The Adventures of Green Eyes, Chapter 8, Danger! Deadhead Ahead!

                                                       DANGER! DEADHEAD AHEAD!

What a storm we had while at Midway Marina! Rain, thunder, and lightening all night long. And it had been so gorgeous the last several days. Beautiful anchorages and smooth sailing.

     We watched the storm out on the poop deck for a while, until the rain started blowing sideways and forced us indoors. 

     The next day, we only had two locks to navigate the on the Tennessee-Tombigbee Waterway, the system of cuts, canals, rivers, and locks known as the Tenn-Tom that will take Green Eyes and crew farther south towards Mobile Bay, the Gulf of Mexico, Florida, and beyond. 

     The lock chambers on the Tenn-Tom are all the same size, 600 feet long, 110 feet wide, big enough to accommodate tows pushing up to eight barges.

The amount of water let out or let in to the chamber--depending if one is ascending or descending the river-- varies from 25 feet to 84 feet. You do the math on the cubic feet of water moved. It's a lot. 

The total drop of water over the ten locks is 341 feet. 

     The first lock of the day was the Glover Wilkins Lock. I would be the line handler, Scott would navigate Green Eyes into the chamber. First, we donned our headsets. Most mariner couples turn on their headsets while repeating, "Can you hear me?" until the captain or first mate responds in the affirmative. But after many frustrating dockings, either in a lock or at a marina, our headset foreplay is slightly different from other cruisers. "I hate you," I whisper. "I hate you too," he responds with a smile. That out of the way, neither gets hurts feelings when the other shouts, or sighs with exasperation, or rolls their eyes when the docking or locking goes badly. It's a thing among Loopers. There's even swag-- t-shirts, caps, and mugs that say, I'm sorry for what I said when we were docking. Most of the women on the Loop tell me they hate docking because it's stressful, and because of all the yelling.  Much of the time, bad docking is due to pilot error, and/or a line handler's miss-tie of a cleat so doing it perfectly, or fouling it up is definitely a team sport. Knowing your strengths and weaknesses is a plus. Things are a little quieter on board Green Eyes now that I am at the helm when pulling away from a dock or lock. Scott is the pro though at bringing the boat in for a landing.

     Through trial and error, we've done enough locks now that our muscle memory takes over and we seem to know just what to do. The skipper calls the Lockmaster on Channel 16, asks about the lock schedule and when we can proceed to the lock. As we near the lock, I don my life jacket and step outside to position the big round fenders we use to keep us off lock walls. Then I make a big loop in the rope at the midships cleat. This way I can more easily loop the rope around one of the floating bollards that are inset into the lock chamber wall. The bollard floats up or down with the water, making locking easy most of the time. 

     When the skipper gets the boat close to a bollard (we favor the second from the front on the starboard side) I lean waaay out and place the loop over the bollard. Then I shorten the loop, pulling the boat closer to the wall. When we are close enough that the boat won't pivot around if there are any eddies in the chamber, I squat down and secure the line to the cleat. I do all this in the six inches that make up our gunwale. Really. You should see it. 

     We have been incredible lucky with our lock timing. Most of the time after we call to check the schedule, the Lockmaster responds, "Come on down Captain, I've got the lock ready and the doors are open for you." One time, as we toot-tooted down the river at our usual 6 miles per hours pace, a Lockmaster hailed us on the radio. Our boat name appears on radar because we have an AIS, a global boat tracking system. "Hey Captain, I've got one pleasure boat in the chamber now and I'm ready to lock down. If you can get here pronto, we'll wait on you." The Lockmaster sounded exactly like Sam Elliot. I put my hand out for the mic and took over communications.

     "Ah, thanks so much Sam, I mean Lockmaster," I purred. "But our boat is slow and it might take us a half hour to get to you. Maybe you shouldn't wait for us." Pause. Sam Elliot comes back, "Well, darlin'" (He didn't say that.) "Well, Green Eyes, I've got a barge coming up river I need to lock through next so you'll have to wait at least two hours to descend unless you can get here now." 

     I wasn't going to turn down an offer from Sam Elliot. "Okay! We'll be there as fast as we can!" Scott looked at me and nodded in agreement, and for the first time since we've owned Green Eyes, he pushed the throttle as far as she would go. Eight miles per hour! Wow! 

     After Glover Wilkins, we cruised right in to Amory Lock. The Lockmaster said he was "...ready for us" because the Lockmaster at Wilkins "faxed him our info." Didn't know they did that kind of thing. 

     Remember at the top of the letter, when I mentioned the huge storm the previous night? Well, about twenty minutes after exiting the Amory lock, we began noticing a lot of logs, trees, flotsam and jetsam moving in a strong current from a starboard tributary creek. Classic flash flood. Yikes. Scott slowed. As we entered the area where the flash flooding creek met the Tenn-Tom River we were pushed around in uncontrollable circles. Scott tried his best to avoid any prop-bending logs or trees. It was daunting. "Like being on the Mississippi River," people on the Loop told us later. The Mississippi is known for strong currents and potentially dangerous logs. But this was a first for us. 

     We passed two boats anchored by the shore about a mile after the worst of the flood area. Scott hailed one of the boats on the radio. The skipper told a hair-raising story of being anchored the previous night during the storm, in the creek that flooded. At 3A.M., logs and trees smashed into their hull and got tangled in their anchor chain and propelled their boat dangerously close to shore. It's never great to have an emergency at sea, but one at 3:00 in the morning is far worst. The couple on board were fine, but said they would sit tight where they were until all the debris had washed downstream. That sounded like good advice. But there was no room for us to anchor there, so we carried on to our destination for the day, the free dock at The Bluffs, just above the Aberdeen Lock. 

     Scott continued to dodge logs, worrying about deadheads, trees that were submerged. Finally, we were in sight of The Bluffs. Logs and trees crowded the river. We proceeded at a snail's pace. Too late, we noticed a red buoy downstream that may have guided us in safely to the dock. I was on the bow getting the dock line prepared. We'd already told each other over the headsets that we hated each other, so we were both ready. Suddenly Scott said, very sternly, "Tris, I need you to get back inside NOW." In I went. 

     "What? What's going on?" 

     "We're stuck. On a fallen tree, I guess." He was afraid I would have been flung overboard, I guess. "See that stump above water over there?" he continued. "It must be a very big tree." I hadn't felt a thing as the current pushed us up on to the submerged tree, but we were definitely stuck. Even with the trailing current as strong as it was, we weren't going anywhere. 

     To prevent further challenges in case we somehow rolled off the tree I said, "Maybe we should throw out the stern anchor and then pull the boat backwards." 

     "Not a bad idea," Scott said, a bit impressed and not hating me at all. "It's called kedging. But let me try rocking the boat first."

      I went to the helm and Scott went to the bow and began rocking the boat. I felt the boat move, but just inches. "Try the stern," I suggested. 

     We are so glad we bought a little tug boat that we can manipulate just by shifting from one side of the boat to the other. Scott stood at the stern and shifted his weight side to side while I threw the throttle into reverse with gusto. We were off! I kept reversing until we were back out into the center line of the river and our depth gauge showed 15 feet. 

     "Is there anywhere else around here to tie up around here?" Scott asked.

     "Well, this shows Aberdeen Marina, about a mile back," I said looking at the digital Aqua Maps chart. "But the reviews are really old and very mixed. One says the approach has silted in." Nonetheless, I pick up my cell phone and called the number listed for Aberdeen Marina. 

     "Hello? Is this Aberdeen Marina?"

     "No! This is liquor store!"

     "Oh! Um, I'm trying to reach Aberdeen Marina. This is the number listed."

     "Call other number!"

     "Do you have another number?" He somewhat reluctantly gave me another number to call.

     "Hello? Is this Aberdeen Marina? Are you open?"

     "Yes! We are open!" Raj said excitedly. 

     "Is the channel to the marina clear? We draw only 3.5 feet, but do you have enough depth for us? And are your facilities open?"

     "Yes, yes. You can come. Just stay in the channel, close to the red buoys. Go slow. You will make it. Call me back when you are almost here and I will be on the dock to show you where to go."

     I hung up and relayed the conversation to Scott along with my doubts. "I don't know.... But the weather is turning, and the logs aren't going away, so I guess we should try it."

     We turned back up river and eventually spotted an old sign half-concealed in bushes along the shore, pointing the way to Aberdeen Marina. For half a mile we wound through a narrow, shallow, seldom-used channel. At times our depth gauge read in negative numbers.

We rounded one last bend to the well-hidden, deserted marina. Raj was indeed there on the dock waving us in. The dock was in disrepair and what cleats there were appeared loose or broken. I tossed Raj a line, but he didn't seem to know how to tie it to the dock, so I hopped off and tied up.

     "Is this marina actually open?" I asked.

     "I don't know. It's up to the owner. But we have a very good liquor store. Beer, wine.... Even champagne."

     "Do you have showers?" 

     "Yes, I'll show you." We walked up a flight of concrete stairs covered with mold. Raj opened the door to a water heater closet that reeked of cigarette smoke and contained a toilet and shower that I wouldn't use even in an emergency. He was anxious to show me the liquor store but the door to the store was locked. He pounded on it until his brother came to open it. 

     "Thanks for your help Raj. We're good on libations, but thanks." I said making my way back down the slippery steps with care.

     I walked back to Scott and Green eyes. "No facilities," I said. "I'm glad we showered this morning. We'll use the head on the boat."

     Scott went to the liquor store to pay for our stay, a dollar a foot. He tried to tip Raj, as it is customary to tip dock hands that help boaters tie up at marinas along the way. He waved it off at first, then accepted it with thanks. Probably the first dock tip ever for Raj. Then, while walking back to the boat, a hornet or wasp stung Scott on his eyebrow. 

     "Dammit! A bee just flew up and attacked me for no reason!" he said once he was back on board. I handed him some ice out of the freezer and we both sat down on the couch, quiet for a bit. 

     "You know what this feels like?" I asked.

     "Yeah," he smiled and said exactly what I was thinking. "It feels like the end of a day driving the Land Rover in Africa. Beer?"

     "Sure," I said grinning, happy to be tied up, safe and sound for another night on The Great Loop.

     The next morning, we had logs and debris with us in the lock.

     Three days later, we are hunkered down safe and sound at Columbus Marina in Columbus Mississippi.

We're a few hundred miles from Mobile Bay, on the Gulf of Mexico. Hurricane Zeta is headed our way. 

     Ain't 2020 grand?

     Thanks for coming along. Stay safe.

Scott, Tris, and Pika, aboard Green Eyes on the Tennessee Tombigbee.

    

    

The Adventures of Green Eyes, Cruising in the Time of Covid with a Cat-- Chapter 7, Lists!

     

If you're going to cruise with a pilot, or a pilots wife who is slightly (or a lot, depending on who you ask) compulsive, you are going to see on our boat checklists, lots of checklists, organized in a ringed notebook called,     

         "GREEN EYES CHECKLISTS- DO NOT REMOVE FROM BOAT- OMNI ASSIGNMENT BOOK"

     It also contains the notes I took when we and the previous owner moved the boat together in Texas from one marina to another, two full cruising days away: How to change the oil and filter, how to measure the diesel in the fuel tank, how to fill the three drinking water tanks, two pages of notes on how to prepare the boat when we are away from her for more than a week, how to pump out the holding tank --that's the tank that holds poo. It holds twenty-one flushes EXACTLY--, and how to take a shower (you don't. You pull in to a marina and use their showers.) But the most used checklist is the one titled "Pulling Away From the Dock." 

 

    The most important item on this list is Unplug Shore Power Cord. This is a task usually done by the Captain, a last minute, last item thing to do. We haven't inadvertently left our shore power cord connected to the dock yet, but we've heard it happens: While the captain tries to reverse out of the slip, but something keeps him from leaving, so he yells at the Admiral, "Didn't you untie the lines??" and she, yells back, "Of course I did!" so the Captain keeps giving it more juice until there is an expensive repair to be made, either on the connection of the cord to the panel on the dock, or, worse, into the side of the boat. When the Captain still can't leave the dock and after accusing the Admiral a second time that she has NOT untied the dock lines, the Captain looks out the window and quietly says, "Oh. The power cord is still attached,"  Anyway, that's the most important item on the checklist. Like pilot and co-pilot, one of us reads each item on the list and the other says, "Check!" This is done every time we leave the dock, which is not every day because we are Slow Loopers. If we get to a place we like a lot, or the weather is turning sour, we'll stay for two or three days. If we are waiting for a package from Amazon, we stay until it arrives. 

     Some checklist items aren't written down. They are embedded in my muscle memory and they all involve Pika, our doted upon ship's cat. Every morning, I clean Pika's porta potty and tell her she is a "Good Girl!" and that she did "A good job!" You can skip this next part if you don't have kids. You see, if you want to have your pet, or kid, on a boat, you have to do a daily check on their health. I don't know about pediatricians, but the first question veterinarians ask is, "Is Pika using her litter box regularly?" 

     I don't think I've ever told you about Pika's litter box. It took us a good month to find the perfect container and the perfect location to put it on the boat. Shouldn't be that hard, right? But in a 26' long, 9.5' wide boat, with a total of 150 square feet of living space, most of it sloping upwards from a narrow hull, finding a litter box that would fit, that would be out of the way, yet easy to clean was one of our biggest get-the-boat-ready-for-cruising challenges. Her litter box from home was too big. We bought two others from pet stores, but those didn't fit either. I cut one down to fit in the bookcase, but it was hard to get to. Not by Pika, the user of the litter. By me, the cleaner of  the litter. Scott, the keeper of aesthetics, wanted her porty potty to fit in with our bedroom decor-- nautical-looking rope baskets that hold our clothing. Then one day, we were at Sam's Club in Traverse City, Michigan replenishing supplies. In a remote corner of the store is a catering supply section. Why we were drawn to that section, I'll never know. We spied, at the same exact moment, the perfect litter receptacle; a jumbo stainless steel salad bowl. "I think it will fit perfectly in that extra rope basket we have!" said Scott. "I think it will be easy to clean!" said I. We bought it. It did fit in the basket and it is easy to clean. I'm leaving out the part where Scott had to build a custom shelf on the bedroom floor at the bow of the boat for the salad bowl to sit upon, and that one of us stepped in it (only once though), but it works a charm. She only uses it at night after Scott and I are tucked in bed. Usually, we don't know when she uses it because we are sound asleep. But once in awhile, we hear her, and, since it's a stainless steel bowl, it sounds exactly like a chef tossing a Caesar Salad. So now, when I wake up in the morning I greet Pika with "Did you make a salad? Good girl! Good job, Pika!" Then I feed her a triangle of Fancy Feast.

     That is not the only cat-related task that must be done before we cast off. After I make the bed, Pika's scratchy thing and kitty carrier (where she stays safe in rough weather) are moved to the bed, and lids go on her food and water dishes. Her daytime soft blankie that sits on my chair in the nav station while we are docked gets moved too.

Just before I start the engine, I put her in her scarlet bed in the wheel house. Starting the engine used to freak her out, but now she's used to it. At first Scott always started the engine. Pika would run away in terror and try to hide.

Because of this, she started being afraid of Scott, which made him feel bad and was very inconvenient because it took time to calm her down. So I began starting the engine and she doesn't freak. I guess the giver of the Fancy Feast can start the engine but the person who yells when cords aren't unplugged can't. Or something like that. I've started backing Green Eyes out of the slips too, because I like to. And I docked one time so far. In Chattanooga, boats headed down river, as we are, have to make a u-turn and come back up river, against the current, to dock at a long pier, one boat behind the other. We also had a bit of wind that day, so it was going to be a challenging docking. For whatever reason... oh I remember now. I was back seat driving a little too much. Scott was at the helm and turned to me and said, "Go on, you do it then." So I did. Nicely too, if I do say so myself.

     Mostly, we have a clear division of labor and tasks around the boat. Scott drives the boat. Even if it is an eight hour cruise, he drives 99% of the time. We have an auto pilot, but he stays awake and alert to make adjustments to course and watches for logs, rocks, barges, or shallow water. I so appreciate that he does this. While he is steering, I read aloud from our Cruising the Tennessee River book by Fred Myer and point out historic sites, or navigation tips, or I plot the course for the next day on the iPad, looking for good anchorages or marinas along the way. (A good marina is one that offers a courtesy car, laundry, and has a restaurant on site.) I bring treats to the Captain, and to Pika, make lunch when it's time, check the weather forecast, and search for answers to important topics on the Internet.

     The other tasks I happily volunteer for include topping off the water tanks, keeping the ship's log up to date, feeding and watering the cat and crew, menu planning and preparation, all the barbecuing, vacuuming the bedroom, washing the windows, sweeping the wood floors, making the bed, doing laundry, dusting the navigation components, making the coffee, and hosing off the boat. Cleaning the exterior of  the boat is a task I enjoy but which is usually done by men. Honestly, other Captains of boats we see seem to hose daily, their absorbent mops proudly standing at the bow like some sort of hood ornament. I enjoyed cleaning Ndoto, our Land Rover in Africa, too. Not unusually, really. When I was a kid, I regularly washed the family car and wanted to own a car wash when I grew up. So, I like washing the boat.

     Scott does all the things that I wouldn't dream of doing. He installed a new Garmin Radar, and solar panels on the roof. He bought and installed our own wi-fi system and an antenna booster for the TV. We get Neflix, Prime, Hulu, PBS.... any channel we want, even at anchor. He keeps the Orca Cooler on the patio topped off with drinks and ice, he operates the dingy. He calls the mechanic when our auto pilot gets squirrely, or when the impeller needs changing. He orders lots of parts on Amazon. And he does all the time at the wheel so that I can watch the scenery go by, tend to Pika, or make snacks. Even Steven, I'd say.

     Pre-flight check, or pre-cruise check, checklists are a good thing. Oh, and headsets are a good thing. We bought a pair several months ago. Called "marriage savers" by many Loopers, they enable quieter debates over who did or who didn't unplug the shore power. We love them. "Do you read me?" asks Scott. "I read you loud and clear," I whisper. "Um, is the shore power cord...."

     Tris and Scott, aboard Green Eyes in Scottsboro, Alabama