“Doing” the Ditch

South Texas was cold.  Even though it was almost Spring, March 25th to be exact, we decided to head for The Bahamas for a few months to thaw.  The winds were blowing steady out of the southeast - exactly the direction we wanted to travel - so we reluctantly turned left into the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway. 

It always bothered me to use diesel fuel instead of canvass to move a sailboat, and still does, but, this time it was necessary.  Our options were: 1)  wait a few weeks and hope the weather would cooperate.  2)  start moving now.  Either way we would end up in Key West at the same time.  So we motored.  Elizabeth rather enjoyed the ‘river boat’ trip.  I kept thinking we should have bought a Trawler.

Getting under the Ellender Lift Bridge was a frustrating part of the trip.  The guidebook we bought stated that you must call twenty four hours prior to arrival to arrange for an opening.  The bridge is not constantly manned, and someone needs to be notified and ready-at-the-switch when you show up.  Problem number 1 is, the guidebook doesn’t list the phone number you are supposed to call.  Problem 2, twenty four hours west of the bridge finds you in an area where there is no cell phone coverage.  Like I said, frustrating.

We remained flexible, and kept a sense of humor about us and discovered some pretty neat places along the way.  Like the Mermentau River just north of the ICW.  We had a beautiful anchorage, all to ourselves, where a Long Eared Owl sang for us after sunset.  Or Bowtie Marina where we diverted to after discovering our chosen overnight stop had shoaled in and was impassable.  The owner helped us tie up, then pointed us toward the showers, and didn’t charge us a dime. 

One morning around the Avery Island area, I was startled awake to the sound of an outboard motor approaching.  Looking out through the screen, the cockpit looked black.  Absolutely every square inch was covered with skeeters.  It wasn’t a boat I heard, it was millions of tiny beating wings buzzing just outside the companionway.  Yikes! 

Mosquitoes in the south Louisiana marshes are indeed legendary, but what most people forget to mention is the Bald Eagles.  The Morgan City / Houma area is a hot spot for Eagles.  We spotted so many, we actually lost count!  Those huge, majestic, symbols of America seemed to be everywhere.

We stayed a few days in Elizabeth’s hometown of Houma, Louisiana and feasted on some good home cooking.  Not that we don’t cook great meals on the boat, but it’s kinda hard to boil seafood on a propane stove not much larger than a good sized chopping board.  Robert whipped up his famous Boiled Crab and Crayfish banquet, complete with corn, potatoes, mushrooms, garlic, onions, and sausage. My brother Michael drove from New Orleans to visit.  E’s sisters inspected the boat, and D & H even rode the Harley on the dock to wish SOEL good luck. 

Back on the waterway, a number of floating ‘pontoon’ bridges and locks must be negotiated, and these can be at times nerve rattling.  Mostly, they just help break up the monotony of listening to the diesel hum along, and watching the muddy water slide by.  The Mississippi River locks, however, were another story.  These were fascinating to us rookies.  You have to squeeze your boat in with a tug, then the gates shut behind you, and the water rises, or falls.  The whole time I was constantly wondering “is this safe?”  When they open at the other end, the towboat you shared the chamber with, churns the water with a couple of thousand horsepower, and slowly moves ahead.  We emerged a minute later from the locks and were immediately stopped by the U.S. Coast Guard for a safety inspection. 

A broad shouldered, square jawed guy with crew cut hair, boarded first.  He had his pants pegged into his shiny black boots and a wide Velcro watchband on his shaved sinewy arms.  He was a menacing sight, an I thought all the lethal weapons around his narrow waist rather superfluous.  The team was quite thorough and very professional, and we actually enjoyed our brief visit.  They are really just making sure that any idiots out on the water have the necessary gear to get back to the dock safely, or in the event of an emergency, deal with the situation themselves without having to call the Coasties later in the evening.  After witnessing our level of preparation, and amount of safety gear, they quickly lost all concern.  The trim and fit female soldier filled in the necessary blanks on the boarding report, and they sped away.  But it would not be our last contact with the USCG.

The next morning, a Coast Guard helicopter spotted us anchored up in a little tributary where apparently not many boats anchor.  The aircraft circled back around then dropped low and hovered behind us to read the name off the transom.  I waved that friendly wave, but it wasn’t returned.   Maybe someone recognized the name from the boarding report the day before because, after a few seconds, the big orange and white chopper gained altitude and resumed his patrol. 

Once east of “Old Man River” the Gulf Coast is a fantastic cruising ground that is overlooked by most people.  The coasts of both Mississippi and Alabama have low lying barrier islands offshore that break down the wave swell, yet permit the breeze to blow freely.  Excellent Sailing!  Speaking of waves… it had been over two weeks of flat water up to this point.  The first day wave motion was added to our little cruise, I lost my balance south of Cat Island and almost went overboard.  I grabbed for the lifelines, pivoted at the waste, and slammed my face into the hull, opening an inch and a half long gash under my chin.  OUCH! 

We sailed through the Gulfport Ship Channel, back to the north side of Ship Island, and dropped the anchor to regroup.  I chose my words very carefully, repeating that we had a minor medical issue - not an emergency, and asked for assistance over the VHF radio.  A voice reported that the Coast Guard would come out to get me.  I was doubtful, but called them anyway.  The marine operator informed me that the USCG was NOT a taxi service, but they would allow us to anchor in their harbor if we had to get medical attention.  A quick calculation of speed, distance, and time proved that idea unwise.  It was over ten miles to the Coast Guard dock, two hours minimum, at which point I would then have to launch the dinghy, row to a pier, find a taxi, get to a hospital, all the while bleeding from the face.  Time was critical.  We called the Doctor in the family from our cell phone.  Emily reiterated how important time was, and gave us a crash course in stitches.  At the time, we didn’t have a suture kit, or any type of pain killer.  We were limited to making our own “repairs” right there at anchor.  Due to the location of the injury, I couldn’t see the underside of my chin in the mirror.  When I would lift my chin enough to see the cut, my eyes were looking straight up.  I was out of options.  Elizabeth located an old sewing needle and some cotton thread.  After irrigating the split with what felt like seventeen gallons of hydrogen peroxide, she began the gruesome task of driving metal through flesh and tying little square knots.  The dull needle made an audible “pop” with every hole punched. 

This section of the ICW is among my favorite cruising areas.  From the Rigolets to Mobile Bay, one will find 5 big islands, and three smaller sand piles to explore. Only one of the eight, Dauphin Island, is inhabited, and even there, the population is confined to the eastern end.  Dauphin Island was cut in two by a recent hurricane and the west half is now severed from civilization.  Cat Island is forested by 60 foot pine trees that whisper a most relaxing tone as the breeze filters through.  Ship Island was also cut in half by a hurricane many years ago, but Fort Massachusetts, at the far western end survived, and remains a popular day time tourist attraction.  Horn Island and Petit Bois Island may give up a few shells on a good day.  A cruiser could anchor behind any of these islands, dinghy ashore, and enjoy sun, and solitude on your very own sandy paradise for a day.  The next day, you just move a couple of miles and explore another beach without footprints.  It’s all right here in the good ole USA.  You don’t need a passport.  Best of all, nobody cruises here.  Maybe we should just keep that between us. OK?

Mobile Bay could easily take a week to explore, and east of the bay you have even more bayous and beaches.  Ingram’s Bayou made the list as one of the ‘top ten anchorages in the US’ according to SAIL magazine a few years back.  Just next door is Roberts Bayou, home of “Pirates Cove Marina” and rumored to be the inspiration of Jimmy Buffets infamous “cheeseburger in paradise.”  Speaking of Buffett…  Jimmy Buffet’s sister has a little place in Alabama, called LuLu’s.  Of course we had to stop and check it out.  I mentioned to my siblings that we would be paying a visit to this place, and they both drove down and met us for a fantastic evening on the waterfront.  After a great dinner, which was obviously “tourist” expensive, but worth it, we retired to the boat.  Mike, Jeanne, and Stuart entertained us, playing guitars and singing till midnight. 

The overnight dockage fees were the same price that we paid for a whole month back in our old slip in Texas!  WOW!  Since we had transportation, we spent another $70 on first aid supplies from CVS, and an additional $50 on a Wal-Mart trip.  I tried not to stress about the money flying out of our pockets, because we really hadn’t spent more than about a hundred bucks in almost a month.  After checking weather at Jeanne and Stu‘s hotel, and eating lunch on the tailgate of Michaels truck, we hugged goodbye and continued our adventure. 

My brother cast off the last stern line and stood there on the dock watching us round the breakwater and slip out of sight.  I was still sniffing back tears a half hour later when I spotted the most unusual sight on the bank.  In a remote Alabama area of nothing but sand, kudzu, and pine trees, I spotted a pickup truck backed up to the waters edge.  The tailgate was down, and my crazy brother was simply sitting there, sipping a beer, watching us sail on past.  We didn’t shout greetings, or even wave at each other.  That big “Mikey Smile” communicated all the feelings that words would have just smudged.

Deserted Fort McRee is immediately west of the Pensacola Bay entrance channel, and we stayed here another week watching the weather.  But, don’t think it was a boring week.  The Blue Angles flying team puts on a show here every Fourth of July, and in the days leading up to the event, they practice every chance they get.  The roar of multiple jet engines woke us up at 0700 every morning!  During some maneuvers, the shiny blue and yellow aircraft would pass so close to us, it was easy to see the pilots white helmet and dark visor through the canopy. 

Most of Santa Rosa island is off limits to SOEL because of her 54 foot mast.  Navarre bridge sports only 43 of feet vertical clearance, as does the Highway 98 bridge at Destin.  But in another boat, at another time... Arrrg! t’was a tanned little pirate back there I was!  I have many fond memories of sailing, fishing, swimming, and just living in that area.

At last the weather report looked favorable for an offshore crossing, but still, I asked Stuart to keep an eye on the conditions for the next few days.  Winds were predicted to shift more northerly, which was precisely what we needed.  So, after a lovely few days anchored at Ft. McRee, we piloted SOEL out of the Pensacola Bay entrance and again tried for Key West.  The wind was blowing just south of east, not north, and that meant we would have to beat all the way on a port tack.  Not precisely what we needed.  Just after lunch, Elizabeth’s hat blew off of her head and into the sea.  We practiced our “man overboard drill” but were unsuccessful in recovering the lost baseball cap before it sank out of sight.  With the wound on my chin still fresh, it was quite sobering to realize just how hard it would be to get a person back aboard after a little unplanned swim. 

As the wind and waves continued to increase, SOEL’s sail plan continued to decrease.  By sundown she was punching headfirst into 8 foot waves with the heavy weather jib and a fully reefed Main.  It was a fun night!  A vessels lively motion in conditions like that is sometimes dangerous, and you are guaranteed of collecting a few bruises.  I was quite tired from all the sail changes, but sleep was out of the question on this rollercoaster ride.

By morning, I’d had enough!  The wind never did shift north of east.  In fact it blew more southerly throughout the night.  Admitting defeat, I changed course, and sulked back to the panhandle of Florida.  We sailed all day, as the wind steadily decreased, and by five o‘clock our boat speed was less than 2 knots with a full set of canvass.  Suddenly a huge sea turtle appeared right next to the boat!  He was so close, you could easily see the white barnacles growing on his tan shell, which was easily 4 feet in diameter.  When the shadow from the sails cast over him, he startled and dove.  But, it hardly mattered.  The water was so clear that you could see him swimming a long way down.

I finally cranked up the diesel about 15 miles out from shore and entered the Panama City jetties after dark.  We anchored SOEL in St. Andrews Bay to kick back a beer and lick our bruises.  Almost 48 hours of hard sailing, a hundred miles south, and a hundred miles back north, found us only a scant 40 miles down the beach.  It was so depressing!

When I called brother-in-law Stuart to inform him of our ‘change of plans,’ he didn’t laugh at me too much.  He had been watching the weather conditions, and knew what we’d been through.  I complained about the waves being realistically eight feet, but of course they look like twenty from the deck of a small sailboat.  He confirmed the buoy report closest to us recorded 7 - 10’s the whole time we were out.  Yuck!

We stormed the beach of Shell Island at daybreak to find clear water, soft sand, and coaster sized sand dollar shells.  I wondered how the Bahamas could possibly be any better than this.  Elizabeth and I walked the waters edge for hours picking up spider starfish that had become stranded above the high tide line, and setting them back in the warm water.  One day, we practiced Yoga on the deserted beach, without another human in sight.  Another memorable day was spent tackling a few boat projects while blasting Van Morrison on the stereo.  This was about as close to paradise as I could imagine.  But, it wasn’t where we were supposed to be.

They say, "The Third times the Charm," right?  0800 Monday morning, April 17th, 2006, we set a course for Key West, again, and headed offshore, again.

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