We had gotten a good start, heaving to a little after seven and escaping our elegant little sand dune. The weather had improved to sunshine and we made good time coursing mostly south and west. We landed at Greenville, well, I should say we slowly landed at Greenville: Brian was guiding us into the narrow mouth of Lake Ferguson when, of course, a tow cut inside to the edge of the channel, effectively eliminating his strategy of gliding right into the haven. A haven it was, from traffic, yes, but more importantly from the current. We estimate that it has increased to right around six knots, just below our engine's capability to push up stream. Brian wisely took the outside route around the offending tow and made upriver for the lake mouth�..and realized he wasn't moving, in the normal sense of the word. Faith was pushing a great foaming bow wave (one way we can calculate speed is to check how much wake is being created as the bow cuts through the water). The engine was revved to full speed. The river rushed by. The shore stood still. And then�.ever so slightly�.the scrub off the starboard side�.began�.to move! We crept toward the welcoming mouth of the lake, Brian holding as tightly to the bank as he judged reasonable. And we crept toward the welcoming mouth�.And we crept�.And�Well, you get the idea. It took a while. The experience impressed upon us how utterly impossible this journey would be were we going in reverse, up the rivers. We figure a much bigger engine and exponentially more gas or just flat out getting towed by a tug. Either way, far the better for us that we're heading south!
I suppose you want to hear about the grounding? That's good because I like telling this one:
Brian and Eric were on deck. Brian had just beaten my record (105 miles in a single sitting) and Eric assumed tiller command. The main gas can, the one the engine feeds on, was almost dry so Brian began replenishing from one of our spares. Eric was swinging well inside the channel to be safely out of the way of the five or so tows dominating this particular stretch of river. We all felt it � WHAM! � under the keel. You may recall the description of our last adventure in beaching, a bounce-and-slide followed by a complete halt. That's how it happens in an area with just a wee little bit of current. But here, running as we were with the psycho-monster current of the Great and Terrible Mississippi, we skipped like a well thrown stone not once but three times before skidding to a leaning stop so far up the sandbar that the only allusions I can think of are to embarrassing to write.
Needless to say, Eric took the plunge after we tried valiantly to extricate ourselves by leaning, rocking, pushing with the boathook, running in full reverse, and cursing at the top of our lungs. Did I mention it was nearly sundown? It was, and ourselves just five miles from Stack Island, our destination. It was time for desperate measures: It was time to raise the sail.
Before that happened, however, we'd have to get the bow pointed into the channel, a 180 degree turn against the current. Eric managed the first few feet, then I was in with him for the next few and Brian joined us for the last titanic effort. I am certain the pyramids were built with less strain and struggle. At last we climbed back aboard to shed our sodden clothing and prepare for the final (please let it be the final!) step. The forward anchor was suspended from the jib halyard and swung out from the low side. (When you're grounded like this the boat doesn't rest upright. The keel rests on the substrate below and the bulk of the vessel leans to one side. In this case the high side allowed us to see a foot of Faith's underside. The paint is holding up well.) The main sail was raised! Brian and Eric hung themselves as far out as possible, which is pretty far when they could cling to the anchor.
In theory, with the wind in the right direction, which it was, the sail will cause the boat to lean, or heel, thus lifting the keel sideways. With the engine at full bore, the sail at full mast, and the two stalwart mates lending their full weight to the lee side ("lee" is side of the boat where the wind, having crossed the decks, is leaving) we made absolutely no headway
But then � Oh! Could it be???
YES!!!
We were moving!!!
In the right direction!!!
We had escaped the jealous grasp of Mistress River again, wahahaha!
We boldly proceeded another mile around the island that had trapped us and made for shore, boldly unwilling to risk another grounding in the dark.
Stepping directly from bowsprit to bank we had a small beach fire, dried our clothes and happily went to sleep.
Whew!
The 14th day posed only minor threats to Faith's well being. We made for Vicksburg in the morning and were able to fill up our reserves at a gas station a couple blocks from the dock. Internet access, with which I struggled for quite some time, was sketchy at best and I succeeded in getting only fragments uploaded to the site (sorry for any inconvenience if you checked us out during this time!)
A boathook went soaring from the bow into the river while we pounded over an enormous wake left by a tow consisting of six barges across, seven long. It took two passes but we managed to retrieve it. It would have been sorely missed!
We came in to anchor at a place we named Termite Shoals on the Louisiana bank. (Yes, we've reached Louisiana!) "Shoals" because as Brian and I approached shore at a spot that looked promising we bounced the keel off of a wing dam a couple of times. Wing dams are barriers of sand and rock piled perpendicular to shore to prevent heavy erosion. When you come in close to shore they tend to be rather shallow�.
"Termite" due to the first log I picked up once we were safely ashore. They were on me in seconds, biting and trying to get under my clothes. Some succeeded. I'm pretty sure they're gone now�..
We enjoyed a supper of spaghetti and a clear night with stars glistening panoramically around us.
May the river rise to meet you (unless you live in a flood plain!)