When Things Go Right

As the bosun says, when things go right, we can start to relax a little bit and maybe even have some fun! We've now had six days on the water and a couple in port with no significant equipment malfunctions or other defrugalties--a term defining random mayhem that my beloved mentor and Williams Ski Coach, Ralph Townsend, loved to use though he was in no way a fan of them.

The Admiral says I should write chronologically; I say, if you'd like a chronological blog, please write your own. But beware, the picture immediately below is where we are at the moment--a delightful quiet and well protected anchorage at mile marker 275 on the lower Tennessee Tombigbee Waterway. Earlier this afternoon (17 November) we arrived here via two locks and about 60 miles of travel from Columbus Marina. Numerous great blue herons and kingfishers and innumerable great egrets punctuated our cruise leading the Admiral to opine that bird populations are much much more robust than she would have anticipated--and I agree.

Over the last several days underway, we saw mile after mile of similar vegetation (pine and southern hardwood) growing on flat terrain only a few feet higher than the banks of the excavated waterway. Today, both the terrain and vegetation became somewhat more diverse with just a wee bit of topography.

I include below pictures of both the Admiral and Cap at the helm today. For those of you with a forensic bent, please go back to pictures from earlier blogs. I'm betting your review algorithm will conclude that each of us looks more relaxed and self-confident. And I can tell you for sure that the Admiral is developing a very confident and smooth feel for the helm.

The pictures below were taken after leaving Midway Marina in thick fog to get into the Fulton Lock first thing Friday morning. In the first photo, we'd been in the lock for 45 minutes to an hour, first waiting for other boats to creep in through the fog and then enjoying our "ride" down. By then, the previously 0 visibility fog (just like Maine, can't see the bow of your own boat), had lightened up a bit. Nonetheless, it prompted the lock master to offer us the chance to stay tied up in the lock rather than brave the still thick fog down stream and, when most of us chose to press on anyway, he offered a prayer over VHF radio for us.

What's interesting here though is that, even in November, the sun gets high enough rather quickly to burn off the fog and an hour later, all we had left were lingering fingers of it in the cooler shadows.

At Columbus Marina where we spent two nights, I spent the morning on Saturday tearing apart the "laundry room" to get at the back of the washer/dryer to install the new surge protector shown on the placemat below.

Tear apart means:

• remove all the assorted beverages, tools, buckets, cleaning supplies, etc., that are stored there--several hundred pounds of assorted "kit".

• take apart the shelving that's next to the washer dryer to make a crawl space that you can sort of lie down in with you knees drawn up.

• take apart the casework that covers the plumbing and holds the washer/dryer unit in place.

• with the case work removed, wiggle the washer/dryer which is wedged into its space forward 10 inches or so so that lying on your side in a very uncomfortable position, you can reach around behind it.

Once all that was done, I then had to lie on my side, peer around the back of the machine as best I could, extend my left arm the shoulder of which I was lying on, remove the burned out surge protector--completely by feel and then install the new one--again completely by feel. With the new one, the tricky part was not to force it into even slightly the wrong space and therefore bend its connectors. With, I'm proud to say, a very limited number of off color words, I managed to get the various steps in the process done and, voila, we once again have a washer dryer that works. Oh, but then. Where's my flashlight? Turns out it's still turned on inside the buttoned up washer/dryer. Take the back of the unit off again, recover, the errant torch, put the back back on and now, finally complete

But wait! With everything still out of the laundry space, what would the admiral think you should do? Right. Clean! She handed down a swifter and then Clorox disinfecting wipes and, hovering above me, ensured that I got all of the dust, dirt, lint, dead bugs and moths out. That chore well done, she allowed me to repeat the bulleted steps above in reverse order.

Though this washer/dryer is not up to heavy loads like sheets, towels, blue jeans, etc., the good news is that we can once again do the Admiral's dainties in the privacy of the boat and can both have clean t-shirts even if we're anchored out for several days or find the marina laundry rooms in use or out of order--both of which happen often.

With that long awaited and somewhat dreaded task successfully completed, it was time to celebrate. And, what better celebration than finally Christening our dinghy, Percy. As you can see from the smile on the Admiral's face, it was great fun. Instead of whisking by the herons, egrets, kingfishers, coots, and bald eagles at 15 miles per hour in Katahdin, we were up close and personal, poking here, poking there.

And, after the dinghy ride and a short afternoon rest, we took the marina courtesy car to Walmart and then to Salon 417, where we arrived for an appointment at 4:45 on Saturday afternoon. The owner's granddaughter, Mikala, first did unspeakable things to Jackie's hair. Whatever those were, there was some wait time involved and that's when she tackled my hair, beard, and eyebrows. Mikala shared a lot with us about her family, her hopes and dreams, and life in small town, rural Missippi. She was a delight to be with and incredibly kind to tackle two, ancient New Englanders rather than start her Saturday evening on time.

Let me close this blog on several points:

• We are really starting to have fun. We've overcome many challenges and setbacks; our confidence is growing; and we're looking forward to each day--whether on the water or in port.

• People are people wherever you find them. Most are kind, generous with their experiences and insights, and willing to give you a hand with whatever you need.

• Unlike people, at least so far, marina courtesy cars are universally horrible. We haven't been in one yet that didn't have the service engine light on; it's a bit of a game to predict what other warning lights will also remain illuminated. And, they shake, shimmy, fart, and cough and most appear to have automotive leprosy causing the Admiral to wonder what people will think of us. I say, "Who cares? Sure beats walking." Note, most of these towns do not have Uber, Lyft or even a taxi.

• I have a firm rule never to drink while underway or well before getting underway with Katahdin--not even a small light beer with lunch--and I've extended this rule to courtesy cars. I don't want the tinyest eenth of a percent of alcohol in my system while driving one of those vehicles on dark, narrow, twisty, unknown southern roads. It's amazing how good water tastes with your once every few days supper out!

'Til next time.