All beautiful in a way, but not the type of situation we'd like to try our hands at.
It was a smooth run to Natchez, Mississippi. Brian guided the helm while I fixed the automatic tiller (Otto, we call him). Eric prepared our coffee and worked on a crossword (anyone know the name of a sad faced vaudevillian actor?)
We landed at the bank at 11:30 am, feeling piratically aroused. You see, Natchez is a city on a hill completely surrounded by a tall seawall. One hears one's inner voice shouting the commands: "Out cannon on the port side! Land party prepare to disembark! Grappling hooks and stanchions! Landfall avast!!!!"
While Eric and Brian raid the town I sit below decks awaiting the charging of the cell phone so I can call in all of you reinforcements. Speaking of which, Jeff, good luck with tickets! See you in New Orleans or Sarasota!
Ahoy!!
So I was below decks trying in vain to connect to the internet (our phone, we later discovered, does not really get Verizon service anywhere from Illinois to Louisiana) when a large vessel of some sort passed by. The wake it kicked up rocked Faith and I watched out through the cabin entrance as the shoreline bobbed up and down � and then started sliding forward!! Carefully setting down the computer, I scrambled through several wires and cords to get on deck. Yep, the anchor had come unfixed from the bottom and Faith was drifting toward the concrete boat ramp! Vaulting to the fore, I was able to coax the anchor line (something like fishing with a 40lb hook) and find the anchor a new grasp on the rocky bottom. As I was completing these Argonautic feats, Brian and Eric came ambling down the hillside, their arms loaded with captured swag. They were, of course, berating me for sunning myself on the bow whilst they did all the plundering and pillaging. Scurvy Dogs!
We made a safe transition back onto the River, and managed to gain 100 miles all told for the day. The course of the afternoon saw many improvements to our good ship: the main hatch was sealed, tightened and refitted, woodwork was sanded in preparation for coats of polyurethane, and the automatic tiller ("Otto") was made functional once more.
We tied to a tree again at nightfall and, quite satisfied, nestled into our bunks.
We were up early the 16th day and glad to greet sunshine rather than a fog bank. On the water by 7:30, the crew and I hoped to make up for the previous day's poor showing of a mere 100 miles, as we stood off of New Orleans by just over twice that distance. The trouble started even before the coffee was perking.
Many times over the past two weeks have we run out of gas before one of us got around to transferring fuel from an auxiliary container into the main. It happened once more, only this time the engine refused to start right back up. Since no immediate threat loomed over us I tinkered for a time with the choke and sprayed starter fluid in the carburetor to no avail. All right, mates, raise the sail!
Mainsail bellying in the breeze, Faith made for the East bank where I took off the carburetor, cleaned it (I think a little water has been getting into our gas cans, try as we do to avoid splashing while refueling) and, low and behold, away we went!
No one can be called a fool for making a mistake once. It's when you compound your mistake by making the exact same one AGAIN that others have reason to question your solidity of mind. Well, question away, good readers!
This time we had traffic to contend with. We'd finally gotten into the good cell phone reception area (i.e. Louisiana) again, and I was in the cabin updating when the engine sputtered, hovered at operational, sputtered, faded, and died.
"Damn!" We thought as one, followed closely by, "Oh, my, those three barges aren't going to be far off for long�"
Eric and Brian manned the sail, I manned the toolkit, and all of us roundly cursed the gas can and our absentmindedness.
Basically, the drama played out just like the first time, but at high speed: sail up!, steer toward open space between tows!, fixandcleancarb!, reassemble!, start!, HEY START I SAID!!!, ok, that's better�.
Brian: "Uh, Sean, I've got to take whatever we've got kinda now."
Sean: "One second�."
Brian: "We're out of seconds."
Sean: in silent anguish "please work please work"
Engine: (hehehe) "Varrrroooommmmmm!!!!"
And we took the middle space between the two closest tows. (Whom we had been in radio contact with, in case any family members are reading who might not appreciate too close a brush with destruction. The operators were probably not real pleased but they would have avoided running us under. Besides, if they had, we'd have jumped on their barge and we know they REALLY don't like that.)
The subsequent Committee Meeting For The Future Avoidance Of Calamity was attended by myself, Brian and Eric. A resolution was unanimously passed stating that all members of the Lark would, from here on, constantly remind each other to check things like fuel level.
If you'll excuse me I have to run up to the cockpit and check the fuel level.
Faith has made birth at the Weber "Marina" at Convent (no kidding: "Convent, Where You Can Find Faith! One Night Only!") We are now 75 miles north of New Orleans! Eric and Brian are ashore, the kindly operators here have given them a ride to the local gas station several miles away. I put marina in quotes above because this is actually something more akin to a rest home where old barge jockeys come to get a little dingy (this is a reference to an old sailing saw: Old sailors never die, they just get a little dingy). It is a wharf where the flotsam, or is it jetsam?, washes up to rest. We are right at home.
Finding this place was no easy task � we arrived in the area just after dark and called ahead. The person on the phone described a couple of barges, orange and blue, with a crane on one and a small boat nearby. Let me tell you, this stretch of river is the Busiest in the World. It makes the Sanitary and Ship Canal look like a Saturday regatta. It's dark, so colors don't really appear colorful and looking for a barge with a crane around here is like looking for your plane at O'Hare: the only question is which one?
All I have to say is good thing they had a loudspeaker.
Marina guys: "Go up fifteen more feet. Yeah, there. That's us."
Us: "I think he means right there."
Marina guys: "Yeah, we mean right there next to you."
Us: "OH � got it! Right there!"
Thanks Weber Marina, thanks Sid! (Sid ran E & B for gas.)
Good night, y'all!