Last week I posted a story about a fair wind sail to NYC. This week you can rest your arms from shoveling all that snow by reading this story about anchoring.
If you enjoy these stories, next week I will post on the Destinations page a three part synopsis of our trip along the Gulf Coast from Texas to Florida. This may give you an idea for a cruise.
Enjoy
THE EROTIC ART OF ANCHORING
We cleared the Calcasieu Locks in late afternoon and continued to motor west in the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway to what we had read was a good anchorage in Bayou Choupique (shoe-pick). This little bayou is about one mile east of the Ellender bridge, one of several bridges on the western GIWW that you must give 12 hours notice for an opening. We called the bridge and arranged for an opening at 8:00 AM the next day and began to nose our way into the bayou. After several tries it became apparent that the mouth of the bayou had shoaled and we were not going to get into the anchorage.
“Not to worry” I said confidently, “we’ll just motor up the Calcasieu River toward Lake Charles and anchor in Prien Lake.” I had worked around Lake Charles after college and sailed my Flying Dutchman on the lakes and considered myself an expert on the area, albeit forty plus years past.
We motored north on the river. We motored some more and then some more. It was getting dark as we entered Prien Lake and slowly came to a halt in the soft southern Louisiana mud. We squirmed the boat out in reverse and tried several more times as it got darker and darker. The mosquitoes descended. We swatted, scratched and itched. We tried again. It was now pitch dark. In the glow of the binnacle light the cockpit began to take on a funny darker spotted look. We turned on a light and saw bodies of dead mosquitoes everywhere we had sat or stepped. Lois began to say very derogatory things about my memory. It was hot. We were tired. We were hungry. There was some doubt of the continuance of our relationship.
I confidently said “it looks as though the passing ships have caused the lake entrance to shoal, so we’ll just motor on to Lake Charles. The weather is benign so we can anchor in the lake and be safe there in 6 to 8 feet.”
We motored some more. It was now about midnight and pitch black. From the lights around the shore it appeared we were about in the middle of the lake and the depth had suddenly increased to about twelve feet. I said “lets just drop the hook and lay here. If we drag we will catch before we can get into any problems.” We did just that. The anchor caught and we said “enough.”
With that, we each selected a hot cabin, stripped off our hot smelly cloths and collapsed. Lois in the main cabin with two fans blowing, and me in the aft cabin with one fan. It was still 90° F.
I set an alarm for 5:00 AM as I wasn’t sure how many miles we had traveled from the Ellender Bridge and I had lost track of the tides and currents in the river. I thought that three hours would give us ample time to arrive at the bridge for our opening.
I collapsed on the bunk with the meager little fan blowing across my sweaty, nude body. Lois was in the main cabin in a similar state of undress but as we were both in no mood to speak after the hours of heat and mosquitoes, we had little interest in the erotic beauty. In a millisecond we were asleep.
Suddenly I awoke to a blinding bright cabin. I shouted “Lois, get up. We overslept and we must get to the bridge or else we will have to spend another day in this miserable place.”
Lois and I both bounded into the cockpit. We looked at each other, totally confused that it was still pitch dark and both of us were lit by two gigantic search lights shinning on us from a big boat idling nearby. We then realized it was 2:00 A.M. and we were anchored in an unmarked “deep” water channel leading to a gambling boat dock.
Lois wrapped herself in the only towel available in the cockpit and started the engine. I rapidly hauled the anchor and we moved out of the way. Amid shouts, laughter and applause the gambling boat passed into the Calcasieu River to commence their gambling activities.
Each time we drive through Southern Louisiana and stop for fuel and food, I see people looking in admiration at Lois. They smile as someone tells a story of the time they were stuck on a gambling boat waiting for a sailboat to move.
Our cruises aboard ARIEL have become stories of adventure and humiliation.
Dave
s/v ARIEL
If you enjoy these stories, next week I will post on the Destinations page a three part synopsis of our trip along the Gulf Coast from Texas to Florida. This may give you an idea for a cruise.
Enjoy
THE EROTIC ART OF ANCHORING
We cleared the Calcasieu Locks in late afternoon and continued to motor west in the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway to what we had read was a good anchorage in Bayou Choupique (shoe-pick). This little bayou is about one mile east of the Ellender bridge, one of several bridges on the western GIWW that you must give 12 hours notice for an opening. We called the bridge and arranged for an opening at 8:00 AM the next day and began to nose our way into the bayou. After several tries it became apparent that the mouth of the bayou had shoaled and we were not going to get into the anchorage.
“Not to worry” I said confidently, “we’ll just motor up the Calcasieu River toward Lake Charles and anchor in Prien Lake.” I had worked around Lake Charles after college and sailed my Flying Dutchman on the lakes and considered myself an expert on the area, albeit forty plus years past.
We motored north on the river. We motored some more and then some more. It was getting dark as we entered Prien Lake and slowly came to a halt in the soft southern Louisiana mud. We squirmed the boat out in reverse and tried several more times as it got darker and darker. The mosquitoes descended. We swatted, scratched and itched. We tried again. It was now pitch dark. In the glow of the binnacle light the cockpit began to take on a funny darker spotted look. We turned on a light and saw bodies of dead mosquitoes everywhere we had sat or stepped. Lois began to say very derogatory things about my memory. It was hot. We were tired. We were hungry. There was some doubt of the continuance of our relationship.
I confidently said “it looks as though the passing ships have caused the lake entrance to shoal, so we’ll just motor on to Lake Charles. The weather is benign so we can anchor in the lake and be safe there in 6 to 8 feet.”
We motored some more. It was now about midnight and pitch black. From the lights around the shore it appeared we were about in the middle of the lake and the depth had suddenly increased to about twelve feet. I said “lets just drop the hook and lay here. If we drag we will catch before we can get into any problems.” We did just that. The anchor caught and we said “enough.”
With that, we each selected a hot cabin, stripped off our hot smelly cloths and collapsed. Lois in the main cabin with two fans blowing, and me in the aft cabin with one fan. It was still 90° F.
I set an alarm for 5:00 AM as I wasn’t sure how many miles we had traveled from the Ellender Bridge and I had lost track of the tides and currents in the river. I thought that three hours would give us ample time to arrive at the bridge for our opening.
I collapsed on the bunk with the meager little fan blowing across my sweaty, nude body. Lois was in the main cabin in a similar state of undress but as we were both in no mood to speak after the hours of heat and mosquitoes, we had little interest in the erotic beauty. In a millisecond we were asleep.
Suddenly I awoke to a blinding bright cabin. I shouted “Lois, get up. We overslept and we must get to the bridge or else we will have to spend another day in this miserable place.”
Lois and I both bounded into the cockpit. We looked at each other, totally confused that it was still pitch dark and both of us were lit by two gigantic search lights shinning on us from a big boat idling nearby. We then realized it was 2:00 A.M. and we were anchored in an unmarked “deep” water channel leading to a gambling boat dock.
Lois wrapped herself in the only towel available in the cockpit and started the engine. I rapidly hauled the anchor and we moved out of the way. Amid shouts, laughter and applause the gambling boat passed into the Calcasieu River to commence their gambling activities.
Each time we drive through Southern Louisiana and stop for fuel and food, I see people looking in admiration at Lois. They smile as someone tells a story of the time they were stuck on a gambling boat waiting for a sailboat to move.
Our cruises aboard ARIEL have become stories of adventure and humiliation.
Dave
s/v ARIEL
