The Big Trip: The Road Home
Days 29-32: Nov. 5th-8th: Somewhere else in Alabama to The Gulf of Mexico
Day 29:
Occasionally on this trip, it has occurred to me how much this space and this routine have become my life. As often happens on a vacation, one begins to feel as if they are at home here, where they’re visiting. Their other home, the one back there, suddenly seems the alien thing.
PIC: Melby holds a celebratory PBR up to our final anchorage on the River, somewhere near Stockton, AL
This sensation was made so much more acute for me on this trip because this boat, these very walls, were my home for many years. This man and dog are also my usual home; and we aren’t talking a quick weekend jaunt here. We’ve been living and breathing life on this boat, on a river, for a month. Something had changed, flipped over, and it occurred to me that when this trip is over, it’s going to feel so weird. To not spend all day alternating at the helm or hailing barges. To not be fixated on the weather – knowing every minute the exact wind-speed and direction… Soon, I thought, I won’t care about these things again.
And maybe these realizations were a bit sharper than usual because my first waking thought was – we’ll be leaving the River today. It’s almost over.
And of course, to be specific, we’ve traveled 6 different rivers to get here, but it’s one zig-zagging line on a map at the end of the day. And it’s a really, really long zig-zagging line – 1,612 miles long as we lifted anchor that morning in Alabama, and sailed on.
Melby had successfully taken Dorothy to shore and they both returned, in tact. Coffee was brewing, oil was checked and away we went. While I piloted us through some of our last miles of bayou, Melby made breakfast; then we both found ourselves standing, transfixed and just staring over the bow.
A little blue boat house somewhere in Alabama.
This is the landscape and scale we’ve grown accustomed to over the past 30 days.
For several miles, little changed visibly. Cyprus trees, buoys and mile-markers, as usual. But what was seizing us was that the mile-markers were counting down to single digits. We entered this waterway at MM: 450 six days ago. 0 is Mobile Bay, the end of rivers and transition to the ocean.
We gaped out the window as MM: 6 rolled by. Still, seeing the same familiar shoreline we have for countless- and then suddenly: what the fuck is that?
Very suddenly, the scope of what we were entering slapped us.
We’d seen big ships during this trip. Tows pushing up to 25 barges, their wake taller than our bow. But sister, we hadn’t seen nuthin’ yet.
Not only are there trans-Atlantic cargo ships, but there are also the fortresses necessary to hoist and repair these ships. We were like an ant in Manhattan – just scuttling along as slow as we could, with big smiles on our faces, trying not to get in anyone’s way. I think they thought we were kinda cute.
And in addition to the strangeness of being among all these huge ships, was the presence of a city. Civilization. The last city that we’d been through was St. Louis, and that was a million years ago. From then on, it’s been a lot of birds, hillbillies, and the occasional swimming squirrel.
A few turns later, and the wall of hulls around us gave way to a wide crack of bright blue. As we cruised pass the last of their steel girths, the blue grew wider into the expanse of Mobile Bay, and the Gulf of Mexico. We’d left our isolated anchorage at dawn, surrounded by ‘gators, and boar – The Road floating atop a muddy river. In less than an hour from entering the bay, a dolphin crested aside our bow and sparkling diamonds shot up from our wake.
PIC: A dolphin. A god-damn, mother-fuckin’ dolphin! We started this trip in St. Paul, MN and that is proof we’ve come as far as it feels.
As I write this, a few days have passed, and I still flounder when finding words for the moment. Gratefully, I had about 4 hours to make the journey across the bay and the surface was like glass. It was a luxurious time to bask in the moment - I had my cake and was eating it by the fist-full.
Dawn stares over the bow across Mobile Bay.
It’s incomprehensibly calm. The water that is, our hearts are surging out of our chests.
For awhile, Melby took the helm and I just walked around the outside decks, dragging one hand along the wall of The Road and starring out across the (gasp) ocean. Pelicans dove in our wake for fish, and dolphins crested – sometimes three at a time – with regularity. The air smelled salty and warm, and the seagulls screeched… Good, god – the trip fantasy incarnate. I’ll admit, my stomach never quite untied into satisfaction because this trip has taught me one thing very well: It is in such easy, glorious moments that something inevitably goes wrong.
But it didn’t.
In fact, we were surprised and delighted to discover that the shipping channel in Mobile Bay is marked with red and green buoys, the same that we’ve been navigating since St. Paul. For all it's wonder, it wasn't entirely unfamiliar and we felt like pros.
I can’t say it was all without incident, however. That we had the wits to stay within the bouys was hardly a certificate of competency - we really had no grasp on the perspective we’d cruised into. One gigantic cargo ship, for example, very nearly hit us. And not because we didn’t see it coming. In fact, we had been staring at it, marveling at it, taking pictures of the dolphins in it’s crest for almost an hour. And then – oh god – it was like a mountain was reaching down for us. We realized it just in time and turned hard starboard and managed to not only avoid him – but the worst of his monstrous wake. Bad boaters. Bad, bad, bad.
PIC: We forgot ourselves and got too close the the ship, The Texas. Our excuse, we’re drunk on dolphins.
And as if to put the perfect point on an already poetic moment, as the sun began to set and Fort Morgan came into view, River Derci cruised up behind us and we sailed together into the marina. Fort Morgan is on the very tippy end of Mobile Bay. Another quarter mile and you’re in the Gulf of Mexico.
Map of Mobile bay.
We woke up at the top in the Tensaw RIver and fell asleep at the bottom, at Fort Morgan. Whoa.
Chris, part of the Fellowship aboard River Rat, lives a very short drive from the marina and would be meeting us here in the morning. He had a small list of necessary items to pick up - including more beer and a package of hot-dogs for Dorothy. He will be arriving by 8AM the next morning and together – the three of us will be sailing across the bay and onto the inner-coastal. It is 2 days, 2.5 at most to arrive in New Orleans! HOLY SHIT!!!
PIC: The Road safely in harbor at Fort Morgan. Her first night in salt water. Look at those calm, smooth seas!
Once in New Orleans, we’ll have just enough time to dance in the street, get a tattoo and board a flight home on Thursday night. Earlier this week, the line had been firmly drawn by my many Minnesota employers as to when I was TRULY required home. It had taken a full week longer than I had estimated to get where we were. If I was not back by the morning of Friday the 9th, jobs and reputations start getting hurt.
But, as I’ve learned again and again – just in the knick of time is still ‘in time’.
Melby shooting pool at Tacky Jack’s, a bar at the very tip of Mobile Bay. Fort Morgan, Louisiana.
“We saw dolphins today. There is salt water under the hull. Rack ‘em.'“
But for now, the bow of The Road was conveniently facing a bar called Tacky Jack’s. They had hot food, cold drinks and a pool table. We took advantage of all three and fell asleep feeling like gladiators of adventure.
… And then, suddenly at midnight, the winds rose up and we were violently thrown out of bed by a powerful wave.
When we had arrived at the marina, The Road had been tied up securely from all four corners at the suggestion of the fella who caught our line.
“The chop can get pretty wild in here,” he warned.
Although the seas were still as glass at the time, we did as he suggested. We would have, in any case, but his stern look made it seem all the more imperative.
PIC: A pelican in Fort Morgan, Louisiana.
As we slept, the wind had grown tempestuous and one of our lines had come loose. When it did, the boat bucked like a rubber-duckie in a boiling pot. I’ve never experienced anything quite like that motion. It was so wild, one could not keep their feet without both hands on a wall or rail. What had not been tightly secured was rolling under our feet.
On unsteady legs, we made our way to the bow and with the help of some quick knots, a spare buoy, and a lot of patience, we finally got the loose line re-attached. Again secured on four points, we were a bit more secure, however, sleep was impossible.
So we did the only thing we could: We drank the rest of the rum and watched the movie ‘Elf’.
By 2AM, we were drunk enough to fall asleep.
Day 30:
Around 6AM, as the sun began to rise, I found myself for the second morning in a row, lying in bed and putting things in perspective.
I could feel by the boat’s motion that if the winds had died down at all overnight, it was marginal. In any event, there was absolutely no way that The Road could navigate the bay with winds even half this strong. And if I can’t leave today, then I can’t be in New Orleans by Thursday… and if I can’t be in New Orleans by Thursday, then I can’t be to work on Friday… And if I can’t be to work on Friday I lose the money necessary to do such trips. Damn reality, sneaking in already.
PIC: Tacky Jack’s Restaurant and Marina. The final stop for me and The Road.
I started to do some very hard math and strategizing.
By the time Melby and I were both awake and taking in the scope of the weather around us, it was made official. The weather service issued a ‘small boat advisory’ meaning that it’s not just that I’m a scardy cat – it’s categorically dangerous out there.
We called Chris, told him to come down, for a visit at the very least, but that we were working out some plan b, c, and d’s – none of which included navigating the bay today.
After much talking, a moment of crying, and a lot of phone calls and googling – this plan came into shape:
We had long-ago concluded that to maximize the number of days we could be underway, I would fly home as soon as we got to NOLA and Melby would drive home with Dorothy. He didn’t have to be back until nearly a week after I did, and so he had more flexibility. Chris had mentioned some potential leads in terms of buyers and brokers for The Road and – in any event – we felt confident that this general area, Mobile Bay, was as good a place to sell The Road as any. Better, maybe.
Pelican Bay in Fort Morgan, Louisiana.
The still sea that allowed us to cross Mobile Bay may not have lasted long enough to get us to the Intercostal Highway, but it got us this far. Not bad.
Which left us with two more nights before I had to fly home. Not enough time to boat to New Orleans, too much time to want to be at Tacky Jack’s every night.
Additionally, it was Tuesday, November 6th. Election Day – and we decided that there might not be any better place to see it happen than The French Quarter. Flights were cheap out of New Orleans, the rental truck had unlimited miles, and we found a pet-friendly hotel for $60/night – three blocks from Burbon Street – and there we were.
As Melby got a ride to go pick up the rental truck, and I arranged for the safe-keeping of The Road while we were gone - it happened.
I was suddenly smack-dab in the center of one of the biggest and hardest goodbyes I’ve ever had to make.
It’s not Thursday that will be your last night aboard The Road, Dawn. It was last night. You’ll be leaving her today. For good.
PIC: Saying goodbye to The Road. She was my home for 7 years and had just taken me on the adventure of a lifetime. Here’s to the less-traveled.
Melby was gone for about two hours and I let myself bask in the loss a little. I knew this moment was going to come eventually, but I wasn’t prepared... Today. I sat on the flybridge for most of the time Melby was gone. My feet on the helm, as they have been slung for nearly seven years. My feet were in this exact place the night I bought her. I held a glass of Jameson in one hand, and Gracie’s sleeping head in the other wondering what this (arguably) foolish purchase might lead to.
My last time sitting at the helm of The Road.
Hot-damn I love this boat.
My feet were here when I fell in love and when I was decidedly not in love. My feet were here when I got the job, and when I lost it. My feet were here when I watched the Mississippi River float past me – and again when the Mississippi River took me away with her. I love it here.
But for all the tears and mourning, I was smirking like a convict. Yes it was over, but we made it! It wasn’t to New Orleans, but I increasingly didn’t care about that. I took her to the edge of the ocean, where the world unfolds and DOLPHINS welcomed her! We did not sink! We did not quit! I had taken The Road less-traveled as I had always dreamed, and she had made it possible.
PIC: I stopped crying long enough to feel victorious.
She was not believed to be a good home, and proved the best shelter I could have had – in the most important way and at the most important time. She was not believed to be a good vessel for this trip, and proved to give us exactly the journey we needed.
When Melby returned with the truck, I stepped off with a few bags and walked away... I snuck a peak in the rear-view mirror, tho… and man, she looked so pretty.
It was with a heavy, but very full heart that Dorothy, Melby, and I began the drive to New Orleans. We had not, either of us, driven a car in several weeks. To then drive that truck onto another boat - the ferry across the bay - put a particularly sharp point on the surreal nature of the whole trip. The waves that tossed us as we crossed the bay to Dauphin Island also highlighted the wisdom of our choice not to take The Road. The chop was fierce enough to buck even this industrial ferry – it would have been no match for my girl.
Ferry across Mobile Bay.
Just when we thought driving an automobile was weird, we drove it onto a boat!
After having a top cruising speed of only about 10 miles an hour for the past month, suddenly driving on the freeway had us feeling like astronauts. A few short hours later, we arrived in New Orleans. We were lucky enough to find a nice and very affordable, pet-friendly, hotel within walking distance of the French Quarter. After settling in we walked to Bourbon Street.
PIC: NOLA, like nowhere else.
For those of you who have been there, the French Quarter is immediately recognizable. One look at the sidewalks, the balconies, the echos of endless waves of music - you could be nowhere else. It has long been a destination for celebration and boy-howdie are we in a celebratory mood! We toasted each other, the River, The Road, the many heroes who saved us along the way!
We high-fived and laughed and played back the best and most harrowing moments - “remember that scary lock-operator who told us to ‘fear St. Louis’…”. “Oh my god - remember Curtis who literally pullled up in a Superman truck and saved our ass?!?”
Sometimes we’d just thrust our hands up in the air like we just won a race and let the adrenaline hold hands with the whiskey and hurry our hearts.
The wild celebrations of Bourbon Street and our own sense of success was made even greater when – on one of the bar TV’s we saw the news: Obama was re-elected!
Inside of Krazy Korner on Bourbon Street. Nov. 5th, 2012
Notice the news on the right side of Obama’s re-election being confirmed - LIVE!
Some of you, of course, may not feel the same way about the outcome as we did, but it only further lifted our delight. At the time, we were in a hair-metal bar and the band, seeing the TV’s, cut their song and then burst into a rousing cover of the AC/DC tune ‘Back in Black’.
Everyone danced except a few fellas wearing khakis and corporate lanyards who had waa-waa music in their eyes. Don’t worry, guys, you’ll get your turn eventually…
To be honest, the rest of the night is a foggy blur of beads, hurricanes, impromptu dancing, and raucous laughter.
Day 31:
The next day we took Dorothy to the Café Du Monde, got our promised tattoos, and reflected. It was our first time recalling the trip with some sort of hind-sight. Safely on land and sober, we could finally admit to each other what we couldn’t have admitted at the time: there were moments there I truly didn’t think we’d make it.
PIC: Dorothy didn’t care for the trip, if she’s being honest - but these beignets are alright…
That morning we woke up stuck in the sand in Keithsburg, IL, and then the line got stuck in the prop, and it was so cold and we had just started… That time we were taking on water and thought we were gonna sink in the middle of the Tennessee River? It already seemed distant and quaint which is why we wanted the tattoos. The leave a mark even when memory fades.
PIC: Melby’s twin anchors. One features the star of the north - a nod to where we started the trip, in Minnesota. The other features the fleur-de-lis - to where we ended the trip, in New Orleans.
Dawn’s anchor (which matches one she already had on the other arm) has the paw print of her first dog, Gracie, whose ashes had been spread in the River and to whom we both credited our escape from multiple disasters.
—-
Then the moment I’d dreaded finally came. Melby took me to the airport. For him, the journey wasn’t over. Because I was required back in Minnesota, he would be going back to Fort Morgan alone. There, with our friend Chris’s help, he’d usher The Road to safe harbor across the bay to Dog River. While there, she would be in fresh water and under the watchful eye of a fella who would both keep her safe and help us sell her.
I love Andrew Melby which should be apparent by now. But having spent so many weeks in earshot and going through the most horrifying and uplifting moments of my life with him, to suddenly have his (and Dorothy’s) absence was paralyzing. And to know that he was carrying on without me was almost unbearable.
Hell of a crew.
There it was. My trip – The Big Trip – one I’d dreamed of and feared and wanted and abandoned and then finally tackled – was over. I felt joy but there is something unique that surges through you when you talk of your dreams - even dreams accomplished - in the past tense.
When I landed, I knew life would take hold again and quickly. Already my email and phone we alight with rehearsals and meetings and bills and where-are-you’s. And, of course, now we have to find a buyer for The Road and figure out the-
But for now, and maybe forever, there will aways be this solace: We did it. We made it. From the cold, beached, bent prop, out of gas, wind-blown near trip-enders to here.
Hot damn.
That was fun.
