to the Marina Grill for supper. We celebrated getting through what was expected to be the sketchiest stretch of river Larry and I would see. Our waitress Ashley was good company as we celebrated and had a nice meal.<br />
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On our way out we had a nice visit with Steve and Tina Kümmel, a couple visiting the river from eastern Nebraska. After hearing our story, Steve gave me his good wishes for the trip and a $20 bill, to be used to celebrate this week's part of the journey. We slept well under clear skies in the marina.<br />
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Day 19. The next morning we got the marina folks to portage us down below the dam and started out on the last river stretch before it starts being maintained by the Corps of Engineers, at Sioux City. We expected this to be much less of a sandbar-hazard section than the previous day,and be a relatively trouble-free 75 miles. We were now on the part of the river that separates South Dakota and Nebraska, and fairly soon passed under the bridge at Yankton, SD.<br />
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This day turned out to be the hardest challenge yet. The flood last year had blocked passages where the traditional channel had gone, so several times the waypoints displayed on the GPS had to be abandoned, and we were just on our own to find a channel. We ran aground or backed out of dead-end shallows numerous times. The mileage to Sioux City was very hard-won. The river often looked benign, but was laden with problem spots.<br />
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As we approached Sioux City, the last fifteen miles saw the river narrower and deeper, and the flood wreckage we saw above was replaced by miles of beautiful homes.<br />
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We were ecstatic to finally, in late afternoon, pull into the marina, gas up, and know that we had finished up the most harrowing part of my journey -- the natural, unmaintained river reaches in the dammed (sic) upper Missouri River. We enjoyed watching the boating fun going on in the river while waiting for Larry's son Philip to arrive to pick him up.<br />
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After a celebratory beer with Philip, we loaded out Larry's stuff and I sent them on their way. Larry and I had been close-quarters camping for most of a week, and shared many teeth-grinding challenges and a lot of laughs. We are now more Good Buddies than ever.<br />
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I secured things on the boat, and moved from the marina to the hotel next door, where I would have the next four days off while waiting for my next XO, my nephew Randy, to arrive. In my room I looked in the mirror for the first time in days, and reflected that I really was starting to look the part -- a gnarly old river rat.<br />
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Day 20 thru Day 22. After a good night's sleep I started making preparations for people and places downstream. As the sun came up, I looked out my window, up the river. Right before me was one of the little blue river mile markers, announcing that I was at mile 733 above the mouth of the Missouri. Three weeks and 1,115 miles had gone by since Little Sadie went in the water in Montana.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-78350785711229501582012-06-23T16:33:00.001-07:002012-07-03T08:50:50.604-07:00Day 7 thru Day 14Lotsa Lake from Here to Pierre <br />
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"Jon. Jon. Lightning storm. It's a different deal". This greeting at about three in the morning from chase car driver John, who has been doing a bivouac out on the dock next to the boat. We let him in, secured the boat better, and zipped it all up as the mother of all lightning storms moved over us. We all lay there for a long time watching the most fantastic light show I have ever seen. It was a horizon-to-horizon web of dancing lightning on all sides, moving slowly over us from west to east. As it came over, strong gusts blew rain in through small joints in the boat's tent cover, so we were a little damp around the edges, but I was generally pleased with how the top performed. Pea-size hail hammered on us after the rain, but did no damage.<br />
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After the storm we all got a few more hours' sleep, and got up to a cloudy and windy morning. We deliberated for a couple of hours about getting out into Lake Sakakawea, because of the danger of unmanageable waves. We finally decided to make a run for it when the wind calmed a bit, agreed to meet John down at the dam in a couple of days, and headed out into the lake. It was slow going for a while in 2-3 foot waves, but the wind seemed to be steady.<br />
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After a time the wind moderated, and we made a good long run down the lake. Sak is a huge body of water, about 130 miles long and sometimes 4-5 miles wide. If the wind comes up, small boats can be in real trouble, so we were happy to have the weather settle down. We made 90 miles to the Indian Hills Resort, which earns its reputation as one of the best stops on Lake Sak. Kelly and Carol, the ladies running things there, were great hosts and offered good information. We got gas, took showers, and settled in for dinner and a good night's sleep. <br />
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We did notice that this area seems to have a strong fishing culture. The kids (practically toddlers to teens) in a couple of families stayed at it for hours, 'til near dark. We were happy that from time to time one of them would pull in a fish. All along through the Dakotas we were to see this fishing focus and hear the refrain: "What, you ain't fishin? Okay den. . .Well, whataya doin?"<br />
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George spent some time getting the VHF radio operating, and got it going with local area weather channels, which would be useful every day as we ran ahead of storms. As part of the procedural setup he demanded that I stop deliberating and settle on a name for the boat (to properly report in case of an emergency). I had pretty well gotten there in my deciding, so announced that the boat (which had already taken on a feminine entity) is Little Sadie, after my granddaughter. Here's Rachel's and Brian's little Sadie Caroline.<br />
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The next day we made good progress in moderate seas down to Garrison Dam, completing Sak and having John take the boat out and move it to the hotel in Riverdale. We had managed to get clear of another big lake without a weather delay, so were all happy campers.<br />
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Now this hotel, the only game in the twin towns of Riverdale and Pick City, was probably the most interesting hotel I can recall staying in. The rooms are spacious and nice, and the beds are great. It is in a building renovated from the old high school, and someone has spent a lot of money decorating, furnishing, painting, etc. But someone in the mix really likes red and black (maybe the high school colors?). So the halls were trimmed in red and black, and the lounge - reading room was dressed out in red. Kind of fun, in a way.<br />
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The hotel has a nice bar and grill, with a totally international waitstaff. We speculated about all kinds of scenarios, until one of the girls explained that they bring in college girls in an exchange student program drawing from all over the world, rotating through in three months or so. It was a nice program, the girls seemed to enjoy the interaction with each other, but getting the right beer ordered required some patience.<br />
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The next morning we awoke to high winds, and readily agreed that it was a no-go day. We found out that we could replace the oil in the helm with power steering fluid, and when we drove across the dam to buy some in Pick City, the lake looked like the ocean.<br />
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This steering thing was getting serious. Response of the motor turning with the wheel was getting slow and stiff and sluggish, and we had a lot of steering-intensive sandbar dodging yet ahead of us. We set up office at a table in the bar, and started to work. The result was surprisingly heartening. I called Dave Hewes at Hewes Marine out in Washington state, and explained what we were doing, where we were, and the probability of serious consequences if the steering went south. He without hesitation rallied his resources and they went to work. George explained the details to Bryan, their warranty manager, and he decided to send a new helm assembly to a boat shop downstream. By the end of that day he had sent out the equipment to a shop my friend Larry in Iowa had located in Bismarck, ND, to arrive about when we would. I told Mr. Hewes that this was an over-the-top service response that is seldom seen today.<br />
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The next morning the weather was better, so we topped up the steering fluid and launched the boat below the dam, agreeing to meet John in Bismarck. I did a morning of piloting down the river, working through some tricky sections, and George brought us into a boat ramp above town by late afternoon. We loaded the boat on the trailer and the three of us went to Days Inn. We walked up the street looking over the several restaurant choices, and readily chose Space Aliens. This was a fun bar and grill dressed out with flying saucers and futuristic trimmings and alien creatures. We were well fed on excellent burgers and ribs, and enjoyed the long walk back to the motel in the cool evening.<br />
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The next morning we got ready to go for our appointment at River City Sports, and no one could come up with the car key. In my haste in preps for the trip I had neglected to get a spare, and now Murphy had seen his opening. We took everything in the motel room and boat apart, and had AAA on the way, when John called Space Aliens and (whew) they had it. Needless to say, we left town with three strategically-placed car keys.<br />
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We dropped the boat off at the shop and were astounded to get the call in an hour and a half that it was ready. Larry, their service manager, had jumped in and handled it -- matching the excellent support we had gotten from Hewes Marine. We were very impressed. The rest of the day was spent catching up on logistics and downriver planning and we were ready to launch early.<br />
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We had many challenges the next morning in the river, getting into sandbar cul-de-sac fixes, and at one point retreating hundreds of yards upstream to find a way to some semblance of a channel. When we finally moved into open water at the inflow to Lake Oahe, we were delighted, in spite of increasing wind and chop.<br />
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We spent several hours motoring through 2-3 foot waves off our rear quarter, timing our speed to match the waves and minimize the pitching and rolling. The boat is very seaworthy, but more speed would have been punishing. We made about one-fourth of the lake's 250-mile length that day, and were fatigued when we ducked into Beaver Bay and found a nice sheltered spot to tie up behind a highway embankment for the night. I enjoyed being able to slouch a while before we cooked up another of Nan's fine dinners. This was the last of them, and our ice supplies and strict cooler management had allowed it to travel in good shape for a full two weeks.<br />
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The next day was sunny and Oahe was smooth as glass. We put the boat up on plane and made the sixty-odd miles to Mobridge, SD by lunchtime. The Honda 4-stroke just hummed along.</div>
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We stayed at Bridge City Marina, below town, and enjoyed getting to know the new owner, Mike Norden. Mike was rebuilding and improving the marina after the huge flood last year. We would continue to hear stories related to that flood all along the river. We stayed with John that night in a motel in town, and all three of us had walleye for dinner, for the first time ever. It is a very tasty fish, which we don't have in Colorado. I liked it so much that I ordered it the next night as well.</div>
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There was some chop on the lake the next morning, but we wanted to get to Oahe Dam at Pierre that day, so motored along aggressively through one-foot waves. Banging through waves sounded like we were hitting sunken trees, but Little Sadie slammed along like a tank.</div>
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We came to the dam by early afternoon, met John, and portaged the boat to the Oahe Marina and Resort, below the dam. This was the nicest, most full-service marina we had seen, with a good bar & grill, store, laundry, and showers in the adjacent campground. Steve Rounds, the owner, had just put in boat slips in their lagoon this year, as part of the renovation after last year's flood. Steve is a very nice guy, who took an active interest in getting me the best information on hazards that might exist downstream.</div>
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This was the end of George's leg of the trip, as he and John both had to get back to Denver to meet other obligations. We got together for dinner at the marina grill that night and celebrated getting through the most challenging part -- the first 775 miles -- of this voyage.<br />
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After a good night's sleep on the boat, I had a quiet Sunday in the marina, looking forward to the arrival of my next Executive Officer (XO), my friend and my son Adam's father-in-law, Larry Lavin of Lake Okoboji, in northwest Iowa. It was a good day to relax and regroup.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-25805829516733921902012-06-17T18:42:00.001-07:002012-06-22T20:26:41.551-07:00Day 1 thru Day 6[Editor note - Ongoing internet access & technical issues have precluded blogging most of past three weeks. Now in position to gain on that. Sorry for delay. JI]<br/><br/>Williston Run - 240 Miles of Clenched Teeth<br><br/><br/>Weather was clearing off to the east when George and I awoke, had coffee and cold breakfast stuff (our standard fare), and a taste of champagne to celebrate the launch of the journey. With Eric Clapton/JJ Cale "Down the River" blaring on the sound system and exuberance overflowing, we cast off and started out of our bay into the expanse of Ft. Peck Lake. The boat was muddied up from the day before, but the mild chop took care of that.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7390399146" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5114/7390399146_78cb7694c0.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134717.1611" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">Despite the heavy load, the Hewes 200 Pro-V hull design and beefy Honda 135-horse jumped the boat up on plane (basically skipping along on the surface) readily, and we bounced merrily down the 85-mile length of the beautiful lake at 30 mph. Motor and music competed loudly and we thought this was already the best time ever. I held on and was happy to have spent the bucks to upgrade the boat's seats, which minimized the shocks.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7390409466" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7093/7390409466_c964f3021b.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134750.551" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">I looked back and considered the load of gear and the process we would face in the coming days establishing "a place for everything, and everything in its place". Such disciplines would make our lives steadily easier as we battled chaos toward order.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7390448636" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7079/7390448636_8aef67de90.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134780.4727" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">We spent the afternoon and night at the Fort Peck Marina, as guests of the owner Tara Waterson. David Miller, the COMPLETE PADDLER author who kayaked the whole Missouri River, had asked me to pass on his regards to Tara, and she was pleased to be remembered by him. By the way, this was the first of many days when George and I talked about what a superhuman feat Dr. Miller (he's a college prof) did, paddling all those miles we were motoring through. And his book is a remarkably thorough guide for all kinds of things -- indispensable for paddlers and for dummies trying to take a prop rig down through these jetboat waters.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">A couple of old fishermen, C. A. and Orville, over beers, gave us extensive opinions on where to put in below the dam and condition of the river going down from there. And about many other things, like catching Walleye and cleaning Paddlefish. So, armed with that information, the next morning we met friend John and he portaged us around the dam and launched us into the river. This was another milestone, to be on the free-running Missouri.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7390463994" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7105/7390463994_5a0958fbb6.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134809.203" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div>Very soon we started learning what running these river reaches would entail. From our starting point yesterday to the beginning of the channelized (Army Corps of Engineers maintained) lower Missouri, at Sioux City, Iowa, is a little over eleven hundred miles. Something like five hundred miles, before getting into open lake water on the half-dozen huge reservoirs, is raw river. The most challenging stretch was expected to be this first one, about 240 miles to the inflow to Lake Sakakawea near Williston, ND. The width varies greatly, and wide means shallow. The traditional channel is very hard to pick out, and staying in water deep enough for our boat (about 1 1/2 feet) required constant vigilance. <br/><br/>George did the piloting these first days because he had substantial experience running rivers in powerboats and rafts, and a well-developed sense of where the channel might be and where hazards lurked. We have a wonderful Lowrance GPS/depth finder, armed with old channel waypoints that George had laboriously plotted and fed into the unit so they displayed and we could follow. Even with this invaluable guide, since the river is always changing, we still had to constantly work around (and off) underwater sandbars. My job was to watch for signs of sand or hazards in the water, as well as clues to where the fastest flow was. Also I would run back and report how deep our prop was set, to optimize sneaking over shallows -- or blasting back out of them. See the intense concentration of the pilot. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7390480442" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7245/7390480442_0344b4f226.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134732.4526" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">In addition to hidden sandbars, in this stretch were quite a number of floating logs and many trees in the water, stuck in the sand or still standing. Having the motor hit one of these could mean breaking it, and leaving us to struggle through with the small (9.9 hp) backup motor.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7390489956" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7104/7390489956_94ff1cc8cb.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134809.805" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">We were fortunate that at this flow we did not have stands of willows down in the water, but we could see many thick stands on islands, dead from the immense flood that came down the river in 2011. William Least Heat-moon, in his book RIVERHORSE, recounts how in the mid-1990s they ran into a place in this area where the willows made a wall all the way across the river that they had to fight their boat through, upstream.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7390504926" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7097/7390504926_51319959ca.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134821.933" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div>The big events of the first day were when we ran through two sets of rapids (happily the last we were to encounter). We ran through the first with some scraping and a bit of customizing the propeller. After that it was designated the River Prop, which we would change out with the Lake Prop when transitioning from a river reach to a lake transit. But the second rapid was shallower. We started through and BANG hit a sizable rock. We spun sideways, and the boat listed 20-30 degrees as the 5 mph current pushed us against the rock. I thought OMG as they say, and expected we would spend the night there. But, pushing backward with the boat hook and paddle, and racing the engine in reverse, we managed to slide off and float down through the rapid. Backwards, which is not ideal. But, the prop was pulled up and we floated free. I thought my teeth were permanently clenched.<br/><br/>Soon after the rapids excitement, we pulled into a little cove and celebrated ending the first day with a coupla beers, still afloat and moving forward through the 240 miles to Williston. Here's happy Jon. By the way, the rubber duckie tied on top is Lolita. She is there in case one of us would have to go first, taking soundings and leading the boat through where no channel might be found. Or in the worst case we could ride Lolita out and send a large helicopter with grappling hooks back to pull the boat up out of mud flats somewhere. (That had been my nightmare scenario for months. In the coming days it would continue to look like a possibility.)<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7390524264" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8166/7390524264_be886685fd.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134822.6123" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div>The rest of the week was a series of long days in which both of us were preoccupied with the task of finding enough water, mile after mile, to keep moving the boat downriver. Sandbars were endless, and it was slow going most of the time. Sometimes we made only about 35 miles in a day. The tools were the waypoints on the GPS, the depth finder, and clues such as visible current, Indian soap (bubbles of foamy white protein material on the surface) and debris being drawn along on the fastest water, and the general tendency of a river to "pinball" from one shore to the other and cut out around the outside bank on a curve. Places not to go were suggested by visible trees in the water, disruption in the current, funny wave action, linear stretches with change in water color, brown water, and the like. By midweek I started cutting my teeth on piloting in these conditions. It was very frightening to get into one foot of water and struggle around trying to escape, particular when it seemed that I was in a cul-de-sac and surrounded by shallows. Gradually skill and confidence built.<br/><br/>When we could catch our breath and look around, the scenery was beautiful. The river was trimmed with mature cottonwood stands, and in the distance there were occasional majestic bluffs.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7390539780" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8006/7390539780_404fffbb1b.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134754.4922" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div>We saw a variety of wildlife, including geese, eagles, even wild mustangs on the Ft. Peck Indian reservation. But there were no people for days, save a couple of boats with Fish and Game guys doing field work. It was interesting to see that the mama geese flew away as we approached, leaving their goslings to fend for themselves. They would typically dive and swim away, but we had to stop the prop and float by a few times.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7390548560" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5442/7390548560_d75d9823e2.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134737.0693" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7422470070/" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8167/7422470070_73279eb87c.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134792.5125" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div>At the end of the day we tied off to the bank, ideally in slack water but not always. We found that a good technique was to set two anchors onshore, at ninety-degree angles from one another. The boat would swing as it pleased, but this was a very secure mooring. One night we were backed by an impressive bluff, made finer as the setting sun cast shadows through it.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7422474814" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5155/7422474814_77ebbbd98b.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134775.469" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div>After we got settled in, we would have dinner, and these were meals George's wife Nan had prepared for this first section of the trip, shrink wrapped and frozen. Delicioso!<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7422471674" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7112/7422471674_71ed3b1ff4.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134829.6912" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div>This particular night the sunset was pretty spectacular.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7422473188" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5445/7422473188_0b24889b61.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134784.4033" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div>And then the storm came, with a fair amount of wind and lightning and rain, but the boat enclosure seemed to do very well. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7422476256" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7273/7422476256_acd81db8c5.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134825.1133" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div>Near the North Dakota border we passed the mouth of the Yellowstone River on our right, and it added very significant flow to the Missouri. For some time we had twenty feet of water to ride on, and could relax the constant depth finder monitoring. After a few hours we came under a very interesting ancient vertical-draw railroad bridge. I believe it was built to allow shallow-draft steamboats to go under, back in the day.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7422477540" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm8.static.flickr.com/7254/7422477540_f7236666ec.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134795.3308" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div>As we approached Williston, as David Miller had suggested, we contacted the local USACE office for tips on getting through the shallow river delta going into Lake Sakakawea (Sak for short). Their advice was to keep the prop up and look for the faster-moving water. Okay then.<br/><br/>Without as bad a time as I had expected, we came through that notoriously bad area and were very pleased to be in open water -- and about ten miles away from a shower! In a short time we came into the marina at Lewis and Clark State Park, refueled the boat, and tied off in a slip in the protected cove.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7422480450" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm9.static.flickr.com/8168/7422480450_8bb3181227.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134802.8667" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">We met John there, and since we had noticed oil leaking out of the boat's dashboard under the helm, he and I ran into Williston to look for something comparable. That was an experience. The oil and gas industry has taken over that entire area, and it is a runaway boomtown. Free Tums for the city planners. Drilling rigs scattered around outside town, every chain business imaginable building sprawl in all directions, streets choked with pickups at four on Friday afternoon, Walmart jammed with busy folks, and (John observed) dust. Dust was everywhere, because everything is under construction, ground cover is gone, and the Dakota winds whip up the dirt. While not my style, I had to admit that the wild west boomtown feel of the place was genuinely exciting.</div>This particular Friday was also my birthday. My present to myself was a long hot shower over at the campground. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77627339@N06/7422481148" target="_blank" style=""><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5118/7422481148_dde555b18d.jpg" id="blogsy-1340410134798.6514" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> Then the three of us gathered in the boat, and voila! A birthday party. George had squirreled away a bottle of red wine, which we had with a dinner of Nan's wonderful lasagna, and he also had a hidden a cake in a cooler. Well, cooler slosh (ice melt) had been a little unkind to that cake, so John had rounded up a second cake. We ate well and had a nice evening.<br/><br/>John decided to stay around, so since it was a warm evening he bedded down on the pier next to the boat. It had been a fine birthday and, having ended well, a fine week. We shut down for the night and drifted off. But the clouds were drifting in.<br/><br/>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-73604222724974597992012-06-07T17:35:00.000-07:002012-06-21T10:17:57.565-07:00Day -1Mud<br />
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After various communication and technical issues, let me now catch up with the progress of this expedition. The day before launch was well worth its own entry. John, our chase car driver, and brother George and I arrived in Malta, Montana, on schedule after a two-day drive from Denver. Malta is about fifty miles from the Canadian border, so is the northernmost point in this journey. You have to go there and the turn back south on forty miles of dirt roads to get to Fourchett Creek Recreation Area, our chosen point of embarkation on the north side of the Missouri River.<br />
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After gassing up we headed south, and found quickly that we were following a rainstorm, and were entering an expanse of land with no signs of life, except the occasional cow. It was getting late in the afternoon.<br />
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Road signs were not good, and our Montana map was worse. We made a sensible left turn, and continued on as the only folks in the region. The road was damp from the recent storm, especially in a low spot. The 4,000+ pound boat and trailer bogged down, and the Highlander started off the road. This was bad.<br />
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After some delay, digging in front of trailer tires and building runways for the car with rocks and grass, we blasted out. Then this whole exercise was repeated in another spot. After a while we decided that this was not the road to anybody's recreation area, slammed and slid back out, and found our way to the right road. It was not great, but better, and our joy was unbounded when we reached the overlook to the river and the boat ramp.<br />
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We did the boat launch and gear transfer in record time, because another storm cell was coming in from the west, and we all feared that John would not make it out the forty miles of gumbo if it got any muddier, even with an empty trailer. (Actually, he nearly didn't make it. Fortunately, he met an angel along the way. An old rancher in a pickup stopped and instructed him carefully on what roads to take. And then offered John a swig of whiskey. My kind of angel.)<br />
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After John left, George and I got the boat tied off and buttoned up the "tent" cover on it and sat out the edge of a passing storm with tunes and well-earned adult beverages. I reflected that the massive planned river voyage was about to be delayed or hazarded by being stuck in the prairie, or worse. Having the trailer jack-knife and flip while ramming through muddy stretches would have been pretty bad.<br />
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The weather passed, and we spent a quiet night, looking forward to Day 1 -- the launch of the actual water journey.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-19834054145266486742012-06-06T20:14:00.001-07:002012-06-06T20:14:49.263-07:00Day 4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hi, it's Rachel, Jon's daughter. I'm reporting on his behalf because he and George are in an area with very spotty cellular service. Neither of them are getting email or are able to access the internet. Phone coverage is marginal at best (so this report may be full of mistakes since I could barely hear what Dad was saying on the other end of the phone). They're both expecting to be more in touch soon. <br />
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In the meantime, he asked that I post a brief update now that they are on their way. Jon, George, and John (support crew) left Colorado on Friday, June 1st. <br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FgMY5dR4xH0/T9AXB8fvPmI/AAAAAAAAAFk/juoGyZEBW_s/s1600/250741_210938745692916_2067549700_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FgMY5dR4xH0/T9AXB8fvPmI/AAAAAAAAAFk/juoGyZEBW_s/s400/250741_210938745692916_2067549700_n.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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They launched the boat on Sunday, June 3rd and made is across Fort Peck Reservoir in less than a day. John then portaged them and the boat, and they launched on the river on Monday, June 4th. <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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They're currently 240 miles into their trip and just completed their third day on the Missouri River. The trip so far has been full of huge challenges as they navigate through very shallow river stretches. But, they are settled into some routines and having a great time. <br />
<br />
<br />
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More to come from Jon in a few days....</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D1cmLgrZdvU/T9AXC2lTq5I/AAAAAAAAAFs/39vJT_3vrxI/s1600/536414_446533215358424_100000052482081_1667544_1903756380_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D1cmLgrZdvU/T9AXC2lTq5I/AAAAAAAAAFs/39vJT_3vrxI/s400/536414_446533215358424_100000052482081_1667544_1903756380_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-83748894993604939162012-05-31T07:33:00.000-07:002012-05-31T07:34:42.703-07:00Day -5<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt;">Blue
Mesa</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">A
couple of weekends ago, my brother George and I went out on a dress rehearsal
of camping overnight on the boat with something approaching all the gear and
plunder we expect to be carrying when we put the boat in the water in Montana. The place we chose was the Blue Mesa
Reservoir, on the Gunnison River in western Colorado. I had gone by that body of water many times
over the years, on car and motorcycle expeditions into the San Juan Mountains
of southwestern Colorado, my favorite part of the state. I had enjoyed the scenery along the lake and
wanted someday to camp by it, never expecting to be camping ON the reservoir.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"> </span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8OUZfCUMQfg/T8d7jNlYwcI/AAAAAAAAADc/aJI1I_ioX4Y/s1600/blue+mesa+map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8OUZfCUMQfg/T8d7jNlYwcI/AAAAAAAAADc/aJI1I_ioX4Y/s400/blue+mesa+map.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Blue
Mesa is the centerpiece of the Curecanti National Recreation Area. It is the largest body of water in the state,
some twenty miles long with about 100 miles of shoreline. The Gunnison valley is “high desert”, which
means very little moisture, and the water supplying the lake is coming out of
the surrounding mountains. It also means
there is practically not a tree in sight, closer than on those mountains. It also means, according to a friend who went
to college in Gunnison, it is one of the coldest places on the planet in
winter.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">But
we happened to choose a very sunny and mild May weekend for our outing. We hauled the boat over the mountains from
Denver Friday afternoon, during which transit I had time to remember the value
of having a good checklist for any expedition.
Forgot my sleeping bag. So, we
did a Walmart fly-by in Salida and I chose a lighter-duty (30-50 degree) bag,
thinking that would be right for the eventual nights on the Missouri
River. The next morning I did a Walmart
fly-by in Gunnison because I forgot my water bottle. Lists are good, even if your brain hasn’t
started ossifying. Friday evening we
landed in a motel in Gunnison and went out foraging. Happily we ran into a just-fine Mexican
restaurant with good food, beer and live music, so it made for a good start to
the trip.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jlyfdBkWFHI/T8d7z7B74oI/AAAAAAAAADk/qRM7uZbWuOw/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jlyfdBkWFHI/T8d7z7B74oI/AAAAAAAAADk/qRM7uZbWuOw/s400/1.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Saturday
we made our way to the lake, had the boat inspected for undesirable life forms
(the parks folks are making a valiant attempt to keep Zebra Mussels and the
like from taking over all the state’s lakes), and launched mid-morning. We cruised up the lake to the marina and got
some gas, just to be on the safe side, and just took in the scenery.</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rkJ9KuL9Nkg/T8d7_45ZYuI/AAAAAAAAADs/RNy7GSnj8Og/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GP9Ottvq5tw/T8eAm6SImwI/AAAAAAAAAFY/4YnWcXxYvxI/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GP9Ottvq5tw/T8eAm6SImwI/AAAAAAAAAFY/4YnWcXxYvxI/s400/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nZWtMYbUGgU/T8d8KCpAe2I/AAAAAAAAAD0/9iVQsJtt1G4/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nZWtMYbUGgU/T8d8KCpAe2I/AAAAAAAAAD0/9iVQsJtt1G4/s400/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We
had lunch (standard river sandwich fare) on the boat, while demonstrating that
we had no skill in getting an anchor to catch on the lake bottom, but didn’t
drag the anchor quite all the way to shore.
Then we got to work <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">navigating</i>.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V4OYo62jsrI/T8d8U8QbN_I/AAAAAAAAAD8/HaMYCXmzrak/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V4OYo62jsrI/T8d8U8QbN_I/AAAAAAAAAD8/HaMYCXmzrak/s400/4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">A
word about that. The boat has a very
nice GPS/Depth Finder, which will be critical on the river trip for keeping us
from getting lost or running aground. It
is already my best buddy, even though I’ve customized three propellers while
getting serious about the depth finder function. Slow learner.
The first 1200 miles of the river trip will involve picking our way down
through a half-dozen unmaintained Missouri River stretches between reservoirs
that will no doubt prove the value of both GPS and depth finder functions. So, in preparation for that, brother George
is plotting waypoints along the best-guess main channel through these
stretches, on Google Earth satellite imagery.
And to rehearse that concept, he plotted waypoints all around Blue Mesa
and downloaded the images onto a chip/card that could be inserted into the
boat’s GPS unit. So then we could practice
navigating.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YGrvL5Wb9Lo/T8d8fxe6AsI/AAAAAAAAAEE/j4Q8K8mgYD8/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YGrvL5Wb9Lo/T8d8fxe6AsI/AAAAAAAAAEE/j4Q8K8mgYD8/s400/5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
found this most entertaining. We would
reach one waypoint on the display, punch a button to “GoTo” the next one, and
it would draw a line which we would then follow. I understand that airplanes follow such a
line, marked by radio signals, to a destination. So we chased around the lake, finding
occasionally that the waypoint was up on the shore, because the water is lower
than when the satellite image was recorded.
And we found that you can’t always just follow the line because it will
take you over islands and such. It was a
good afternoon’s activity. The important
thing is that we know that we will be able to go to Montana armed with course
plots that can be displayed on the boat’s GPS, which will no doubt help keep us
out of trouble there. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HS1Hfw2a4Bo/T8d8xjgFs3I/AAAAAAAAAEM/SDT6On6921w/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HS1Hfw2a4Bo/T8d8xjgFs3I/AAAAAAAAAEM/SDT6On6921w/s400/6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Later
on we made our way down the lake into the rising wind and chop, but the boat
was very stable going through the waves. But this was child’s play compared to what we
might well encounter on a windy day in the huge reservoirs in the plains.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zle-80wknTc/T8d88I4iD9I/AAAAAAAAAEU/9n8jFObur-g/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zle-80wknTc/T8d88I4iD9I/AAAAAAAAAEU/9n8jFObur-g/s400/7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Late
in the afternoon we made our way up into a narrow arm of the lake with no other
boats around, and after a few tries managed to anchor the boat fore and aft (to
keep it from swinging around one anchor).
We zipped the side curtains on, set up chairs, broke out chips and dip,
put on some tunes, and surveyed the scene.
What we were in was a pretty livable room (a good thing, as I will be
spending most evenings and nights in it for 10-11 weeks).</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PtMOaUsLCvs/T8d9H0KuqqI/AAAAAAAAAEc/qvz_4Wi2aag/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PtMOaUsLCvs/T8d9H0KuqqI/AAAAAAAAAEc/qvz_4Wi2aag/s400/8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">A bit
later we set up the roll table and broke out the cooking gear and cooked and
ate a fine pasta supper. That operation
and washing dishes was all very manageable, given that George and his wife Nan
had outfitted us with very complete kitchen equipment. A very important consideration we recognized
was that opening the side curtains around that area and having good
cross-ventilation is prudent. It would
be silly to blow up the boat and ourselves while lighting the Coleman
stove. And, in mosquito-plagued river
moorings it will be very nice to cook inside the screened-in tent rather than
outside it. I am undertaking further
research about exactly where and how the boat’s under-deck gas tank vents. Warmer weather this summer will encourage
more venting and, well, you know.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i6IkFrWKAIg/T8d9WUdHbQI/AAAAAAAAAEk/ov2HS5vRlKo/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i6IkFrWKAIg/T8d9WUdHbQI/AAAAAAAAAEk/ov2HS5vRlKo/s400/9.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We
set up the bunks – mine on a narrow bed across the boat made up using the
opposing bench seats, and George’s on a pump-up mattress on the deck in
back. Neither was satisfactory. My cushions were very hard and through the
endless wee hours I really missed my zero-degree sleeping bag. George’s mattress, because there wasn’t
really room to fully inflate its wide expanse, pooched out to the sides and
left his buns pretty much on the cold aluminum deck. Right above the cold gas tank. Right above the cold lake.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PvPNX90GZwA/T8d-rgkYvoI/AAAAAAAAAFA/wwbYiksQGSE/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PvPNX90GZwA/T8d-rgkYvoI/AAAAAAAAAFA/wwbYiksQGSE/s400/10.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b-nRlf50t-M/T8d-t_vYzMI/AAAAAAAAAFI/RGO-sLsB7MA/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b-nRlf50t-M/T8d-t_vYzMI/AAAAAAAAAFI/RGO-sLsB7MA/s400/11.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">But
it was a quiet night and we awoke to a beautiful calm, sunny morning. We hauled anchor, motored across to the area
of the take-out, and tied off in a slip for a leisurely breakfast. Life is good.
There was a fishing tournament going on, and we had a chance to chat
with some fishermen while wrapping things up.
We recovered the boat onto the trailer (I’m getting to where I can do
that without too much embarrassment), secured everything, and headed for home.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JLfeCmMd90U/T8d_18NyeOI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/aqEzpxB6nZc/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JLfeCmMd90U/T8d_18NyeOI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/aqEzpxB6nZc/s400/12.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We
are now very close to this show’s “opening night”, but we feel that the dress
rehearsal was very valuable. I’ve
outfitted us with good Therma-rest pads, and a number of other arrangements
have been tweaked. All gear of any value
will be stowed in heavy-duty Rubbermaid totes, which will be padlocked and
secured to the boat by cable. That is so
some undesirable visiting while we are uptown somewhere in a café will need
bolt-cutters to take very much. I am
installing a real sound system in the boat, so tunes will be properly delivered
all summer. George is pulling together
food and iced coolers for the first leg of the trip. I am making lists, buying stuff, and filling
my garage with enough gear and supplies to, well, sink a battleship. Very soon I will cram it all onto my little
twenty foot fishing boat, put on the cover, and head for Montana.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-527480542089243861.post-40962765849318495872012-04-24T19:48:00.000-07:002012-05-07T08:24:51.871-07:00Day -45<div style="text-align: left;">
This is
really happening, isn’t it!</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
Panic is setting in.
We are on the calendar to slide the boat into the water in forty-five
days, and I feel markedly unprepared.
That is despite the fact that I have been preparing for this event for months,
years, maybe decades. It’s a long story,
a story about rivers.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br />
Ingersolls have had some history with rivers. My grandfather, a midwestern lawyer and
businessman, got together with some cronies and started a barge line in the
1930s. This was Central Barge Line,
which ran a few boats on the Illinois, Mississippi and Ohio Rivers. He and partners later founded the Ohio River
Company, which grew to be one of the largest river carriers in the
country. My father, in his twenties, was
piloting small towboats pushing one or two barges up and down those
rivers. This was back in the time when
towboats were just evolving from sternwheeler steamboats to diesel powered
vessels. He eventually gained pilot’s
licenses on all the U.S. inland river system.
Pop grew up in that business and, after a Colorado cattle-ranching
moment in the late forties and early fifties, went on to be president of the
very substantial Federal Barge Lines operation, based in St. Louis, where I
grew up.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QZoTDDq0-d4/T6fpBgcZGrI/AAAAAAAAADI/03qQSui8A8Q/s1600/Steamboat+ACI+Jr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QZoTDDq0-d4/T6fpBgcZGrI/AAAAAAAAADI/03qQSui8A8Q/s400/Steamboat+ACI+Jr.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Because of that connection, I had the rare opportunity to
see some big rivers from the pilot houses of towboats, as a guest on sections
of the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers.
The best, when I was in high school, was a summertime ride (just me on
the guest list!) down the length of the lower Mississippi on the biggest
towboat in the world at the time, Federal’s “flagship” the newly christened M/V
America. It managed a tow of 30-40
barges down the ever-winding river, and I sat on the bench in the back of the
pilot house day and night watching the life of the shift pilot and wondering at
the river towns between St. Louis and New Orleans. Cape Girardeau, Memphis, Greenville,
Vicksburg, Natchez, Baton Rouge . . . civil war country, Mark Twain country (he
was a steamboat pilot). How cool was
that! Well, in all honesty, there were also
many hours of nothing to look at but trees, or levies, or chemical plants as we
got further south. But it was
fascinating anyway.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4DQteXY3U1E/T6fpCTcGHRI/AAAAAAAAADQ/S0PutuA0L2w/s1600/Towboat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4DQteXY3U1E/T6fpCTcGHRI/AAAAAAAAADQ/S0PutuA0L2w/s400/Towboat.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
I did a summer during my college years as a deckhand on a
smaller towboat traveling the Texas intracoastal waterway, pushing barges full
of bauxite (aluminum ore, which looks like orange dirt) from where South
American ships brought it in near Corpus Christi to an Alcoa plant near
Houston. Memories flood back from that
summer of hard work in very hot, humid conditions, of learning about the lives
of career deckhands (good ole boys all), beautiful vistas across coastal bays, Southern
cookin’ dished out by a Cajun cook (we ate like kings), endless din from the
diesel engines and the air conditioners in crew’s quarters, and orange. Orange tinted everything that was once white
– sheets, walls, everything. I went to a
barbershop after I left the boat and the barber said “Oh, you been down on the
bauxite barges.” How did you know? “Well, your scalp’s orange.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
I got to do canoe trips down in the Ozarks of southern
Missouri and northern Arkansas with my dad, which was a totally different kind
of river exposure, but no less wonderful.
I remember summer days floating long placid pools under overhanging
canopies of hardwood trees, often with bold white limestone walls lining the
way. And then a little excitement as we paddled
down through a drop – riffles, scarcely rapids – into the start of another long
pool.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
I’ve lived in the Denver area since the early seventies,
and within a few years after I moved here, my younger brother George did
too. It didn’t take long before he and
his wife Nan became river rats (I think he got the bug too), and started
spending all their free time floating Western rivers from Idaho to New
Mexico. And it didn’t take long for them
to fish me into going along on float trips and developing a love of the canyon
country of Utah and New Mexico. As my
two kids became old enough to manage a canoe or a rubber duckie (inflatable
kayak), I dragged Rachel and Adam along and got them hooked too. My wife Delly decided she had many better
ways to spend her free time, so took a pass whenever the annual one or two
float trips were put together.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
So we like rivers.
For many years I had been thinking that I’d like to do a lengthy river
trip of some sort. Maybe that could be
about getting my kids in touch with their family’s river connection, so they
could see first-hand those big rivers that their grandfather had piloted and I
had ridden so many years ago. I thought
maybe someday I would rent or buy a houseboat, and maybe go west, following
Lewis and Clark as far up the Missouri as possible. Sometime later I thought it would be cheaper
and easier to go down rather than up, so thought about going down the
Mississippi. Then I thought something
smaller and more manageable (and cheaper) than a houseboat made sense.</div>
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About that time the “bucket list” concept came along, and
I thought maybe after I retire I could just go by myself and do a long, lazy
meander down the country’s major rivers in a small boat. I read a couple of books by guys who did that
from Minneapolis the length of the Mississippi.
Then I was referred to one about an amazing guy, Buzz Holmstrom, who in
the 1930s took a wealthy British lady (probably a very interesting person
herself) in an open small motorboat from Portland OR to New York NY on rivers
(doing two portages, over the Rockies and around Niagara Falls). Eventually I read William Least Heat-Moon’s
book <u>River-horse</u> about his doing this trip in reverse, from the Atlantic
to the Pacific by river. And then there
is a wonderful guide book, <u>The Complete Paddler</u>, by David Miller, who
went the entire 2000 miles of the Missouri River in a sea kayak.</div>
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What then, I thought.
Why don’t I go from the highest navigable point in the inland waterways
system, let’s say Great Falls MT, to the farthest other end of the country,
let’s say Key West FL? Slightly
adjusted, that has become my bucket list item soon after I retire this May 25<sup>th</sup>. I haven’t found evidence of anyone ever
having made that particular trip. About
three years ago, after “getting the nod” from Delly, I started announcing this
plan to people, so that I would be increasingly committed to actually following
through and not have it just be so much hot air. A year ago, when I bought the boat, I became
seriously committed (Delly probably thought I should have been committed right
then, but didn’t say so).</div>
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From accounts by Heat-Moon and Miller I determined that
the first several hundred Missouri River miles across central Montana are
probably impassible for the type of motorboat I would need. David Miller described some of it as “a
braided network of shallow channels.” So
the start of the trip will be from a boat ramp at the Fourchett Creek
Recreation Area, at the upper end of Fort Peck Lake, in eastern Montana. That will be the start of 1,846 miles down
the Missouri River, and that is something less than half of the journey I will
be embarking on. It will continue south
along the Mississippi, Ohio, Cumberland, Tennessee, Tombigbee, Warrior, and
Mobile Rivers, and through Mobile Bay to the Gulf Coast and on to the
keys. I don’t know exact mileage, but by
the time I have reached Key West, and looped around the southern half of
Florida, through Lake Okeechobee and the intracoastal canal back to the west
coast and to take-out at Tampa, the trip will traverse something over 4,000
miles. The calendar has it penciled from
June 4<sup>th</sup> to some day before August 20<sup>th</sup>. That is our 40<sup>th</sup> wedding
anniversary, and I think I need to be off the boat that day.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S5YfXQ4tGEY/T5dhfhiVeVI/AAAAAAAAACg/Vch-GPOPWqg/s1600/Boatpeople.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-S5YfXQ4tGEY/T5dhfhiVeVI/AAAAAAAAACg/Vch-GPOPWqg/s400/Boatpeople.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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But I digress. The
panic is because the immensity of this undertaking is becoming more real to me
every day, and I have by no means topped all the learning curves involved. I have spent a year getting familiar with the
boat, and still feel like an amateur powerboater (having no previous experience
with motorboats). It is a 20’ open
welded-aluminum fishing boat, of a type that is only made and used in the
Pacific Northwest. This type of craft
seemed appropriate because the hull design is suitable for both riding large
waves and managing shallow river reaches.
I towed it back to Colorado from Washington state, after the good folks
at <a href="http://www.nwmarineandsport.com/" target="_blank">Northwest Marine</a> in Pasco,WA did modifications I felt necessary. They added a second outboard motor (in case I
break the main one), upgraded the seats (so my innards aren’t bounced to death
for 2 ½ months), added a second battery, installed a GPS/depth finder, and
built a custom “camper-back”, which extends the canvas top the full length of
the deck area, to provide a tent in which to camp onboard, protected from rain
and/or mosquitoes.</div>
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But the list of things to do for the trip is
endless. Learn about navigation, rules
of the road, Coast Guard regulations and such (in another life I was a naval
officer, so that helps a little bit).
Obtain electronic and/or paper charts for all these rivers and coastal
stretches. Buy stuff. Buy more stuff. Learn where to plan to stay for the night – a
marina, a wharf, tying off to a tree, anchoring in an inlet. Establish with some certainty where gasoline
can be had. Same goes for groceries,
ice, beer. Decide what to do about
security of equipment when away from the boat.
Consider self-protection (lots of conversations about pistol, bear
spray, wasp spray, flare gun, shotgun, etc.).
Arrange portage around six dams with no locks along the Missouri River
in Montana and the Dakotas. Equip for
worst-case scenario of getting stuck in the shallows of the upper
Missouri. Plan for weather events. A storm developing near a large lake in the
upper plains states can quickly deliver strong winds, five-foot waves, and
lightning. Further south the route
wanders through tornado country, and further south into hurricane country. The list of topics for research has been
daunting to say the least.</div>
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And then there’s the crew. I was convinced early on that doing the trip
solo presented too many opportunities for inconvenience or danger, to say
nothing of loneliness and boredom. So I
will have one companion, who will rotate through several people, generally for
stays of about a week. In the navy a
ship’s commanding officer’s second in command is the executive officer
(affectionately “XO”). My XO staffing
will include nine good folks, including a brother, son, daughter, two nephews,
and a few in-laws and retired buddies.</div>
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Reading and research continues. I will get out on the boat a few more times
during the remaining weeks, to play with the GPS/depth finder, practice docking
and anchoring, try a full-dress overnight expedition with my brother, etc. I will get the purchases list down to “nice
to have” items, work out administrative details (being gone from home for ten
weeks), wrap up things at the office, say my goodbyes, and in a screaming short
six weeks, head for Montana. Ready or
not.</div>
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