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.