END OF THE ADVENTURE

End of the Adventure

It was hot and humid in Mobile, Alabama and Alison and I worked feverishly on emptying Happytat of all our personal things.  We had lived aboard for nearly a year and there was a lot of stuff to pack up. I also sanded and painted the rest of the deck before going back to Cleveland so it would look better to prospective buyers.  I have spent everything I own on buying and outfitting this boat and am counting on selling it for at least some of what I have put into her so I can get a new start on a home in TN.   A fresh coat of deck paint will go a long way toward getting a good price for her.

We left Happytat at Turner marina a little over four weeks ago to find a place to live in Cleveland while the boat sells and we earn a little money.  We had planned to park our RV in a campground for a while, but my mother offered to let us stay at her house for a few weeks, so we accepted her kind offer.   Two weeks later, we moved into an apartment.  I contacted my business partner, Tony to let him know I was available to work in the company in any capacity that was needed.  He immediately put me to running service calls, since June is one of our biggest months.  The income earned from work paid for us to go back to Mobile to finish moving out of the boat and get it ready to sell. 

But the purpose of this blog entry is to explain our decision to give up on the dream of sailing to exotic places.  There are people who have followed our blog who were enjoying the vicarious pleasure of our adventure and will be disappointed that we have decided to sell the boat and end this adventure. So, for their sake and my own, I need to write about the ending of Larry and Alison’s Great Adventure.

There were hints of the reality of living aboard on my blog entry titled: “The Dark Side of Living Aboard,” “The Sinking of the Titanic” and in other blog entries.  In fact, there are far more entries describing the difficulties of our adventure than the joys.  That’s because there was precious little joy in the adventure.  The first and possibly the biggest reason we are abandoning this adventure is because it took us FOUR WEEKS of sailing to get to Mobile.  That’s FOUR WEEKS to go a distance that we can travel by car in 7 hours!  FOUR WEEKS of our lives living 24/7 in a boat and seeing little but a green tunnel.  The monotony was broken occasionally by mechanical failure, the challenges of passing under low bridges and finding a place to anchor for the night without going aground.   Had we had no mechanical problems, we might have made it in three weeks, but that’s still a long time to sit in a boat.

And was there any adventure in sailing down the river?  Precious little!  We had a day or two that was warm and sunny with no problems, but even then there was nothing to do but sit in the boat and stare at the river, looking for potential obstacles in the water or keeping a watch out for low bridges.  But there were many more days of sitting in the cockpit, wrapped up in layers of coats, guiding the boat downriver with a cold wind and occasional rain in my face ten hours per day.  Alison didn’t have it much better in the cabin, sitting for weeks in a space no bigger than our former bedroom, her joints aching from inactivity.

When the river opened up onto Mobile Bay and I was sailing on the largest body of water I had ever sailed on, it was exciting!  We sailed the bay for about three hours until we made it to Turner Marina.  As usual, the wind was still blowing on our nose, so I was still motoring and not sailing, but we were still impressed with the big ships we passed and the size of the bay.  When we turned off the main channel to go to the marina, I was surprised to find that we had to be very careful to stay in the channel because the water depth was very shallow outside the channel. So even on this huge (to us) bay, we were back to watching out for shallow water, just like back home in Chickamauga Lake.

Once we left Turner marina and made it to the lovely white sand beaches of Pensacola, we finally anchored out in salt water.  But once we were there and had walked the beaches, we found ourselves back in the boat again, wondering what do to next.  We sailed on over to Pensacola Beach and found a great anchorage that was just a short dinghy ride to the tourist area.  We had the same view and same access to the great restaurants, beach and entertainment that people were paying $100 a night for-if they could find one available on this Memorial Day weekend.  Cool! 

BUT, we had no air conditioning! And when our water tanks got low, I had to motor over to a nearby marina to get water from them.  I had to run the motor for hours per day just to keep the batteries charged so our refrigerator and lights would work. And don't even get me started on marine toilet maintenance! We wanted to do some sight-seeing of the area, but had no car to get us there.   So after the first couple days, we had exhausted all we cared to do in Pensacola Beach.

“Ahh,” you protest “but when you finally arrive at the coast and sail on the ocean, it will all be worth the suffering.” 

I was excited to finally find a day to devote to sailing on the big ocean!  But as you might have read in my previous blog, that turned out to be an unpleasant experience too!   Now, I know that the ocean is not always that rowdy and I could very easily sail for days or weeks in beautiful gently rolling seas.  But that two hours of utter exhaustion and disorientation was enough for us!  Imaging getting caught in even rougher weather not for two hours, but for days at a time, 24 hours per day with nowhere to rest!  No thanks!

So, if sailing on the open ocean no longer seems fun, the boat is cramped and un-air conditioned, are there any other reasons not to continue this journey?

Well yes there are even more reasons to not continue this journey. 

Ever since I bought this boat, I have put thousands more into it, along with months of my time and energy.  When we listed the things we needed to continue our journey safely over open sea to South Florida, the total added up to at least another two or three thousand!  That was the final straw. All the way down the river, I had to spend and spend to fix things and keep the motor running.  When does the hemorrhaging stop and the fun begin? I am an above-average mechanic and did most of the work myself and still I spent thousands.  A common saying in boat circles is that B.O.A.T stands for Bring Out Another Thousand.  A truer saying was never said!    I had had enough of spending, suffering, and spending most of my waking and sometimes sleeping time, working on or thinking about working on the boat.  I had brought my guitar along thinking I would finally have time to learn some new songs.  But there was never a time that I didn’t need to spend every moment tending to the boat.  No time to sit around and play guitar or even read a few chapters in a book, unless it pertained to sailing.

All this so that we could travel at 5 miles per hour; then when we got there, we had no car to get around in.  Had we decided to continue, we would have spent several thousand dollars and the next 4-8 weeks going down the coast of Florida, dodging sandbars, fishing nets, thunderstorms and possible hurricanes or tropical storms so that we could live in an uncomfortable cabin to see the parts of Florida that we have seen before by car or airplane.  Those thousands would have bought us several really nice trips to wherever the heck we wanted to go in a fraction of the time and in a great deal more comfort.

In summary, I can no longer imagine what the attraction would be to live and travel in a boat.  They’re amazingly slow, uncomfortable and remarkably expensive.  

When I was a boy, I decided one summer day to ride my bike to the end of Troy Street and headed North.  After a few hours, I turned back.  I learned later that Troy Street is a state highway that goes all the way to Michigan.  There was no shame in turning back, only a lesson in being realistic.

When I learned to fly airplanes, I bought a map of the US and tacked it to my wall.  I imagined many trips all over the country in a small airplane.  I imagined that I would fly to New Orleans on a Friday in a few hours, then fly back Sunday.  When I learned the cost and complications of flying a small airplane long distances, I decided to give up that dream.  But I learned and experienced a lot, so it was time well spent.

When I became a hang glider pilot, I dreamed of soaring to cloud base and staying aloft for hours like a bird.  I might even go cross country long distances, catching rising air for hours and covering many miles in my motor-less wing.  I flew my hang glider for several years off and on, but never got higher than the 2000 feet that the tow plane pulled me to, or stayed aloft longer than about 45 minutes.  But it wasn’t a waste of my time.  It is still one of the most amazing things I’ve ever experienced!

When I decided to become a sailor, I dreamed of sailing across oceans and seeing many wonderful things by boat. I promised to stop when it wasn’t fun anymore.  Well, after living aboard for a year and sailing to the Gulf, it wasn't fun anymore.  So it was time to stop. 

Now that we are back on land, little things that we took for granted bring us great pleasure: the marvelous comfort of my recliner; being able to use the toilet, then just flush everything down to who-knows-where; having a refrigerator that we can just reach into and get what we want; having a freezer that can freeze ICE CREAM; having unlimited water available without having to fill the tanks first; having hot water in the shower every morning; having a car to go to the grocery with; having electricity available everywhere; air conditioning; being able to just go outside and walk around; going to music concerts and movies;

I hope I didn’t disappoint anyone who was rooting for me and hoping to see me sail across oceans.  If this is your dream, please don’t let me influence you negatively.  You might be smarter, richer, more capable, or just more tolerant of the inconveniences than I and might love a life aboard.  If so, I’ve got lots of books and lessons learned that I’d be happy to share.

But life is short. There is no time to waste pursuing a dream that no longer makes sense. 

Now, on to the next adventure…

Happytat Makes The Last Leg of Her Journey.

After our wild ride on the big waters Sunday, we retreated back to the safety of the harbor in Pensacola Beach.  I had called my brother Robby several days ago to come join us for a few days vacation before taking us back to Cleveland. He was due to arrive Tuesday, so we just took it easy on the boat most of the day Monday.  We had arrived in Pensacola on Friday evening and spent Saturday doing typical tourist things Saturday.  We walked around the "strip", looked at the beach and walked the long pier.  Sunday morning we went back to the restaurant we had enjoyed Saturday and had their Sunday Bottomless Champagne Brunch at a table on the beach.  It was delightful!  Alison had Eggs Benedict and I had Eggs Benedict with fish.  And of course, they supplied us with several carafes of champagne each.  The Eggs Benedict with fish had an english muffin topped with a fillet of fish, two poached eggs, a slice of ham and hollandaise sauce with shrimp on the side.  Yum!

After breakfast, the champagne had slowed us down considerably, so we stopped by a beach t-shirt shop to let the buzz wear off and do a little shopping.  We bought two inflatable floats and a beach chair, then wandered down to the beach a short distance away.  Being Memorial Day weekend it was packed.  It is a lovely white sugar sand beach and the waves coming in were just big enough to be fun to play in.  We set up our chair and took our inflatables down to the water.  After wearing ourselves to exhaustion fighting the waves and trying to float on our inflatables, we retreated to our beach base where the sound of the surf and children playing lulled us to sleep.  When we woke up, we found ourselves a little sunburned.  We had faithfully applied 50 spf sunscreen before going into the water, but fell asleep before we re-applied it.  Maybe the champagne had clouded our judgement?

Next morning we both had mild sunburn and some foot blisters, but were otherwise in fine shape.  I worked on the boat's throttle cable and steering while we waited on Robby to arrive.  When he found us at about 5 o'clock, we headed for the "strip" for another evening of fun in Pensacola Beach.  It was Tuesday and we were pleased to find that they had a regularly scheduled free concert at 7 o'clock.  So we wandered around the beach area waiting for the music to start.  While we waited, we heard some good blues guitar coming from a beach bar a short distance away.  We hung around and listened and the group was really talented.  But when 7 o'clock came, we headed back to see what music the free concert offered.  They were an okay group playing covers and we stayed a little while, then I suggested we go back to the beach bar and check out that group again.

We spent the rest of the night at that beach bar.  The band was truly talented and we thoroughly enjoyed them.  During their first break, I challenged Alison to a game of pool.  Alison is a fine pool player with her own set of pool rules and she won that first game.  She generously allowed Robby to play me instead playing the usual winner.  We played pool and listened to a great band for several hours before walking back to the boat at about 11:00 pm.

Wednesday we did some sightseeing by going to the Navy Air Museum, a lighthouse and Pickens Fort.

The wind on the beach was blowing furiously and there were red flags out to indicate dangerous  conditions at the beach.  I was so glad I wasn't out on that ocean in a sailboat!

We needed to get the boat back to Mobile where we were going to leave it while we went to Tennessee. Since we finished all our sightseeing and there was still half of the day left, we decided to head toward Mobile and see how far we could get before dark, then finish the trip the following day; that way it would break up a brutal 12 hours straight of sailing if we tried to do it in one day.   Alison was tired of being in the boat and agreed to drive Robby's car to Mobile while we sailed the boat there.  In a car, it takes a car about 1.5 hours to drive to Mobile.  It takes about 12 hours of hard sailing to make the same trip.

We got the boat ready, said goodbye to Alison, then Robby and I sailed west toward Mobile.  The wind was still blowing 25-30 mph from the Southeast, so I put up the jib sail and turned off the motor.  We were flying by sailing standards at 7 to 8 mph with only the jib sail up.  Since we were in the bay and not in the ocean, there were no big swells to toss us around and we were having a great time.  Even without ocean waves, sailing in those conditions can be exhausting though, because the skipper has to constantly keep the boat on course and the sails trimmed.

We were making great time and had called Alison to give her our projected arrival time at Lulu's restaurant at about 8:00 pm.  This was much farther than we had expected we would make it by that time, but the winds were in our favor and we were making good time.  Alison was nearby a bridge where we were about to pass under, so she agreed to find a place to take a picture of the boat as it passed by.  Just as we were closing in on the bridge, the wind suddenly shifted, blowing the sail violently the to opposite tack, then back again.  It continued doing this until we were well clear of the bridge.

 We weren't aware of it yet, but this was the beginning of the day's troubles. After clearing the bridge, the wind stabilized and we were back to normal sailing.  But just a few miles farther, the channel opened up into Perdido Bay and the channel markers were farther apart.  The wind was still honking and Happytat had "bones in her teeth" as we sailed onward at a fast clip.  I was in the process of looking for the channel markers when Alison called me on the phone.  In that 60 seconds of inattention, Happytat had wandered off the channel and into shallow water.  I felt that sudden loss of speed that indicated that I had run aground.  The boat swung sharply to the port (left) side and stopped. The wind blew the boat over sharply, but made no forward movement.  We were stuck!  I immediately went into all the procedures I had used before to get unstuck: I started the motor and tried to back up, then tried forward full speed, then turned the wheel back and forth, all to no avail.  I used a homemade depth gauge that I had made with a weight and a ribbon with measuring marks written on it to check my depth all around the boat.  I had about 4 feet of water under me, I need 5.5 feet for my keel to clear.  Robby helped me raise the main sail in an effort to heel the boat over farther, reducing the clearance under the keel.  But that didn't work either.  All this time, the wind was blowing furiously and the sails were flapping and heeling the boat over by 15-20 degrees.

I was contemplating my options at this point.  It would be dark in an hour or so and I needed to be at anchor by dark.  Staying here in the middle of the bay all night wasn't an attractive option.  I could have dropped the dinghy, rowed over to the front of the boat and lowered my 44 lb anchor into the dinghy then rowed 100 feet out into deeper water and dropped the anchor.  Then I could have winched myself out into deeper water.  The problem with that plan was that I wasn't sure I could row against that furious wind.  Another option was to call US Boat for a tow.  They would certainly have pulled me out in short order, but they would also have wanted about $800 to do it.  I had inland rivers towing insurance which I had used twice on this trip, but had forgotten to upgrade to coastal insurance, so I wasn't insured for this grounding.

Robby saw a boat coming our way and we waved our arms for help. A young man with a few friends on a small pontoon boat came by and asked if they could help.  I explained that we were aground and needed to be pulled into deeper water.  He said: "I've never done this before, so you'll have to tell me how to do it." I agreed and got out my extra long rope.  After several tries, he finally caught the rope, then it promptly wrapped itself around his propeller.  He quickly shut down his engine and spent the next 15 minutes unwrapping it while the wind blew his boat around us.  Once he had the prop clear, he tried to start his motor and it wouldn't start.  He worked on it for another 15 minutes and it roared to life.  His little 70 hp motor started pulling at my 13,000 lb sailboat and in a couple minutes we pulled free.  But our troubles weren't over! 'The wind was still blowing hard,  I still had both sails up to heel the boat over and once we were free, the sails propelled us straight at the little pontoon boat at an alarming rate of speed!  I released the jib sail to fly free in the wind and turned the boat sharply away.  We missed his boat, but the rope was still attached and my boat was going to jerk his boat hard when the slack in the rope was gone, probably causing us to collide.  Robby ran forward and released the rope from our cleat just in time and we sailed away from the pontoon boat. Happytat turned a complete 360 degrees before settling back to the direction we needed to go.  He yelled back at us and asked if we wanted our rope back.  I hated to lose that rope, but the danger of trying to get close enough to him in this wind to retrieve it was just  not worth it; so I waved him off and yelled thanks for the help.

The jib sail was flapping wildly in the pounding wind and the boat was still not in the channel where we were assured of deep water.  I told Robby to man the helm for me while I went forward and tried to douse the mail sail and reign in the jib sail.  I told him to head for that green buoy ahead and to stay to the right of it.  He took the wheel and did just as I instructed him to do while I went forward to face a jib sail that was flapping violently back and forth in the wind.  I managed to drop the mainsail while it tried to throw me off the boat, then tackled the jib.  It had wrapped itself around the fore-stay and the sheets (ropes) were tangled around each other and around the fore-stay.  After several minutes of struggle, I had the jib sail back to normal.  About that time, I felt the familiar lurch of the boat going aground again!  "No! This couldn't be!  We're in the channel and it should be plenty deep!"  But we were stuck again.

I tried the same tactics as before with the engine and turning the wheel, but again it didn't work.  We were very stuck again!  But this time within minutes, another power boat came by and we hooked onto his boat.  This time I only had a short rope to use, maybe 30 feet or so.  He pulled with his 200 hp motor and we came free again, and again the jib sail propelled us toward our rescue boat.  This time they managed to release the rope quickly, I turned my boat away sharply and we cleared his boat by a few feet.  I quickly waved thanks and turned my attention to finding the channel and deeper water.  The wind was still blowing hard, so things happen quickly and I had no time for chit chat.

I found a green channel marker and then I saw a red channel marker to its left.  So that was why I had gone aground the second time!  I had told Robby to stay to the right of the green marker and I should have told him to stay to the left of it.  He had done as I said and sailed us right back into shallow water.    I held my breath, hoping we wouldn't go aground again and sailed directly toward the red marker, then turned to stay in the channel.  This time, we had enough water under us and sailed on.  I took down the jib sail and started the motor.

But the channel began turning back and forth sharply and it was getting dark. It was hard to know exactly where the channel was most of the time.  Twice, I mistook where the channel markers were and twice I ran aground.  These two times however, I had no sails up and was going much slower and was able to back out of the shallow water without getting stuck.   After about 30 minutes of following this channel, I began to wonder if I was still on the Inter-coastal Waterway (ICW).  Since our second grounding, I had been so focused on staying in deep water that I had not had time to consult my map and Ipad to confirm my position and direction.  I found a wider place in the channel and slowed the boat enough to take a reading of my position.  To my surprise and consternation, I discovered that I had taken a wrong turn when I went aground the second time and was on a side channel and not on the ICW that I was supposed to be on.  I turned the boat around 180 degrees and headed back the way I came.

By now it was very dark outside and it was difficult to see the channel markers in this narrow channel. Robby went out on deck with a powerful hand-held spot light and spotted the channel markers for me as I slowly motored my way along.  I was exhausted and it was getting darker.  I needed somewhere to tie up for the night.  Consulting the Ipad mapping program,  I found a marina a few miles away and called Alison to tell her where to meet up with us.

After about an hour of motoring in the dark, we found the marina and headed for it.  The wind was still blowing hard and that made it especially difficult to pull up to a dock and tie up without crashing into the dock or another boat.  On the second try, I managed to get close enough to hop off the boat and tie her to the dock.  Alison had seen us coming and met us at the dock.  I threw her a rope and she wrapped it around a cleat.  But the wind was blowing the boat hard against the vertical dock poles.  Alison helped me tie a fender horizontally to protect the boat from the pole.  I looked around for a better place to tie up that was more protected from the wind and waves, but there just weren't any better options.  So we secured Happytat and went to the cabin to rest finally.  Despite the boat's rocking back and forth and bumping the dock all night, we all seemed to sleep well that night.

Next morning at about 6:30 am, I was up and ready to go again.  We had a bowl of cereal, untied the dock lines and headed out for the last leg of our journey back to Mobile.  Alison left in the car to meet us there.  At first the wind was gentle and I wondered if I should put up both sails.  But we were going 6 mph and putting up the other sail would make a lot more work, so I let the jib sail take us along without help from the motor or the mainsail.  As the day progressed, the winds got stronger and stronger until it was stronger than the day before.  After about two hours of travelling in a narrow channel, we entered Mobile Bay.  Mobile Bay is big.  So big, you often can only see land on one side or the other, but not both sides of the bay at the same time.  Following the ICW markers, we sailed out into the bay.  After an hour on the ICW it was time to turn Northwest toward the main channel that runs toward Mobile.  The wind had become increasingly strong so that by the time we turned NE, there were 2-3 foot waves in the bay and the jib sail was pulling hard.  While it wasn't as bad as my time in the open sea a couple days before, the waves made it hard to stay on course.  The wind was coming from directly behind us at 25-30 mph.  I noticed that we were the only sailboat on the bay and wondered to Robby if they knew something we didn't know about conditions.  But there was no turning back now and we sailed onward.

We had no disasters or incidents on this leg of the trip other than having to sail in ferocious winds and waves.  It was 4 hours of exhausting sailing.  The waves would pick up the back of the boat, lift her up like a cork in a bathtub, twist her around 20 degrees, then drop her between the next wave.  I had to stand at the helm constantly, every muscle in my body being worked to its maximum capacity to keep her on course and under control.  Neither I nor Robby had any sea-sickness despite the rolling waves.  We finally dropped the sail and motored into the side channel that led to Turner Marina, our destination.  All the way to the marina, the waves tossed us around as if to have one more go at us before we made it to safety.

Once we finally arrived at the marina the wind made it impossible to back into the slip, so I drove her in bow first.  The dock-hand that helped me tie her up said the conditions out there were so bad that nobody in their right mind would be out there sailing on purpose. So that was why I saw no other sailboats or any other pleasure boats on the bay!  After 6 hours of sailing in those conditions, I staggered to the cabin and finally managed to rest.  And to think, I had actually planned originally to do this trip in a straight 12 hour day!

A Wild Day on the Sea

Last week I finally got what I wanted: a day of sailing my own boat on the open sea.  Winds were predicted to be about 15 mph and skies clear; perfect sailing weather!  I spent the morning getting everything fastened down so things wound't be tossed around so much when I put up the sails.  We pulled out of our cozy harbor in Pensacola Beach at about noon and headed for the inlet to the Gulf at Santa Rosa Island. We checked the tides and learned that the tide would be rising, so we could expect some current through the inlet; but with the winds blowing out of the Southeast, we should have some wind in our sails to help the engine push us out past the current. The sailing was great on the way there. It took about two hours to sail from the harbor we had been in for a few days to the inlet and the winds were perfect.  I had both sails up and the boat was moving along at a nice clip of about 6-7 mph.  The bay was dotted with other sailboats as well on this Memorial Day long weekend.  I noticed however that there were no other boats heading out to sea.  Hmmm Do they know something I don't know?

I turned into the inlet and despite the wind in my sails, the boat slowed from 7 to 4 mph as I pointed toward the sea. We also began to feel some ocean swell that wasn't there in the bay.  I was excited and a little scared as Happytat pointed toward the open sea.  It was a similar feeling to standing on the launch at Lookout Mountain, looking at the open sky that I was preparing to launch into.  Or the feeling I always got when I was putting my raft or kayak into a white water river.  I started up the Iron Sail (the diesel engine) for support and pushed through the current.

The farther I got toward the open sea, the more ocean swell Happytat happily sailed over.  After about thirty minutes and 2.5 miles of following the channel markers and chart plotter out toward the sea, I finally turned left and sailed back toward Pensacola Beach .  Yee Ha, I was under canvas on the open sea! My goal was to sail to the Pensacola Beach pier and the beach we swam in the day before. I set the direction of about 090 magnetic. The sails caught the wind, heeled the boat over from 10 to 20 degrees and sent us along the water at about 6 mph.  All I had to do then was sit back and adjust the wheel to keep us at 090 and parallel with the coast, but not too close.  If I got too close to the coast, there was shallow water that could cause Happytat to run aground.

We were on a course that was just about 15 degrees off the wind, so it was close hauled up-wind all the way. The swells were maybe 2-4 feet and coming from my starboard bow.  Each wave raised Happytat up, then back down with a splash.  It was like what I imagine being on a bucking horse would feel like.  At first it was exciting, like a white water ride.  But after about an hour of riding this wild horse, I began to get tired.  It was a struggle to keep Happytat on course because the wind and waves were constantly trying to force her toward the coastline just 2 or 3 miles away.  Alison soon began to feel disoriented and went down to the cabin to lie down.  I offered to turn back if she wasn't feeling good, but she insisted that we go on.  I wasn't having any symptoms other than the beginnings of fatigue and hunger.  And the waves kept coming and Happytat kept riding over and through them.  After an hour and a half, I decided to "hove to" for a few minutes to get some rest and something to eat. A boat that is "hove to" is parked at sea, neither going forward or backwards.  I eased the bow toward the wind, let the jib sail cross the wind to the starboard side without releasing the sheet and turned the wheel toward port .  It wasn't a perfect position, but the boat slowed her forward movement and the waves calmed down a little and allowed me to release my death grip on the wheel for a few minutes.  I went below and got a snack and some water and checked on Alison.  She was still feeling "swimmy-headed" but not sick.  I evaluated her condition, my fatigue and made the decision to turn back toward calmer waters, forsaking the original goal of reaching the Pensacola Beach and pier.

Turning back put Happytat on a down-wind course. The wind was now coming over our back port quarter and the waves were coming from the same direction.  The feel of the boat was very different now.  The motion was not one of crashing through waves, but rather being pushed by the waves.  The boat rocked back and forth and up and down.  Each time a wave lifted the stern of the boat up, it changed our direction by 10 or 20 degrees and I had to wrestle the wheel to get us back on course.  After only a few minutes of this new motion, I began to feel that old familiar queasiness that precedes sea sickness, and I still had about an hour and a half of sailing back toward the inlet before I could get any relief from the relentless waves.  I have been sea sick several times and it is worse than just being nauseous and feeding the fish.  It is a malaise that makes you want to curl up somewhere and die. But I couldn't curl up and die because someone had to pilot this boat back to safety and Alison was already out of commission.  When I used to fly small airplanes I understood that once I was in the air, if something went wrong with either the plane or myself, there was no pulling over to the curb to fix things.  Now I realized that it is the same with sailing.  I couldn't just stop sailing and make the boat be still until I got better, I had to sail on, no matter how I felt.  So I sailed on, feeling worse with each wave.

About an hour and a half later I finally reached the buoy that marked the inlet back to the calm bay waters.  I turned the boat toward starboard 90 degrees and headed toward safety.  Now the waves were directly behind me and the motion was even worse than before!  The swells had grown larger and more malevolent.  They rolled under my stern, lifting it four or five feet, then rolled under me toward the bow and, turning me 20 or 30 degrees, dropped me between two waves.  When Happytat was sitting in the bottom between waves, the water was all around her at the level of her rails.  Then another swell raised the stern again, starting the process all over again.  I hadn't vomited yet, but was very weak.  It took a determined force of will to remain in control of the boat and myself.  Because the boat was being tossed around by the waves and being turned back and forth with each wave, I was only making three or four mph toward land. So I started up the engine and pushed the throttle nearly to full speed.  With both sails up, a strong tail wind and the engine roaring I still was only able to average about 5 mph because the waves washed Happytat back and forth between them.

It took the longest half hour ever to finally make it past the entrance of the bay and calm waters.  I found a nearby beach and headed for it.  I desperately wanted to rest.  As I approached a likely spot to drop the anchor, a man on the beach began making angry gestures toward me to keep me away from his fishing lines.  I motored a little farther and found a place to drop anchor.  Exhausted as I was, I still had to muster the energy to push the 44 lb anchor with its chain overboard and make sure it held before I could rest.

The boat was never in any danger of being swamped or sunk.  It was just a miserably uncomfortable ride.  And the waves were only 3-5 feet!  That's not even a big storm or anything and I couldn't wait to get back to safety.  I remember telling someone back at Sale Creek that I thought my white-water experience might have prepared me for the ocean and that it might even be fun to sail in some big seas.  I was an idiot!  There is no comparison between the Ocoee river and even a mildly active ocean.  And to think that I was looking forward to an open ocean voyage!  Ha!  I couldn't even tolerate a 3 hour day sail with winds only in the 20 to 25 mph range! The sea can throw a lot more wind and wave at me than that and do it for days and nights on end!  I had to wonder how I would have managed if I had been days away from a safe bay or harbor with the wind and waves pounding me like they did today.  I don't want to find out.

thanks for reading this.
Larry

Finally! Walking together on white sand beaches!

May 24, 2013  Friday ( I had to check my phone for that info)

                                    Happytat anchored off the beach with local wild-wife in foreground.

                                                    Our first "landing" on a beach with Titanic.

I am gently rocking back and forth on the boat as I write this. We are anchored a few hundred feet off Santa Rosa Island in sight of Pensacola Florida.  There has been a wonderful warm breeze ever since we got here of between 8 and 14 mph and the boat rocks up and down to the waves in a hypnotic way.  I find myself sitting silently for long periods on the deck, feeling the wind on my body and being rocked to sleep by the gentle waves.  Ordinarily I would have a book to read in idle times like these, but somehow I am just not interested in anything but enjoying the moment.  Many times I have driven or flown to a beach and have usually enjoyed the experience of walking or wading in the water, then going back to my air conditioned hotel room.  But it is quite a different experience for my "room" to be a boat sitting on the water.  I am a part of the wind and waves, not just a spectator or visitor.  And I worked damn hard to get here.

It is the fulfillment of another long held dream!  It adds to the pleasure that it has been a hard-fought-for achievement   I have fought head winds all the way here, literally and figuratively. Not only have I worked incessantly for a year for this moment, but the dream started many years ago.  And now it's here.  I've done it and it has been worth it all.  I'm reminded of a Beatles lyric: "For a man must break his back to have his day of leisure..." What a pity it would have been had I worked so hard and never had the reward of that day of leisure.  Many men have done just that.  There are still many experiences remaining, but if I never sailed another mile, I can say "The record shows, I took the blows and did it my way."

The past two days Alison and I have rowed ashore and spent wonderful hours at the beach. The day before yesterday, I got the sailing rig out and was going to finally take the Titanic out for a day sail.  So I let her down off the davitt, installed the mast and sail, slid in the centerboard and put the pintles in the gudgeon of the rudder.  I sailed only a few hundred yards before I suddenly lost rudder control.  I looked back and the pintle had broken off the rudder and I had no control over the direction of the boat.  So I rowed back to Happytat unhappily.  That night, I thought I'd try some trusty epoxy on it, so I carefully re-installed the pintle and glued it back in with a generous layer of epoxy.  Next day, I put the sail back on, the centerboard back in and put the pintle in the gudgeon again.  I got maybe 50 yards this time before my repaired pintle snapped off again, this time at a different place than the epoxy repair.  The plastic is just too fragile too repair.  Later that day, we rowed Titanic to shore and couldn't get the home made plywood center board to come out of its slot. When we got to shallow water, we pushed down on the boat to get it to come back out and it broke in two. So now Titanic has no centerboard or rudder.  Time to spend some more money!

About 1 minute after Alison took this picture, the pintle broke.  But it's a fun little boat to sail when it works!

Yesterday, Alison and I waded in the ocean and sat by it for a few hours; then we walked back to the protected side of the Santa Rosa barrier island and snorkeled some shallow waters near the boat.  In about three feet of water, we saw sand dollars and several dozen starfish.  It was an idyllic day, holding hands while jumping over big waves, sitting by the beach soaking up sunshine, then snorkeling together.  We returned to the boat exhausted, hungry and very happy.  I was whistling the old Bobby Vinton tune: "As we walked down the sand together, holding hands, walking all alone.  So in love are we two, that we don't know what to do, so in love, so much in love..."  or something like that.  It was one of those romantic days that couples dream of.

There was a strong SW wind by the time we were ready to head back to Happytat and Alison and I began rowing upwind toward home.  After rowing for quite some time, Alison realized that we weren't getting any closer to the boat.  I had been just rowing against the wind without making any progress.  So I rowed back to the shore, got out and walked the dinghy several hundred yards to where I was upwind of Happytat.  Then it was an easy row downwind to home.

After two weeks at the marina in Mobile, I was afraid that the temptation to stay in the comfort of a marina with electricity, unlimited water supply and a firm attachment to terra firma would tempt me to stay longer and longer until the dream of sailing to distant shores became a distant "if only..."  I fear few things but I truly fear that Comfort will enter a guest and become my master.  Honesty though, we really did have to get well, then do some boat repairs and upgrades before moving on to bigger waters.  But I was eager to throw off the dock lines again and get moving toward the ocean.

When I finally threw off the lines and sailed (motored) into Mobile bay, there was a brisk 14 mph wind blowing from the South -the direction I was going- and 2-4 foot waves.  I remembered that this is the kind of water I get seasick on and I have no anti-nausea meds onboard.  I sailed on, expecting any moment to begin to feel that familiar queasiness, but it never came.  Alison and I both had no sea sickness all day, even thought the water was pretty rough most of the day. When our course finally turned to the East I put up the jib sail and motor sailed for about an hour.  It was good to finally have some wind in my sails!  When we left the big bay and entered into the Intercoastal Waterway, the wind died and I tried to douse the jib sail but it jammed and wouldn't wind up like it was supposed to and flapped around like a fish out of water.  So I removed it from the fore stay and stowed it on the deck.  Next morning I was able to untangle the rope that caused the problem and re-install the jib sail.

                                           Happytat comfortably tied to the dock in Mobile.

Back to Mobile:
Ever since the first day I saw this boat for sale, I have wanted to paint the deck.  The original owner had slopped on a horrible coat of gel coat over everything, including the areas that were supposed to be non-skid. There were drips and streaks everywhere and it just looked dirty, no matter how much I scrubbed it.  When we got to Mobile, I could barely walk on the deck because it was so slick in the morning dew.  There is supposed to be a special type of paint called "non-skid" on the parts of the deck that is walked on and needs special traction to keep from falling.  Imagine trying to go to the front of the boat to raise a sail or drop an anchor or untangle a line on a wet slippery surface that is rocking and rolling violently.  Add to that the fact that if you fall off in an open sea, it is very unlikely you will be found, and the non-skid surface becomes one of the most important safety features of a boat.  So now that I was facing the probability of sailing on the open ocean soon, I decided that now, here at Mobile, was the time to paint the non-skid.

Surrounding the areas of non-skid is the pretty part of the paint: the non-textured shiny paint.  In the cockpit that is most of the surface area.  Because the previous paint job had been so sloppy with paint drips and deep brush marks, I had to first sand down all those surfaces before I could paint them.  Gelcoat sets up like hard plaster and is very hard to sand.   It took three long days of constant sanding to finally get the cockpit ready to paint.  My hands and fingers still ache from those long hours with a vibrating sander in them, pressing as hard as I could to grind down the old gel coat to a flat surface.  A fourth day of painting and the cockpit was finally done!  The non-skid works great to keep from slipping and the flat shiny sections look much better than  before. Unfortunately, I ran out of energy before I got the rest of the boat painted.  But since we have decided to go back to Cleveland in June instead of continuing South, the rest of the painting can wait.

Return to Cleveland:
Speaking of going back to Cleveland, I'll explain.  When we left Sale Creek in April, we knew we were heading South just in time for Hurricane season, when most cruisers are heading back North.  But I was so determined that I would not spend another summer there that I was willing to take my chances.  Leaving in Spring almost caused problems at the outset because the rains caused the rivers to rise above normal levels and bridge clearance became an issue all the way down the river.  We barely made it in time before the levels would have caused me to have to either stop my journey where I was, return to Sale Creek, or have the mast taken down.  When we got here, I researched the remainder of the trip to the Keys and found that the prevailing winds in summer are from the South.  That would mean that I would have to motor the entire 450 miles against both a strong head wind as well as seas against me.  That would be miserable travelling.  In Fall, the winds are more from the North and East, which would make the trip far more enjoyable.   So weather placed high on the reasons to delay our journey.

Mark, our neighbor at the Mobile marina suggested that we just stay in the Mobile and panhandle area for the summer, then go South in October or November.  As that thought sank in, I thought "If I'm going to delay the trip till October, I'd rather be in Tennessee than here."  Alison was excited about going back, so it was decided to play at the beach for a few days, then go home.

Other very important reasons are that we miss family and friends in Cleveland, and our cruising fund needs to grow substantially.  For instance, the painting of the deck cost about $300 in materials, I made a few other minor repairs and upgrades for another hundred or two as well as $100 per week of marina fees and another $169 for the first payment on boat insurance.  Add to that other unexpected personal costs and my measly monthly check went pretty quickly.  We still need many other things to make the boat safe to sail on "big wa-wa," such as another anchor and anchor rode, mail sail repair, a set of charts, inflatable life vests, jack lines, hand rails and many other important purchases.

So we have decided to leave the boat at the marina in Mobile, which is an official "hurricane hole," for a few weeks and return to Cleveland. if a hurricane hits Mobile while we're gone, the marina will haul the boat to dry dock for us and tie it down securely.  If the boat is damaged, we now have insurance to cover the damage.

We'll stay here near the beach for a few more days before heading back to Mobile. My great little brother Robby has agreed to come spend a few days of vacation with us and bring us back in about a week.  We will be getting the RV ready to live in while in Cleveland, picking up our Suziki,  and I will be working part time with Tony in the business to earn some extra money.  We plan to return for the boat in August or September and may take a road trip or two over the summer.

Thanks for reading!
Capt'n Larry

Resting and Recuperating in Mobile

We're parked for now in Turner Marina in Mobile, Alabama for some much needed rest and recuperation.  I had been sick with a ferocious sore throat and persistent cough for a week, and Alison had caught the same bug a few days after me.  Since getting here, we have been to a doctor, gotten our medicines and are feeling much better, though Alison is still coughing and feeling bad (Friday).  We also needed to catch up on laundry, fill our tanks with water and fuel and clean up the outside and inside of the boat.  We'll probably stay here another week, then head east toward Pensacola on our next leg.

 This is Turner Marina on Dog River in Mobile.  Happytat is the middle boat in the three in center.

                                             A closer shot of Happytat, happy to be at rest for a while.

Let me say, I have not particularly enjoyed this river trip.  Most days have been cold, wet, and tedious, and since I was on the steep end of the boating learning curve, it was exhausting.  I sat at the helm for ten to twelve hours per day, wrapped in layers of clothes and insulated underwear, a jacket, a fleece and a hat and hoodie over my head and winds that were consistently 10-15 mph in my face much of the time. There were moments when the pleasure of being outside and on my boat was enjoyable and I enjoyed the challenges presented by successfully passing under low bridges.  Some of the little coves we anchored in were nice, but I was so exhausted by then, the only thing that interested me in the evenings was a good night's sleep. With the exception of the Grand Canyon of the South just past Chattanooga, the scenery has pretty much been a green tunnel.  I would not be interested in being a river cruiser for fun.  There are people who do the Great Loop and cruise rivers and coastal waterways all around the Eastern United States.  I don't see the pleasure there.

                                              We did see some wildlife on the shore. Once.
It is lovely here in Mobile, though.  It has been warm and sunny for a change!  We did our laundry yesterday and plan to stow away all our winter coats and most of the cold weather clothes.  I hope to not see them again for a long time!

When we arrived in Demopolis, the weather was predicted to be rainy and I needed to do a few minor boat repairs, so we docked at the Demopolis marina.  At Demopolis, the river changes from the Tenn Tom to the Tom Bigby Waterway.  The only thing that made that significant was the way they change how they list bridge heights on the official charts.  As you know from previous blog entries, my mast needs 52 feet to clear a bridge, so bridge clearance has been a concern from the beginning of this trip.  Because of the predictions of rain and the rain that had already fallen in the past days, I was very concerned about bridge heights below Demopolis.  The numbers I was getting off the Corp of Engineer's internet site seemed to be telling me that the river below Demopolis dam was 25 feet above normal.  That would mean that a 52 foot bridge would only have 27 feet of clearance, so I expected that I would have to wait until the river went down to be able to continue our journey; and that might take weeks if it kept on raining!  I talked to a river boat captain and the owner of the marina and consulted internet sites and came up with inconclusive answers from each source.  Fred, the marina owner showed me some charts that I hadn't seen on the internet and told me I should not have any problem clearing.  The tow captain tried to be helpful and told me I should not have any problems, but couldn't show me how I could get under a bridge that had 25 feet of water under it above normal levels.  I even called the Demopolis dam operator and he told me I was okay to go.  But none of them could explain how I could clear the bridge with the water that was 25 feet above normal.  I didn't want to find out they were all wrong as the flooded river drug me into a bridge with 25 feet of clearance! It finally dawned on me that the charts I was looking at for the lower Tom Bigby river listed bridge clearance not in terms of "normal pool" as in the Tenn Tom charts, but in "Normal High Water".  That single fact made all the difference in my understanding and meant that I could actually clear these bridges that were listed at 52 feet clearance even if the river was 50 feet above normal!  I had plenty of room.

The next day was predicted at 90% chance of rain all day and I had expected to be confined to the boat all day, but when I awoke, the sky was clear blue.  I checked the weather forecast again and all the rain was over and we had a clear day to sail downriver.  I quickly got the boat ready, fueled up and paid the bill, and we were off again, perhaps weeks earlier than I had feared.

Our next stop was to be Bobby's Fish Camp, fifty miles farther downriver.  It was Sunday and they were closed, but the guide book said he had a dock we could tie up to for the night.  When I finally got there, the river current was so strong, I had to pass the dock and motor back up to it.  In fact, it took three complete circles to finally get the speed and angle right so that I could hop off the boat quickly and tie it off to the dock before the river swept the boat downstream.  I had Alison standing by to motor the boat back in case I failed to get it tied up quickly enough and tried to float away. That wasn't necessary and it went well.

But the current was so strong it crushed the boat tightly against the wooden dock and pulled strongly at the dock line.  I just couldn't see staying the night there in that current.  Alison checked the guide books and found another anchorage an hour or two south, so we threw off the dock lines and sailed there.  It was a lovely bayou just about 16 miles from Mobile.

                     This is what a bayou looks like.  It was our last anchorage before Mobile.

Our sleep was interrupted by a loud knocking on our hull from outside.  I opened up the hatch and went out with a flashlight to see what the knocking noise was from.  I could see that our anchors had held and hadn't moved from where I had anchored us.  So I looked at the water and saw sticks, leaves and the occasional log floating downstream by the boat.  Just then,  think I saw the source of the knocking: it was a branch about five feet long, sneaking around the front of the boat, heading downstream.  Once I had found the source of the knocking sounds hitting the boat, we were able to sleep soundly.

Next morning was to be the first interim goal of our trip: Mobile and the end of the Tennessee-Tom Bigby waterway!  After breakfast, I weighed anchor and we headed South.  In only a couple hours, I saw ahead of me a bridge and many barges ahead.  At first, I couldn't see the entrance to the bridge for all the river traffic. There were barges and tow boats everywhere!  The closer I got, the busier it got.  It was like being on a lonely backpacking hike, surrounded by a tunnel of trees, then turning a corner and finding yourself on the center line of a major highway of a large city!  But Happytat kept getting closer to all that action until we were right in the middle of one of the busiest seaports in the US.  We were surrounded by huge ships and barges and tow boats were buzzing around like taxis from every direction.  I was contacted on radio by several mountains in front of me.  "Southbound Sailboat going South by the cruise ship," one mountain called to me. "This is southbound sailboat." I replied.  "Please pass on the two whistle and give us a little more clearance," the mountain said.  "Two whistle" is river-talk to tell me to pass on his starboard (right) side.  "Passing on the two and more clearance." I replied, just like I had good sense, and moved Happytat to the left to give this big steel mountain room to pass.  Once I understood that I was not going to be run over, I was able to be amazed at this experience.  It's one thing to stand on the docks on land and see a sea port like this, quite another to be a participant in such a parade.

                                                  I thought this ship was impressive...

                                             ....then I saw this one...

                                       ...then a voice on my radio said: "Southbound sailboat..."

                                          NOW I'm impressed!

                                            Another one...

    These huge blue cranes at the entrance to the seaport reminded me of something out of Star Wars.

After only a few minutes we were at the entrance to Mobile Bay and out of the busy seaport.  The Bay seemed ocean-like compared to the relatively confined space of the river.  We motored another two hours into the bay before finally arriving at Turner marine, where we are now docked.  Getting into this dock was a test of my boat parking skills.  There are many more boats here than at my little home marina, Sale Creek, and less room in the aisle-ways.  The slip I had to back into is half the size of my slip at Sale Creek too.  It took me three tries to finally get close enough to the slip for the dock hands to throw me ropes and pull the boat into the narrow slip.

It's a pleasant marina with pleasant people and it's such a relief to know that I don't have to pull up anchor every cold morning and travel another twelve hours in the cold.  But this isn't where we plan to stay.  Soon, we will be well again, fueled up and ready to head east, toward the exotic lands of Pensacola, Destin, Panama City and beyond.

The Sinking of the Titanic

Alison named our dinghy "Titanic" for obvious reasons.

Let me first explain what an ideal anchorage is.  As we cruise along the river, we must park our boat somewhere for the night.  We have two guide books and an Ipad app that gives us places to drop our anchor for the night.  They tell us where it is, what to expect and any problems they encountered.  So when we get an idea of where we will be around evening, we try to find an anchorage that is suitable for our boat.  Ideal for us would be a quiet, out of the way cove with a minimum of 6 feet of water depth, a soft mud or sand bottom for the anchor to bite into, and trees or a hill to protect us from current and wind.  Often, we have been able to find just such places and they are truly delightful.  Even if we could find marinas along the entire trip, we would prefer anchorages for the beauty and peacefulness, and because they are free and marinas are not.

Tuesday, we thought we had the perfect anchorage picked out.  It seemed to meet all our requirements: out of the current, enough depth, peaceful...  But when we pulled slowly into the opening to the cove, the depth was suddenly three feet!  The Keel dug into the mud and stopped the boat, throwing me against the wheel.  I quickly switched the gears to reverse but it wouldn't back back up, so I put it back into forward gear and hit the throttle while turning the wheel hard to starboard.  The boat rocked to port (left) and turned to starboard (right) and gradually pulled back out of the mud into deep water.  I tried once more to carefully, slowly crawl into the cove and was met again with shallow water, so we had to abandon this site.

It was still fairly early in the day, about 3:00, so we traveled on to the next listed anchorage.  It was immediately after Heflin dam in a overflow bypass river.  This is a river that makes a loop around the dam and is used to carry the overflow water that doesn't go through the dam.  While in the dam, I talked to the dam operator and asked how the water flow was going to be on that loop.  He said they were sending quite a bit of water through the river and because of recent rains, they might increase the flow overnight.  Ordinarily that would have made that anchorage unsuitable and we would have bypassed it, but there were no other listed anchorages for many miles after that and we couldn't make them before dark.  So we decided to go into the river and look for a safe place to drop our anchor for the night.

The current was very strong as we motored the boat into the river just past the dam.  If I drove in the center of the river, I could only make about 3.5 mph over land, but if I guided the boat over to the edge, I could make 4.5 mph.  We drove into the river for a mile or two and found that there were no coves off the main channel.  The only way to anchor here would be to anchor off to the side of the river.  Our kayaking experience came into play at this time and we looked for an eddy in the current that we could park the boat in.  The current in an eddy is much less than in the main channel.  After evaluating several possibilities, we settled on an eddy on river left (as seen going downstream).  The current was slower there and there was a tree that we could tie to.  So we dropped the anchor about 50 feet from the tree and let out some rode (anchor rope).  But we couldn't depend entirely on the anchor to hold us against that current, so I got into our dinghy (subsequently named Titanic) and Alison threw me a rope that I tied to a tree on the bank as back up to our anchor.  Rowing Titanic against the current, even in the eddy we parked in, was a brisk row. Again, my whitewater experience was very helpful in making this row relatively easy.  Someone without this experience would have had trouble keeping the dinghy under control against that current.

Once all was secure, we watched Happytat as she responded to the currents and the two ropes she was tied to.  The current swept her back and forth in an arc about 20 feet wide and about 30 feet from shore.  When we were satisfied that we could relax, we went below and had a light dinner before going to bed.  For those of you who are "dirt dwellers," picture going to sleep in a home sitting on water that is running quickly under you, tied to a tree and an anchor on the bottom of the river.  How much sleep do you think you'd get?

Well, we slept well that night. Well, except that I kept coughing with a sore throat much of the night.  It started raining sometime during the night.  I woke up at about 6:30 am and decided that I would pull up anchor and get going.  I felt like crap, but we needed to get on our way.  Our next stop was Demopolis Alabama.  We were out of supplies and needed some Walmart therapy.  I woke Alison up to ask for her help, just in case I had trouble pulling up anchor and releasing the rope tied to the tree.  If the anchor didn't hold when I released the tree rope, then the boat would go sailing downstream with Alison sleeping peacefully below and me in the Titanic, rowing furiously to catch up to the mother ship.

While she was getting ready, I lowered the dinghy and rowed over to release the rope from the tree.   Then the rain started back up again and I didn't have any rain gear on.  But I untied the rope from the tree and I let the current pull me back to the mother ship with the rope tied to the dinghy.  When I got close to the swim platform on Happytat and tried to leave the dinghy, the rope restricted my maneuverability, so I untied it and turned it loose to float downstream.  The other end was tied securely to the bow of the boat and I could pull it back on board later.  First mistake.

I hooked up the davit ropes to the dinghy so that I could pull the dinghy back off the water later, and got back on to Happytat.  Alison was ready, so I started the engine and made ready to haul up the main anchor.  Before I started motoring forward toward the anchor, Alison asked if I shouldn't pull up the dinghy first.  I was totally focused on getting the anchor up and told her that it would be fine. I had towed the dinghy behind the boat many times with no problems, so there was no rush.  It was drizzling rain and I was cold, wet, and ready to be underway.  Second mistake.

As Alison drove the boat forward toward the anchor, the dinghy, being pulled sideways by the dinghy ropes, dipped down and swallowed a boat-full of water.  It was only a couple inches from being completely full when I came back to see it!  After having to listen to Alison's "I told you so's" and laughter, I had to figure out how to re-float the dinghy before I could haul up the anchor.  We have two bilge pumps that we use to fill the dinghy when we need to go under a low bridge, so I pulled a power wire to the pumps and changed the direction of the pumps from into-the-boat, to out-of-the boat and turned them on.  After a few minutes, the boat was empty enough to raise it up to the davit and out of the water.  Again, all of this in a drizzling cold rain with no rain gear.

Next, I went forward to gather up the long rope we had used to tie to the tree.  Remember the rope that I  released earlier?  That one.  As I gathered it up, it seemed to be tangled on something.  I pulled hard, nothing.  I used a winch to pull, nothing.  Alison moved the rudder back and forth and the stuck rope moved back and forth with it.  At first, I had suspected the rope was fouled on the engine propeller and was trying to picture me diving into the brown water under the boat to untie it, with a strong current trying to pull me downstream. But it extended too far aft to be on the propeller, so Alison suggested that it was stuck on our rudder.  So I got out on the swim platform and tried to unwrap it with the boat hook.  In the process, I discovered it wasn't stuck on the rudder either, but something underwater about 15 feet out from the boat.  I pulled hard and it was completely stuck.  So I took a utility knife and cut it loose.  We lost about 40 feet of rope, but it was a small price to pay to get our boat unstuck.

Once that was done, Alison once again drove the boat toward the anchor as I tried to pull it up by hand.  The rode came up fairly easily until it got close to where the anchor was, then it stopped.  I couldn't pull it any farther.  So I took the helm, backed up a few feet, then motored forward with lots of power to break the anchor loose.  The bow dipped down when it reached the point where the anchor was stuck, then bounced back up, indicating that I had successfully broken it free.  I gave the helm back to Alison to drive back to deeper water and hurried forward to pull up the rest of the anchor before it caught on something underwater.  I pulled hard and the anchor chain started coming up.  But something was wrong.  It took all my strength to pull the anchor up-far more strength than normal.   I pulled as hard as I could and after a few more pulls, the anchor surfaced.  It was fouled with a large tree root! That explained why it was so heavy!

I didn't have the strength to pull it all up by hand, so I tied the trip line rope to another rope and ran it to a winch by the cockpit.  A trip line is a second rope connected to the rear of the anchor and to a float that floats on the surface to indicate approximately where the anchor lies. Using the winch, I was able to pull the anchor up by its backside, causing the root to fall off.  Once that was done, we were on our way.

For the next 6 hours, I piloted the boat through cold drizzle, covered in layers of warm clothes and finally some rain gear.  The river was littered with sticks, logs and clumps of grass and patches of a floating flowering plant, so I had to stay alert to keep from hitting any large debris.  Alison supplied me with hot beverages and soups and stayed outside with me as much time as she could.  But since I had convinced her to leave all her cold weather clothes in storage, she wasn't dressed for this cold, wet weather and went inside much of the time.

We finally arrived at Demopolis and pulled gladly into a slip.  I hooked up the electric cable and a little while later, we had hot water for a much appreciated hot shower.  Then I took a long nap.  After a some much needed rest, we used the marina's courtesy pick up truck and went to Walmart for our Walmart therapy.

Now we seem to be stuck here in Demopolis for several days because the rain of the past few days has caused the river to rise above normal by as much as 5-6 feet, which means we won't be able to clear the four 52 foot bridges that we must clear on our next day of travel.  It's predicted to rain all day tomorrow too. We'll just have to wait here till it goes back down, however long that takes.  Oh well, we can use the rest.  Pulling so hard on the anchor Wednesday morning seems to have strained my back muscles and I need to let them heal some before heading back out.  I also need to recover some from the cold or whatever it is I have.

Sure glad I retired so I could rest.  Sarcasm.

He just wouldn't listen to me, again...

We had the best time today.

It was warm and sunny today and we enjoyed every minute of it. We listened to music and danced and sang along. We had long stretches of the river to ourselves, so we took off our tops and relished in the sun on our skin. I found a spot to stretch out on the deck, while Larry drove the boat. We have had mostly cold and rainy days so today was special.

It was a little annoying the first part of the day when I was at the helm. There was mile after mile of trot lines in the channel. I was dodging them on both sides. If I'd had some way to do it, I would have snipped them all up. I'm sure they could foul up a propeller and rudder quite easily.

Larry started making the chicken sound (bok bok bok) when I insisted he take the boat back when a barge came up behind us. I am not afraid to own my cowardliness, so I hummed the tune and did the chicken dance in the cockpit. :)

Yesterday he took us into the lock with a barge. I almost had a melt down. We didn't die and nothing bad happened so I decided to let him live. Here is a picture of the barge that was in the lock with us.

Today was a really nice day and has revived our spirit after all the struggles of the two previous weeks.
Alison

More milestones passed, but when will it start being fun?

We left Aqua Marina Friday under a cloud-literally.  The Pickwick dam was holding water at 2 feet above normal pool to help reduce the flooding taking place on the Mississippi. That meant to us that the already troublesome 52 foot clearance bridge was now only 50 foot clearance; making our 52 foot mast even more difficult to go under.  We had practiced all day Thursday using the dinghy to heel the boat over and each time we tried it, we found a new improvement on the system.  Finally, we had it consistently working well to heel us over the required amount. But we still had to decide if we could safely make it under a 50 foot bridge.  After much practice, I was convinced that I could heel the boat over a full 3.5 feet, which barely cleared the first bridge.

 This is how we rigged the dingy so that we could fill it full of water with two bilge pumps and heel the boat over.

                                                    Happitat heeling over at the dock.

The urgency to leave was that there was rain in the forecast for the upcoming week and that rain would almost certainly raise the lake level even higher, making it impossible for us to leave for perhaps  weeks if we couldn't leave Friday! Early Friday morning, I checked with the lock masters and learned that the lake was down to only one foot above normal. Once we got past the first lock, we would be out of the TVA system and the Tenn Tom pool levels were at normal levels and were expected to stay that way, barring an unusual amount of rain. That, combined with the dismal weather forecast and our confidence in heeling the boat over allowed me to make the final decision to go for it.  It was now or much later.

I could have had the mast taken down and made all of this less of a problem, but the cost is about $500 to take it down and put it back up; plus, carrying a 52 foot mast on a 34 foot boat would be a considerable nuisance all the way down the river.  Also, if I succeeded in learning to heel the boat over, that skill would serve me in the future to get under low bridges or over shallow sand bars.  So I was quite determined to leave the mast up if at all possible.

So the first day, we cleared 5 bridges that were lower than my 52 foot mast height! We finished the day just shy of the first dam on the Tenn-Tom, anchored in a protected cove off the river.  It rained and stormed some, but the winds weren't bad and we slept well.  I was glad to get up next morning to find that the anchor had held and we were still where I had left us last night.

Saturday we went through three locks before settling into the Midway marina for the night.  Some pretty severe storms were predicted and that nice, solid dock seemed safer than an anchor.  And it was.  But we still had a pretty miserable night of it anyway.  When we first pulled in to the marina, Alison smelled diesel fuel again.  I found a fuel hose that had been leaking a small amount of fuel that would have accounted for the smell.  I removed the line, put fresh thread sealer on it and re-installed it, then did my best to clean up any fuel that had spilled into the bilge.

  This is where Alison sat as she supervised the flooding of the Titanic to heel the boat over.

                                           Alison in her fashionable rain gear.

We went to dinner at a fine family style restaurant a short walk away, did laundry and came back to the boat after about 10:00. We could still smell diesel, so I searched everywhere for more diesel, but found nothing.  We went to bed finally at midnight.  Almost as soon as I was asleep, we heard a beeping sound. Alison got up and found the carbon monoxide alarm was alarming and showing 20ppm of carbon monoxide in our boat!  That was alarming, so I got up to see where that much CO could be coming from.  CO is only generated, as far as I know, as a by-product of combustion.  If a gas furnace, for instance, has a leak in the heat exchanger, CO will be leaked into the home.  We had nothing burning in the boat.  I looked around outside and no one was burning anything I could see.  I opened the hatches and the CO level went down, which meant the source had to be inside the boat.  When we use the gas cook stove for heat, sometimes the CO will creep up to 10ppm or so, but we hadn't cooked anything in hours!  I was totally baffled. But I couldn't go to sleep knowing the CO levels were rising to possibly dangerous levels.  Since you get over 100ppm of CO from smoking a single cigarette, 20ppm isn't at all dangerous, but since I had no idea where it was coming from, I just didn't know how high it could go. The alarm itself might be giving a false alarm, but how could I know?  The predicted storm was moving in and the rain starting, so I closed the hatches and watched the CO levels for a while.  When they didn't go back up, we went to bed.

Then the storm rolled in and the rain poured down.  There is a window (hatch) right above where we sleep.  On a clear night, it makes for a lovely view.  This window has never leaked more than a few drops other than the sweat that collects when it's cold outside and humid inside.  But tonight, it dripped from several different places and wet Alison's chest and pillow.  She was so tired, she didn't even notice the pillow wetness.  She just threw a towel over the dripping part and went back asleep.

But the night still wasn't done with us.  Sometime later, Alison heard the inverter beeping.  After hearing it for some time, she woke me up and I  got up and turned it off.  It was powering the refrigerator, but the refrigerator would be fine till morning.

So this morning I'm tired, again, but the weather report is for good weather for several days, so we need to make way.  There are locks to pass and bridges to get under, fuel leaks to fix and who know what other challenges await us?