The Big Trip: Days 23-25
Days 23-25: Oct. 30th-Nov.1st: Counce, TN to Somewhere in Alabama
Day 23:
The Grand Harbor Marina, for all of it’s glitz and glamour, functioned and charged us the same as every other marina on the trip thus far has. I have no doubt that for someone with a million-dollar yacht, or the desire to stay here full-time and year-round, the experience at Grand Harbor is going to differ significantly from ours… but we transients get the same treatment everywhere. And it’s generally pretty descent.
One of the luxurious spots in Grand Harbor Marina.
It beats the spider-encrusted picnic tables we’ve grown accustomed to… but we smell too bad to be in a place this nice.
Before we pulled away from the dock, however, we did a couple of important things: We purchased charts for the waterway ahead of us, and we completed the process of voting absentee. It’s already October 30th and we’ve come to terms with the fact that it is unlikely that we will be home by Nov. 6th. Although a bit of a run-around, our home district was very accommodating and the scanning, and faxing capabilities at Grand Harbor were likely to be among the last we’d see.
After exercising our rights (and Dorothy) we set off for the official beginning of the next leg of our journey – the Tennessee-Tombigbee Waterway.
The Tenn-Tom, how I love thee.
It’s a man-made stretch which connects several natural rivers in order to create an alternate waterway from the Mississippi River. It runs parallel to the Mississippi River and empties in Mobile Bay, Alabama.
Since I first realized that I would not be taking the Mississippi River all the way to New Orleans, I had been learning as much as I could about the ‘Tenn-Tom’ . The Tenn-Tom is a river, but more accurately, it is several natural rivers with huge cuts of man-made waterway to connect them. From Grand Harbor to the Gulf of Mexico, it is about 450 miles long and contains 12 more locks.
We’ve grown lock-confident at this point and are looking forward to how deep they’ll be. For example, ahead is the Jaimi Whitten lock which is 84’ deep. The deepest lock we’ve seen so far, was in Keokuk and it was 34’ deep. So. Neat.
The Jaimie Whitten Lock & Dam in Mississippi.
This is the deepest lock on the Tenn-Tom, at 84’ deep. That’s 50’ deeper than the deepest lock so far. Le gulp.
As for the Tenn-Tom, the history is pretty dope: The waterway was first conceived in the 1700’s when French and Spanish explorers realized that another path to the ocean would be really convenient AND could make a lot of money. But to build it was expensive and complicated and required moving more earth than the Panama Canal.
It was finally completed in the mid-1980’s, but remained a fairly obscure way to do the trip for years. Boaters rarely chose it over the Mississippi because there were very few marinas, especially in the early days. Over time, with the girth of the barges on the Mississippi every-increasing and making the route crowded, snow-bird-boaters who go South annually, incentivised services to build along the Tenn-Tom.
Today it is so well-traveled that several guide-books now exist to give boaters tips on anchorages, locks, marinas, and even little-known history. Essentially, a Fern, only in print.
The Tenn-Tom Nitty-Gritty Cruise Guide has all the information you need AND she never runs out of battery or loses a signal.
The upper part of the Tenn-Tom has the majority of locks and they are all comparatively close together. To date, we were accustomed to a lock about every 25-30 miles (2-3 hours for us) but here they are sometimes less than 10 miles apart. The timing then, changes significantly, as does the etiquette.
Not surprisingly, when we left Grand Harbor, we found ourselves in lock-step with some straight-up yachts. Maybe not as grand as the Mimi, but newer, faster, and better-equipped than our modest (old, broken-ass?) boat.
And for the most part, the captains and crew of these boats treated us with care and equal-respect. For the most part.
A glaring exception is a contentious bitch of a yacht we’ll call Jay Bird. I don’t want to use her proper name because I doubt our ill-treatment was the result of the boat’s rightful owner. The Jay Bird was being driven by a skipper, a captain-for-hire, a son-of-a-bitch we’ll call ‘Jack’.
PIC: The infamous Jaye Renee (aka: Jay Bird) which would twart us repeatedly in the days ahead.
To date we haven’t encountered many assholes. The contrary, in fact! The quantity of ride-or-dies we’ve met so far boggles the mind. People on the river, I guess… That being said, indeed there are assholes everywhere and one must expect to find them, even here, eventually.
When we first saw the Jay Bird, it was inside of the Whitten Lock about 3 hours down of Grand Harbor. We had entered the lock and were tied up and secure, along with River Derci (our flotilla) by the early afternoon. Shortly after, the lock operator asked if we’d be willing to wait 30-ish minutes for another pleasure craft that was slightly behind us.
Of course, we unanimously replied. We’ve all had to wait for locks and it’s not cool to lock someone out who is less than 45min away.
PIC: Two passing barges on the Tenn-Tom. They’re 100X bigger on the Mississippi River, but they’re still big enough to F-up your day.
When Jay Bird arrived we were all a little star-struck. What a beauty! I’m not exaggerating when I say that one of her rails was worth more than our whole boat. The skipper got on the radio and said to all the boats who had just waited for him, that he needed to lock out first and zip ahead of us because he was expected at the Midway Marina before sunset.
Hello to you too….
He went on to say that this boat has “certain expectations.”
I listened to his request and glanced at the quantity of duct tape now holding - everything - on The Road together.
“Of course,” I replied along with everyone else.
This prick…
For non-boaters, here is is how it’s supposed to work:
The lock doors open and the lock-operator blows an ‘all-clear’. This means that we all make our way slowly out (no wakes in the lock, of course) and once we’re clear of the no-wake bouys, then fast boats like Jay Bird can open up and take off. Fun.
Before we reach said-bouys, however, and only about 20 yards off our port side, Jack guns the Jay Bird’s engines like he’s being shot at. The boats MASSIVE engines created such a huge and sudden wake that he damn-near swamped us. It would mean a trip-ending fate we have managed to avoid under pretty insane circumstances so far and he just almost did it… on purpose?
When we got our feet back and picked up all the shit that fell off the shelves, ‘Jack’ got on the radio and, informed us that he wouldn’t have swamped us if we had come to a complete stop when he began to pass. “A complete-fucking-what? “
He went on: “I’m not sure if anyone has ever told you kids this or not,” (shiver… kids?!?) “but if someone wants to pass you, you should go down to total idle speed,” he said. “That way I’m not forced to do that.”
Friends. If you’ve been reading this since the beginning, a reminder that we’re three-weeks and over 1,000 miles into a pretty extraordinary experience that has taught us a lot. I now say things on the radio like, “I’m coming up on your two” and if they reply “take my one” I know what that fucking means! I’ve almost died on this thing, twice.
Certainly we’ve passed and been passed by several different boats of all shapes and sizes. I hated he swamped us, but his following comment made me hate him.
A few hours later, it happened again.
The John Rankin lock on the Tenn-Tom.
She big.
We got to the last lock of the day just before sunset – the Rankin Lock – along with a barge/tow, River Derci, and Jay Bird - all of us hoping to lock down together. Jay Bird had been waiting for awhile, forced to because of the barge and River Derci had been waiting too, but for slightly less time. We pulled up, last to the party.
When the barge arrived, however, it was so big that only two of the three of us pleasure craft could join it. The lock operator – a benevolent people by nature - said that since he couldn’t take all of us, he’d prefer to lock the barge down first. After, he’d open up for the three pleasure craft at the same time so as not to ‘cause a fight.’
Melby and I conceded that no fight was necessary. As the slowest of the group, he should go ahead and lock through everyone and come get us last.
This act of kindness, perhaps, spurred the barge to reply that he was okay with all three of us coming in with him if we tied up together and shared a bollard.
River Derci and ourselves being virtually family, we tied up together and the lot of us locked through together. Success! It meant all of us would get to Midway before sunset. Cheers for friendship.
AND THEN…
When the doors opened, Jay Bird gunned it and swamped us again. I’d never wanted a functioning cannon aboard more in my life.
PIC: The Midway Marina. Fulton, MS. MM: 394 - Oct. 30th, 2012
When we turned into the channel for Midway and tied up, we could hear heated words coming from the marina operator to the skipper of Jay Bird. The specifics of the fight weren’t clear, but even without the benefit of our experience with him that day, the fact that he was an asshole had apparently been revealed.
Having had no television, very little news, and not so much as a tabloid to read – these little dramas – a couple of guys having heated words - are irresistible. We weren’t the only ones leaning in while tightening tight lines.
The orign of their conflict seemed to be this: The Jay Bird had given orders to the marina operator about how to tie him up, the way to pump the gas for him, and other general entitled belittlement.
Wonderfully, the marina operator refused. Said he could tie up there for the night but if he was going to be an asshole, he could refuel somewhere else. When he fueled up later we told him that he had been unkind to us enroute that day and we were not displeased to see him get it. He puffed, gave Dottie a treat and said, “I don’t have to take orders from that prick.”
And indeed he didn’t. River Rules.
Sunset in the Midway Marina: Fulton, Mississippi. Oct. 30th, 2012.
Full tanks, full hearts, and a re-stocked ‘fridge. Let’s do this!
Exhausted as we were, before calling it a day, we took advantage of the use of the marina car. Jim and Pat of River Derci, and ourselves, took the drive to Walmart (the only grocery store for 28 miles) to re-supply. A Walmart in Fulton, It was as glamorous as one would expect but to us, it may as well has been an open-air market in Provence! “Look honey, coffee creamer!”
When we returned to the marina, restocked and gassed up, we re-acquainted ourselves with a fun-loving crew we had met first at Clifton aboard aboard a boat called, The Nightingale. This boat is a sexy little catamaran that is making the trip to Texas. Gene and Gale, the crew, couldn’t have been sweeter and said that we should stay in contact for the next few days. The Fellowship 2.
PIC: The lovely Nightengale, with Gene and Gale at the helm. We agreed to stay in radio contact for the miles ahead. If only to keep tabs on Jay Bird.
They also warned us that from here on down we must watch out for ‘gators. Dorothy, in particular, they said, was ‘gator bait’.
Noted. We’re certainly not in Minnesota anymore…
Day 24:
PIC: A spooky fog on Halloween morning at Midway Marina. Oct. 31st, 2012.
It was a dark and spooky morning when we woke up at Midway. A dense fog hung low over the surrounding bayou and the accompanying sounds from the darkness were less-than comforting. How appropriate for Halloween.
In addition to the fog and the holiday, we had 4 locks ahead of us that day and hoped to make it to the Columbus Marina, about 60 miles down, before sunset. 60 miles isn’t terribly ambitious, but the locks – as we’ve learned – can each delay you for hours if you time them wrong. And we took that ‘gator warning seriously; the less unknown marching we had to do through the shoreline of the bayou, the better.
We entered the first lock of the day in a light fog, along with Nightingale. We held for another half an hour for (guess who) Jay Bird to enter and then, as usual, he swamped us on the way out. At least we are prepared now and keep our distance, but were he close enough to hear what we were shouting…
The locks at this point are increasingly spaced out and we had hoped that Jack and his audacious load would remain ahead enough to be out of sight for the duration of the waterway.
He apparently hoped the same thing and when we, along with Nightingale, arrived at the next lock, the operator seemed surprised.
“Oh,” he said, “you’re here already.”
We saw the lock doors were closed and were a little surprised since we had called ahead to let him know when we’d arrive.
“Another pleasure craft just came in and told me that he was really far ahead of you and that he should be locked down first…”
My head steamed a little and I said - on the radio - some very unflattering things about both the Jay Bird her skipper – none of which I regret.
A sailboat mast.
Among the signs that we’re getting closer to the ocean, we haven’t seen sail boats since we left the Tenneesee River.
It was all for naught, however, since Jack got hung up at the next lock and we all went through it – yet again – together. We made no comment about them locking us out earlier in the day. They made no apology.
All of this should make what was already abundantly clear to you, dear reader, even clearer. Such gunning and waiting accomplishes nothing. It wastes your fuel, saves you no time, and pisses people off. It’s the boater version of the driver who tries to go 60 between every stop stop sign. Dumb.
The end of the day found us in Columbus, Mississippi (MM:334) – one of the last marina stops for a couple of days and so the best place to gas up, pump out, and use the internet before no-man’s land.
PIC: The view from Columbus Marina. Those floating green plants (a hyacinth?) were increasingly everywhere. Themselves, harmless, but a great place for deadheads and other dangers to hide.
DAY 25:
The Columbus Marina is within spittin’ distance of the next lock – Stennis – and several boats from our marina all planned on getting going at dawn and locking through together. In order to keep up and not be the wrench in the fan, we untied and got going while still in our pj’s and long before breakfast.
As usual, the first thing we did was call the lock to see how much time we had to get there. “Take your time,” he said “this guy, the Jay-something tried to get me to lock him down before anyone else got here but I’m waiting til all the bollards are full. What an asshole.”
Is there an echo in here…
When the Stennis lock opened, Jay Bird swamped us for the last time, but had one more solid disservice to deliver before it was all said and done.
PIC: In the Stennis Lock, locking down with our fellow boaters from Columbus Marina.
As I mentioned, the locks have an increasing amount of distance between them as you travel further down the Tenn-Tom. This means, once again, we needed to think ahead and carefully dance around barges in order not to be delayed by hours behind one.
As we approached our last lock of the day, we discovered that there was a barge ahead of us that was so big it would need to lock alone. It was moving pretty slow, however, and gave us permission to pass.
Then, in another stroke of luck, the lock operator of the Tom Bevill Lock and Dam said that he couldn’t ask the barge to wait but if we hustled and got there quickly, they’d lock us down right away. This one was important to get through before dark because we already knew that we would be anchoring that night (no marina) and we wanted to reach a place that the Nitty Gritty said was dog-friendly. The alternative might be playing it by ear with Dorothy as ‘gator bait.
So we opened up the engines and went faster than usual, straining our systems for longer than usual to put the recommended distance between us and the barge and, hopefully, assure timely passage.
When we reached the lock, however, it was closed. We learned that another pleasure craft (wait for it, the Jay Bird) said they had priority. It would have been less than 20 minutes for them to wait for us. That they didn’t, cost us a lot.
Topping our growing frustration with Jack, and the fact that we would now need to sit still for over an hour, came the clincher: The Starboard engine chugged to deathly silence as soon as we slowed down.
Oh shit.
Gratefully, there was a city dock up of the lock with friendly-looking cleats for us to tie up to. It also had a lovely visitors center (a what?) and I walked Dorothy, chatted with a couple from Canada, while Melby problem-solved the engine. A hero from within!
PIC: Tom Bevill Visitor Center, Alabama
When, an hour later, the lock doors opened for us, the engine seemed to be running fine again but we had a choice to make. Risk going ahead with a questionable engine, to a questionable anchorage; or go the half mile up-river to a marina called Pirate’s Cove to see if a mechanic couldn’t give us a more specific diagnosis. Duh. Pirates. Our people.
Less than an hour later, the pirates had bolstered our confidence that the engine was fine – just a hiccup from having it open for so long – and we should carry on.
So we did.
At sunset, we found Nightingale already anchored in a lovely cove around MM: 277. Gene helped guide us in to a good depth and when we were anchored and secure, Melby took Dorothy to shore in the johnboat to a ‘gator-free beach. Success.
PIC: The Road at anchor at MM: 277. Courtesy of The Nightengale. Nov. 1st, 2012
Tomorrow we hope to get to Demopolis, AL for fuel and a proper fix of the port engine. For both the remainder of the trip and the sake of re-sale, we need to have both of little darlings up and running.
But for tonight… man-o-man, I’ve never seen stars like this!
PIC: Stars over Alabama.
