3 September 2018: Winning for Team Adventuress

3 September 2018: Winning for Team Adventuress

After the last two days of very challenging boating, Team Adventuress was in sore need of a win before the crew started defecting.  Last night we agreed that we’d take the ICWW to Vermilion Bay.  Turns out that was the best decision so far.

 

Although the egress from the slip we squatted in was still difficult… wind and current still there, but the light of day made all things look much friendlier.  From the fuel dock we took one turn north and took the channel straight north to the ICWW.

 

As we progressed from the barrier island to genuinely inland, we found ourselves in bayou country.  The ICWW was lined on both sides by swamp, with occasional breaks in the swamp into boggier shallow lakes.  The conditions were night and day different from yesterday.  Although we still had wind, it was much milder.   There were no waves to contend with.  Instead we had barges.

 

The ICWW in this part of the world is very much a working waterway.  Nearly all of the traffic were tugs pushing barges.  They all talked to each other on channel 13, so we monitored the channel.  All day it was a running dialogue between tugs with colorful names like Danielle Christina and Naches Express.  There was the Jesus Saves, the Redeemer, and the Earl Gonsolin.  Winning names for the day:  Corky (pronounced Corgi), and Lady Savage Pounder, and her boy lovers Savage Guardian and Savage Opportunity.  I am not making this up.

 

We did miss the dolphins.

 

Just about an hour into our day we came to our first challenge, the Black Bayou Locks.  There would be two locks and a pontoon bridge.  Unlike the Ballard Locks, here you had to call into the dockmaster and get on the list.  He’d put you in the queue and tell you who you’d be following.  So, we did that, and we were placed in the queue behind the Louisianan, and we’d be in two lock cycles.  At the Ballard Locks, that might mean you wait a couple hours.  But not here.  We jockeyed in the queue, talking to the tug boat captains to make sure we weren’t in the way or going to be squished.  And in less time than we anticipated, we saw the Louisianan load into the lock.  The dockmaster announced we’d be next, and when we saw the Louisianan pass out of the locks we made our way from our waiting spot into the lock past a line of tugs sans barges lined up, literally on top of the lock doors, looking like a flock of slavering vultures.

 

The instruction that the dockmaster gave us is that we’d be 200 feet from the lock doors.  There was no tying up, we would just hold position there.  Wha?  No lock lines, no lasso-ing bollards, just hold your position.  So, we crept up to the place they told us to wait.  The tugs vulturing at the lock doors bearing down on us…. until they each reached their own mark and stopped. I hadn’t even known that the back-lock doors had closed and the lock had filled when the doors in front of us opened to let us through.

 

The pontoon bridge was just beyond the first lock, and smartly timed to open when the locks did.  We passed through with not even a blink.  Two of the day’s three challenges done, and no one even broke a sweat.  The remainder of the day we made eight knots in the company of tug after tug, strung along the waterway like bayou bijous on a string.  The three of us all took it in turns at the helm, and so after a day of talking to tug boat captains, we were all drawling.

 

But mostly, the 90 nautical miles we were able to get under our belt was boring.  Monitor your depth.  Talk to the next tug captain about which side to pass.  Or which side to overtake.  Look for gators.  Close up before the squall hit and open up as soon as it passed.  Rinse.  Repeat.

 

The last lock, the Leland Bowman Lock was positively hilarious.  We were the only vessel in the lock cycle, and the lock was so wide it was the proverbial hotdog down a hallway.  Unlike other locks we had done, this one was built not to overcome changes in elevation, but changes in salinity.  So there was no change in the water depth.

 

THE LELAND BOWMAN LOCKS

One left turn and we were at our tie-up for the night.

As I write, we are tied up at Intracoastal City.  Settle down, “city” is aspirational.  We haven’t seen a soul since we got here.  No one.  No one human, that is.  Within minutes of us tying up, two juvenile gators came by to shake us down.  Gator gangs.  Who knew?

JUVENILE GATOR GANG MEMBER, OR AKWARD, MISUNDERSTOOD GATOR TEEN?

 

Almost immediately after we tied up, we started getting texts from concerned friends.  Are you OK?  The storm system that NOAA had been calling Atlantic Disturbance #1 had become Tropical Storm Gordon.  Gordon was projected to roll right into New Orleans in the next 48 hours, so our first priority was to make sure we could tuck in someplace safe.  Intracoastal City had no facilities, save the cheapest diesel in the area.  But nearby Morgan City did.

 

Jay Bettis, the gentleman who sold us Adventuress called us in the evening to make sure we were safe and to give us what advice he could about where to hole up.  Morgan City would be good.  They had a good marine supply store and a secure dock.  We called ahead, and now we have a space.  He even recommended a restaurant that if we called, they’d pick us up at the marina.

 

So tomorrow, we’ll top off the tanks and make for Morgan City.  We should arrive before dinner with enough time to make what preparations we need to weather the storm.  Tonight, we’re on the outside of our first good meal in three days, clean, and sleepy.  Breck is playing his guitar for us, and we all plan to sleep the fuck in.

 

Damn mosquitos.

 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *