The third in what we suspect will be a stretch of long days means a short post. But since in part this sort of is our personal diary we gotta record something.
As we feared, we awoke for a dawn departure only to find fog hanging in the air. Not cool.
Depending on perspective, the fog either was patchy and not a real concern (“Let’s beat the Badger!”) or it was horrible and unsafe. When the TowBoatUS captain told Dana he wouldn’t go out if he was us, we opted to turn the engine off again. We reported to the day’s fleet and everyone agreed. Of course, three minutes later the dude took off in the tow boat. But he’s a professional and knows the area and is getting paid, so we heeded his advice. At least we were able to tidy up a bit, and Doug took an unexpected pre-travel shower. Dana walked the boys a third time.
By 8, things looked better from the parking lot.
Unfortunately we don’t steer from the parking lot. At pilothouse level the visibility still sucked.
At 9, however, the fog parted like Moses and the Israelites were crossing it.
We even looked back just in case there were wicked Egyptians on our tail. Nope. Just a suddenly beautiful day.
Yellow Creek was gorgeous in the sunlight. Still too cold for pansies like us to move up to the flybridge, of course, but we could see just fine from below thank you very much.
Much of the day passed while we were in the canal portion of the Tenn-Tom.
It’s pretty narrow, and seems even more narrow when trying to pass a tow, which is going just a bit slower in the same direction, on a corner, through the prop wash. We closed ours eyes and it wasn’t quite as scary.
The good news—which saved us—was that by passing Graestone Express, we lined up for the three locks we needed to traverse. All the lights were green when we approached the chambers. Unheard of good luck for Misty Pearl.
After the Rankin Lock, we hit what sort of looks like swamp land.
Dana bagged another cool heron shot.
Poor dude. One minute you’re balancing easily with nary a worry in the world and the next minute eight boats bounce you around miserably and make your wings flap.
We docked at Midway Marina just as the sun set on the river.
Fulton, Mississippi. Still not sure we can get to Orange Beach by the end of the month. Maybe we won’t even try.
