Part #3 continued
The following morning; Oct. 27th at 0738, the lines are cast off, and we’re underway; destination Cape Girardeau, Little River Diversion Channel. Figuring an average cruise speed of 10 kts, I estimate arrival by 1800. The weather is overcast with light rain, wind from the north and visibility somewhat reduced to about 1.5 miles in fog. While interesting to observe, the shores have a monotony of lowness, etched by ceaseless erosion. Endless sand bars that exist at low water; range from dune like, to mud flats. Some having the neatness of a swimming beach, to others which are littered by both that which arrived from floatation, and that which is left to the imagination. Navigational buoys, are often found beached high and dry along the rivers edge, as a result of extreme currents when the river was running high, or from broken moorings do to collisions with barge traffic. Weather throughout the day varies from light to heavy rain. Visibility, occasionally being reduced to 3/8’s of a mile in fog and rain showers. Observed traffic, is solely commercial tug and barge. Usage of radar, quickly gives one an education in what a moving 1000’ island can be depicted as. After passing a barge train, made up of; six long and three across (1170’x105’) plus a tug pushing, you realize; who’s backyard you're playing in. I am still weary of my chosen destination for spending the night, and phone Hoppie’s, early in the afternoon by cell phone, to confirm details of my conversation the previous evening. Although the chart does depict the Little River Diversion Channel; connecting with the river just below mile marker 49.4, the initial entrance is shaded with a color corresponding to “Sand,” from the chart legend. (much like the shoal areas that are drawn on the inside curves of the river) This shading is drawn for a mile inland, before turning back to the blue, which is the uniform color that is used to outline the course of the Mississippi. The canal has scant detail, disappearing off the edge of the chart. Immediately south of the canal, is drawn a small lake, approximately a mile inland, being separated from the canal, by what appears as a very thin and narrowing peninsula. Further detail of the lake too disappears off the edge of the chart, but the impression is given that the south edge of the canal, joins with the north edge of lake given there was a need for additional paper. It is this, that I assume to be the anchorage that had been explained to me. Without the comfort, from the wood burning stove to remove the chill and dampness, conditions would be totally miserable. With failing sunlight, we pass beneath the Cape Girardeau Highway Bridge. For the past 10 or 15 minutes ,I have been making mental notes of various barges secured to the shores, as possible moorings for the night, should I be in need of an alternate plan. I make the decision to enter the canal on a right wheel going down stream, rather than to overshoot it, and have to fight my way back against the current. It is now past sunset, but darkness is not yet prominent. The weather, which had earlier been showing signs of lifting, has now resumed its heavy downpour. As I make the turn into the Diversion Canal, I realize that this is one bad plan. The rain throughout the day (or longer) as made this into a wash. A strong outflow is bringing down snags, tree branches, logs and various other debris. Further up stream, are observed trees which have fallen into the canal from erosion of their roots, that are now acting as a fence to form a bridging action. I estimate the canals width, approximately 100 feet, with 4 kts of current running into the Mississippi. My earlier concerns regarding depth at the entrance, have been inconsequential. Depth beneath the keel is registering 9 feet. . Any effort to come about now however, would be a grave error. I continue bucking the current into the canal, having doubts of an anchorage or an area sufficiently wide enough to allow turning around. Steering to avoid the debris and flotsam which confronts me, becomes more difficult, as the canal is narrowing. In the distance, I can observe the headlights of cars crossing a bridge ahead, and realize that I have indeed more than just, “Sailed Off,” the edge of the chart. Suddenly observing less than 1.5 feet below the keel, is ample evidence of this. The decision to extract myself from this, mayhem has now been mentally made. It is the pending, “How,” which remains a Grey Area. Less than 15 seconds later, my keel strikes bottom, and I am up and over the obstruction. Restless, is 38’ in length, single screw and with no bow thruster. The canal, I estimate to be 80 to 90 feet in width at this location, with a current running in excess of 4 knots. The weather is heavy rain, and it is dark. I give my chances of coming about without becoming a derelict on the bank or a shortened version of the boat: “Zero!” The events that are to follow, are preordained, and it is only a matter of being present to observe the outcome. The boat has now broached, and I am being taken with the current 90 degrees to the shore totally, “Out of Command,” and among all that is afloat. With power & excessive, “Speed Shifting,” of a mechanical clutch, a massive rudder being swung from stop to stop; Fate tosses me a crutch. Restless is miraculously pointed downstream. With a 34 volt searchlight (boats built in the 1930’s had strange systems) mounted atop the wheelhouse, I illuminate the canals banks in addition to, snags and various other obstructions back to the river. While elated to have room to maneuver, once back on the river, I am still faced with the task of where to secure for the night. Shortly before entering the Diversion Canal, I had noted two barges secured to the Missouri shore below the Cape Girardeau Bridge. They now seem the obvious choice. The rain has now eased, and I head upriver. Investigation of the first barge that I near is empty of cargo with its deck considerably above my sheer. The second, while appearing empty also, affords a narrow catwalk about its perimeter, low to the water. Positioned along the bank, her length runs parallel to the current, which allows for a smooth and uneventful docking. I secure Restless as if there were a pending hurricane. I intend to sleep well tonight, and wish to feel secure that I will awake at the same GPS coordinates in the morning. A Sum log which is presently recording a hull speed of 2.5 knots do to the rivers current is somewhat unnerving however. It is now time for a drink and the need to put another log in the wood burning stove. No sooner are these tasks complete, and I shed my foul weather gear, is the boat illuminated with what seems as a billion candle power. As I climb out of the cabin onto the rear deck, I am bathed in the spotlight from a river tug closing on my position. It is necessary to look away, for not only is it intense to my eyesight, but the bright work on the railing of Restless is beginning to blister. The talent and professionalism which pilots on the Mississippi exhibit in handling a tug, is indeed inspiring. In spite of the wind, rain, current and darkness, he positions this be moth within inches of my transom, and holds station there. A deck hand near the bow of the tug, shouts across to me: “You can’t remain here, you’ll be crushed!” While I do not question his seriousness; in view of what I have come thru, this does not strike me as a significant matter. I commence to explain to him in clip sentences why I am located here in this location. To further my intent to go nowhere until daylight, I embellish the account, by stating that I have a broken shaft coupling, and severe vibration, preventing me from going anywhere until I can affect repairs! The fact that this problem occurred a week earlier on the Illinois River, and has been subsequently repaired, I consider as a minor deviation from the truth. Since the defective part is still aboard, I feel that I can present it as evidence, if further challenged. With hand held radio in his possession, he relays this information to the bridge of the tug. After some discussion between the two of them, he yells across: “They’re calling Dispatch about it, we’ll be back later!” The midnight sun is suddenly switched off, and they back off to maneuver up river. To be continued
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