Captain's Log: There's No Place Like Boat for the Holidays

We ran into the Little Engine that Retired in a museum yard in Pensacola

We slipped lines from Columbus Marina just before 7:00AM on Tuesday, December 16, the rising sun bright and low enough to make us squint while the 25°F chill did its best to infiltrate the pilothouse and the generator did its best to keep our heat working. Stennis Lock came up almost immediately, fully prepped thanks to a heads-up from our dock neighbor, Tick-Tock, who clearly enjoys being helpful—or at least demonstrating that their VHF skills are on point. As the sun climbed and the day settled in, the salon finally began to warm, coaxing the thermometer to a balmy 56°F and convincing us that shutting down the generator wasn’t entirely reckless. We cruised through Bevill Lock together—a tiny convoy of two—until nearing Heflin Lock, where Tick-Tock pressed on, and we chose the quiet charm of an oxbow to anchor for the evening. By 3:17PM, the hook was down near Warsaw Bar, and leftover “freezer chili” bubbled on the hob, proving that sometimes happiness really can be reheated.

Wednesday morning, we weighed anchor just after 7:30AM, slipping Stinkpot carefully back into the gentle flow of the Tenn-Tom. About an hour later, we were approaching Heflin Lock, arriving just behind a barge tow that had cleared the lock about thirty minutes prior. The lockmaster’s loquacious and effusively cheerful VHF holiday greetings and lock instructions sent Stacey on a brief emotional rollercoaster while she tended the lines and fenders. She could not hear the transmission, but she knew one was happening, and she was convinced by the length and rising intonation she could barely hear through the side of the boat that something was terribly wrong. Fortunately, it was just a southerner who was excited Christmas was coming, but learning that did nothing for her pumping adrenaline. I reassured her as the water dropped under the boat, and the lock’s gates were open by 9:10AM. We spent the rest of the day southing toward Demopolis, the river offering calm waters, occasional bird sightings, and an unobtrusive sense of time. Just before the lock in Demopolis, we turned off the river into Foscue Creek and dropped anchor just beyond the Coast Guard station at about 3:30PM, celebrating with BLTs on homemade sourdough, watching the light mellow across the river while feeling that rare satisfaction of an easy day done well. If only they could all be so smooth and frictionless.

The following morning found us underway again just after sunrise, mindful that this stretch of river offers few stopping points and that daylight is, in December, fleeting. Edna-2, our old favorite anchorage from the Great Loop, no longer held the same appeal—its protective green buoy missing, shoaling encroaching like a bad neighbor. We pressed onward and, around 2:00PM, dropped the hook at Barron’s Landing, near the long-gone Lock Number 2. The wind, initially from the south, nudged us gently against the half-knot current. As anticipated, it swung northwest, leaving us mere feet from fallen trees at the stern, an accidental demonstration of either skill or luck—or perhaps a carefully orchestrated combination of both. By nightfall, the wind settled entirely, and we drifted off to sleep in untroubled calm.

Friday’s run was shorter than we had hoped it would be. We had been underway before 7:00AM and ran almost to Coffeeville Lock, only to find stacked commercial traffic would occupy it until after sundown. Rather than commit to a night run, we backtracked to Okatuppa Creek, anchoring in the “alternative” anchorage across the river, where the hook was down by 1:40PM in a spot generous enough for Stinkpot to swing freely. Dinner was a comforting mash-up of savory roasted chicken thighs and green bean casserole.

With the sting of being turned around by a barge tow parade still fresh in our minds, we got underway Saturday before sunrise, around 6:30AM, greeted by sea smoke curling from the river. Rounding a bend, the pretty swirls and wisps of steam rising off the river gave way to a full-on wall of fog. Slowing to nearly nothing, we relied on GPS and AIS for guidance, eventually reaching Coffeeville Lock as a tow was completing an up-bound lockage. Passing into the lock in his wake, we made fast to a floating bollard at 7:49AM; we were downriver by 8:08AM and finally in waters that could be called tidally influenced for our first time aboard this boat—sea level. The day stretched long, the anchorages sparse. We even briefly went aground trying to get into what was, at one time, a well-regarded anchorage. Finally, at Alabama River Cutoff, where the mild current held us exactly where we wanted to be, we had the hook down for the day.

Anchor up the next morning at 10:24AM. We spun Stinkpot within her own length before slipping back to the Tombigbee, past the Alabama River’s mouth and on toward Mobile. We easily could have made Mobile that day, but we were held back for a couple reasons. First, it’s a beautiful area, and we wanted to take it in. Second, once we get to Mobile, we need to transit its eponymous bay, and that’s a full day all by itself. A few anchorages outside Mobile tempted us, but Briar Creek, shallowish yet just deep enough, with generous swing room, seemed to be exactly what we were seeking. We dropped the hook and decided to linger in that very spot and take a day off from cruising on Monday—slowing our roll and relaxing in place.

Our attempt to leave before dawn on December 23 was complicated by a stubbornly set anchor resulting in a blown fuse, leaving me tinkering until about 7:00AM. Once underway, we were rewarded with a beautiful, sunny morning. We transited the port of Mobile, paid our final respects to the soon-to-be-reefed SS United States, and ran the ship channel out of Mobile Bay, eventually turning east onto the GIWW. Finally anchored near Orange Beach Waterfront Park at 3:45PM after putting around 50 nautical miles under the keel, I prepared the dinghy for launch, swapping the very crusty magnesium outboard anode to aluminum and topping off the inflation of the sponsons before lifting L’il Stinker gingerly overside for the first time since changing out our davit crane cable for Dyneema—which worked flawlessly, much to our relief. We motored in to GT’s On the Bay for dinner: stuffed pork loin for me, shrimp and grits for Stacey, and the first stroll on solid ground in a week, ending in the park’s Christmas display before returning to the comfort of our floating home.

Christmas Eve arrived with its own rhythm. Coffee first, daily routines second, then a message from Facebook friend, Mike, a local boating enthusiast planning to cruise the Great Loop, offering to ferry us for supplies. By 11:30AM we were at Aldi for a coffee and galley staples resupply and some holiday comestibles. We then visited West Marine to pick up a length of hose and a new inflation valve for the dinghy. Upon our return to the dinghy dock, we loaded up the tender, which I then ferried to Stinkpot alone—there wasn’t enough room in the boat for both of us with the loot. I quickly off-loaded the stuff onto the sundeck and raced back to the dock just in time to help Stacey receive our Walmart order at 1:00PM. We thanked Mike and returned to Stinkpot to settle in for the holiday.

Christmas came and went with little fanfare. We enjoyed it quietly aboard, celebrating with a low-key day and a fine feast of roast chicken, dressing, gravy, baked potatoes, green beans cooked in ghee with caramelized onions, and topped off with a homemade apple pie à la mode. We never left the boat all day and just enjoyed the place and our space. Holidays are a wonderful time to just be and not feel like there is anything more that needs doing, even on a boat where there is literally always something that needs attention.

Friday, Boxing Day, we were coaxed from the boat to lunch with Mike and his wife, Michelle. They drove us to Tacky Jack's, where Stacey and I split a taco salad and a fish po’boy. It was solid food—bar fare, to be sure. Then they delivered us to West Marine to return the dinghy part, which was not right for our Brig. We’ll try a different way…. We went back to the boat, but did slink back ashore for dinner at GT’s again—getting the salad bar and a pizza—all good.

Saturday morning, we weighed anchor finally around 9:30AM and made our way across the waterway to Barber Marina's fuel dock, where we took on 200 gallons of fuel at $3.40 per gallon. We could likely have taken on half-again more, but we are hoping to have a date with a fuel truck at some point to fill even our aft tank (if it passes inspection). The goal of this fuel stop was merely to have one more marina receipt in our quiver before making the transition into Florida, where we will legally be required to register the boat. Since we bought the boat in June, and Florida’s use tax law does not apply so long as the boat was not in Florida within our first six months of ownership, that last receipt in a different state after the 183-day mark is a valuable piece of paper when we visit the tax assessor in Florida to “get legal.”

Once fueled, we made our way out of the marina and off to Pensacola. We hoped to anchor in Bayou Chico, but the anchorages were a bit too full of derelicts and “residents” for us to safely grab a corner, so we pushed back out to the bay and tucked in by the Seville Quarter, having the hook down a bit after 3:00PM. The anchorage is a bit open to the bay to the east, south, and southwest, but with the early-week winds looking to be from the north to northwest, we settled in for an extended stay. We launched L’il Stinker and went ashore for dinner and a stroll at the nearby Fish House (very good), and decided to make the most of our time in Pensacola. We spent four nights there, going ashore twice for sustenance and walking—once at the Fish House (as noted) and the second time on Sunday at the city dock.

Upon returning to the boat after Sunday's extensive appetizer-encrusted stroll, I decided to leave the tender down. I intended to go ashore again Monday to register the boat—it wasn't to be. I correctly calculated that the predicted north winds that would be building the next day would not directly affect us. I incorrectly calculated that there would be no indirect impacts. When we rose Monday morning, the winds were already gusting to near 20 mph—but there was a nasty seiche setting up out of the east. The wind was blowing down Escambia Bay and creating a perpendicular seiche wave that was taking us on the beam. With the boat bouncing so, I couldn’t really deck the tender—and I sure as hell wasn't going ashore in it. I did try lifting it, but the rocking of the boat made the davit crane’s new Dyneema lift line slack and catch violently. I was afraid the multiplication of the forces while lifting like that would damage something, so I set the boat back down. With L’il Stinker still afloat on the hip, there we sat all day and all night to first light Tuesday morning.

I enjoyed a mostly sleepless night between the rocking and hobby-horsing of Stinkpot and sounds of the tender tugging on its lines banging against the fenders just outside the stateroom. I spent the entire night creating a plan that I thought would give us a chance at escape, and at first light I made the decision to put it into action. I sprang from bed around 6:00AM, started the generator to warm the boat up (the outside temp dropped to 32°F overnight), wiped the condensation from the windshield, started the main engines, and removed the snubber from the anchor tackle. Stacey, who followed me out of the stateroom a few minutes later, pulled on her warm clothing and weighed anchor while I maneuvered the boat. Once the hook was up, we slowly and carefully moved the boat, with the tender still on the port hip, into an area nearby the city docks where a breakwater should fully mitigate the seiche action. We anchored briefly so I could finally successfully deck the tender. We were kind of blocking the entrance to a marina for about ten minutes, but it was literally our only nearby play, so I grabbed it. Once the little boat was safely aboard, we weighed again. I put the seas on our stern in 30 mph winds and crossed to the south side of Gulf Breeze in Santa Rosa Sound, where we anchored just before 8AM in seiche-less ecstasy. The wind was still gusting to 22 mph there, even with the island cutting the wind down. 

We had a very nice night at anchor there in English Navy Cove, but by mid-afternoon the next day the wind had clocked around to the west, still with decent intensity, and it was setting up a pretty good chop. Around 4:00PM on New Year’s Eve, I made the decision to weigh anchor, and we made our way about four miles to the east side of the nearby bridge and causeway to, once again, place us leeward of a slice of land in Pensacola Beach. It was a lovely spot, and we were rewarded for our re-anchoring efforts with an intense midnight fireworks show to ring in the new year, after which we collapsed into bed, exhausted.

Thursday, New Year’s Day, we slept in until 7:00AM, but soon had coffee on and were getting ourselves ready for a proper holiday meal away from the boat. My dear friend, colleague, cousin, and high school choral director (Maine is like that), Kathi, lives in the area, and she invited us to dinner with her, her husband Bill, their daughter Cori, and son-in-law Kostya. Our preparations for this were not exactly simple. It was our intention to dinghy ashore where we’d be met by Bill and driven to the party. I lowered the tender into the water and then buzzed around looking for a place where we could get onto the nearby public dock, which was a good five or six feet off the water. It was no good. There wasn’t a ladder to be found to get us up out of the dinghy. I returned to the boat and decked the tender and announced we would dock Stinkpot at the end of the pier where we knew there was enough water, and that’s exactly what we did. It took some time to get her tied up and properly fendered for a pier that had a lot of jagged protuberances begging to damage the hull, but we finally were satisfied with how she was laying to the dock. I sent Kathi a message, and Bill came out and picked us up around 2:00PM. We had a perfectly lovely afternoon and dinner. We “borrowed” Kathi’s laundry facilities to do a load while we were there. We had a spectacular time, enjoyed a fabulous meal, and the company was, of course, first-rate. It ended altogether too soon, but “boater’s midnight” was fast approaching, so it wasn’t long before Kathi and Bill spirited us back to Stinkpot, where we slept in yet again.

The whole gang! Stacey, Dave, Kathi, Bill, Cori, Kostya

After a very necessary cup of coffee, I dropped Kathi one more note to let her know our disposition, and she offered to join us ashore for breakfast. Within minutes, she called to let us know she was nearby, and we made our way ashore, where she treated us to breakfast at a nearby diner, the name of which escapes me. The time flew by, and we were, once again, saying our goodbyes pier side. Once back aboard, I started singling up lines and we got underway. It was on this leg of the trip that we passed a sailboater aboard Kraken who had recently been at the English Navy Cove anchorage with us. He radioed to tell us we had stowaways—dolphins playing in our bow wave. Stacey and I started taking turns at the helm so the other could go out and watch them play. I took a video and sent it to our friends, Sean and Louise, to which Louise nailed the sentiment: “It NEVER gets old.”

​The rest of the cruise through Santa Rosa Sound to Fort Walton Beach was lovely in an uneventful way, though a thick overcast filled in over our heads, which made us reach for the navigation lights for the last few miles. We anchored on Cinco Bayou just east of the bridge. The forecast promised gusting out of the southwest overnight, and we generally would rather not bear the brunt of a gusty wind. It interrupts our beauty sleep.

Happy New Year, one and all!