The next day started out wet.  And windy.  We pow-wowed in the morning after checking all the available weather data and decided to make what would be our first of maybe two 24-hour runs to just outside New Orleans, to a marina called Hurricane Hole.  We were hoping that the name of our destination wasn’t going to be telling because now we were tracking what NOAA was calling Atlantic Disturbance #1, which had some decent odds at becoming a real concern.

 

We all decided that the marine forecast looked good enough that we would take the run “outside” through the Gulf the 240 some nautical miles to Hurricane Hole.  After our conference about pushing off, we pulled out of our slip, and headed out.

 

The majority of the day until about 1730 hours, our luck seemed to be holding up.  The seas were mild, the wind on our nose, and we were confident we could do our run if these conditions held.  We watched the Gulf go by and lost count of the number of dolphins we saw.  At one point, we saw several dolphins causing a ruckus, charcoal gray fins and flippers throwing spray everywhere.

 

Log Entry of the Day:  Dolphin Fight!

But at 1730 hours with only two hours of daylight left, the wind shifted and picked up, and our good conditions disappeared as if someone had flipped a switch.  Now we were taking larger waves on the beam and rolling quite a bit.  Not enough to endanger the boat, but pretty uncomfortable for the crew.  Anything not tied down went sliding to and fro with an awful clatter, including crew.

 

We decided we needed to get to calmer waters, turned her so she took the wind on her stern and made closer in to shore. It was a much better ride, but now we were headed back the way we came.  We tried twice to turn back towards the east, and twice we found ourselves pitching again.  We spent a precious hour working the problem, trying to find a calmer route or a place to tie up or anchor.

 

A word about anchoring.  You need some water to anchor in.  All day we’d been cruising the Gulf Coast some twenty miles out and our depth never got over 45 feet.  Shallow for the PNW, deep waters here.  Many of the “lakes” had single digit feet of water, and mis-named Mud Lake only had one foot.  You also need appropriate gear.  The anchor on our boat was anchor shaped, but for Adventuress’ weight, undersized.  Yes, her rode was chain, so that would help, but an undersized anchor meant we were looking for a protected place to anchor.

 

Or we could look for a marina.  We had Internet access so we started hunting for a marina.  In this part of the world, apparently, they didn’t believe in updating their websites, though, so we ended up calling through a lot of bad numbers.  At one point, Breck was talking to a woman who was giving him the number of someone she thought had a marina.  One person we called asked what moorage was.  It was getting to be a really tense boat.

 

Finally, Breck got ahold of someone at the Gold Nugget Casino on Lake Charles.  Yes, they had moorage.  Now to get there.  That would be a whole ‘nother challenge.  Gold Nugget Casino was 90 miles up a channel carved from the Gulf, through Lake Calcasieu, along the ICWW and into Lake Charles.  At 7 knots, we’d put in sometime around 0100 hours.

 

But when we got to the channel, the wind was 10-15 knots, the channel markers weren’t on the chart and the heavy industrial lights confused us.  When a huge oil tanker boat outbound snuck up on us, scaring the willies out of Robert and I, he made a captain’s decision to tie up to whatever was available, in this case, JD Smith’s Industrial Fueling.

 

Our first tie-up will be one for the annals of skillful boating.  Even though we were some distance into the channel, the wind was blowing stiffly from the south southwest.  The current was running out of the channel, from the north.  And the fuel dock we were aiming for was only meant for industrial vessels.  Its great metal rub rails and posts were high on our gunwales and even our large ball fenders looked puny in comparison.  But tie-up we did, and well.  High five.

 

My two law-abiding crewmates immediately started stressing about what if someone called the cops.  OMG, I said.  Chill.  The cops are something I can handle.   Sure enough, someone did come out.  I told the dudes, I got this.

 

I put on my best face and sweet-talked the guy, who was dirty, hairy, and super friendly.  I told him our sad story about how we’d gotten dinged by incoming bad weather, had reservations at Lake Charles, but had gotten lost in the dark.  “No problem,” he said.  “Would y’all mind it much if y’all moved over to our other slip?  I wouldn’t wanch’all ta be in the way if we got someone in needin’ fuel.”  Mind?  OMG, THANK YOU!

 

Our second tie-up will go right next to the other tie-up for skillful boating.  Wind?  Check. Current?  Check. Dark?  Check.  Industrial sized tie up?  Check.  Oh, did I mention rain now too?  This time Robert was more prepared, and he used wind and current to Tokyo drift us into position and then zip right into the slip.   And by Tokyo drift, I mean drift fully sideways down the channel with our nose pointed directly at the channel wall for fifty feet until we were in position, and then goosed forward to zip right along the wall of the slip.

 

Before we all collapsed in sodden puddles, we decided by consensus, not to go back out on the Gulf tomorrow.

 

 

A couple hours after we had all tucked into our bunks, I was still up, kept from sleep by the noisy slosh of the chop on our hull, when an alarm sounded.  Nothing gets you up like an alarm.  Luckily, it was just an urgent weather alarm.  A local tornado had spawned a waterspout, and all small craft were advised to seek safe harbor.

Boat Bruise Count:  One laceration, two falls, one sprained finger, one really upset tummy.  Fuck.