It is one long, long boat ride from the
south end of Atchafalaya Bay, all the way up the bay, thru the channel markers,
to the mouth of the Atchafalaya River, then up the river channel to Morgan
City. Terry pulled out some manual
pumps, and all along the way, we took turns pumping out water. Eventually, we were able to gain control of
the situation so at least the cabin water wasn’t getting worse. But oh, what a mess there was down
there.
A pod of dolphins appeared as we
traversed the muddy waters of the bay.
There must have been eight to ten of them, jumping and playing in our
wake. They swam with us for several
miles.
When we finally entered the river, we
found ourselves, for the first time in days, in calm protected waters. Then the sun went down, and we were now
navigating an unfamiliar channel in the black of night, along with some serious
river currents. And we were not exactly
sure of our destination. Fortunately, the channel markers were well lit.
At around 10 o’clock, we had to admit
that we would not make it to Morgan City that night; and even if we did make
it, the chances of finding someplace to tie up were pretty slim. It made sense to hole up for the night, get some
food and rest, and start fresh in the morning.
So we found a wide spot in the river, out of the channel. In about 10 feet of water, we dropped anchor.
Monday morning, come daylight, after some
good restful sleep, I could see where we were.
The river was surrounded by marsh.
Frogs, gulls, and other critters croaked, chirped, and cackled; it was
actually a rather lovely spot. The only
signs of human life were occasional passing fishing boats and tug-pushed
barges. They would slow as they passed
us there at anchor. I’m sure they were
thinking, “what the hell is a sailboat doing up here?”
A quick breakfast and we were off towards
Morgan City. Terry got to work on an
improvised bilge pump. At the helm, I
noticed at one point that the river maxed out at 103 feet deep.
Based on the information from the onboard
GPS system with integrated maps, our best destination in Morgan City was a
downtown marina. Supposedly, it had full
services, including electrical power hookups, and that all-so-important
laundry. (All of my clothes were soaked
with greasy slime.) But as we entered
the city, it became apparent that that was impossible; our path was blocked by
a too-low bridge. The Curmudgeon needed
58 feet, and the lowest bridge had a clearance of just 50.
There was a tugboat dock nearby; we headed
there.
The tugboat guys all turned out to be
extremely helpful and friendly. The dock manager came up to us and said there
was no problem at all staying tied up there for a few days while we make
repairs, and was there anything at all we needed? A ride into town, perhaps? I mentioned that I needed to find a laundromat,
but he told me I was more than welcome to use the washer and dryer aboard one
of the tugs!! I told Terry, hey, you’re
in Cajun Country now, and these are my people, God’s people, the warmest and
most hospitable folks you will ever meet anywhere!
Terry found a spare working iphone
somewhere, and I was able to contact my family and apprise them of the
situation. Dad & Mom said they were
more than happy to drive from Lake Charles down to Morgan City on Tuesday to
get me. Having failed to make Tampa, Terry's plans
were to take the ICW back to Galveston.
I considered joining him for a day or two; that sounded like a relaxed,
easy journey. But, my time aboard the
Curmudgeon was up and I needed to get on home.
That afternoon, Terry and I fixed
ourselves some cocktails, and sat on the dock and visited with some locals who came
there to fish. Then we got down and
dirty and started cleaning up the mess below.
Many days later, as I write this journal,
my body’s equilibrium is still out of whack.
I still feel like I’m rocking and rolling aboard the raging sea. The last time I lived aboard a boat for a
week, it took nearly two weeks for my land legs to return.
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