Travelling West to the Far South
November 1, 2023
To travel south, I departed Chattanooga retracing my path west and north down the Tennessee River to Pickwick Lake where you enter the southern branch of the Tenn-Tom Waterway, the Tombigbee River. I passed Hales Bar Marina (and distillery) where an old dam and power station once existed. You can still see remnants of the old lock on the north side of the river. I admit it was a bit spooky here and as you pass over the old Hales Dam 20’ down. The history of the original treacherous torrents that took many human lives beginning with First Peoples was undoubtedly at play with the uneasy energy of this place. The building of the dam was fraught with controversy leading to its short life span. The builders also chose to leave 100 or so graves of children entombed by the flooded, reservoir waters. My eerie feelings and the stories of ghost children in the bowels of the remaining buildings likely added to the unsettled energy at this place. I passed it twice, intrigued but without a desire to stop.
My own Mactaquac Dam on the Saint John River (Wolastoq) has a similar history of flooding people’s homes and villages, but not the disrespect of the buried dead who were moved above the new water line. Traveling along these dammed and industrialized rivers is helping me to better formulate an important and pressing story about human interactions with the natural environment. We begin with good intentions, e.g., dams to control flooding making people safer and supplying energy, but then these plans are overrun by making money which then becomes entangled in politics. What should be actions to support communities and society becomes usurped by greed for personal wealth and power. It is a sad history of principled intentions for natural resources, e.g., we need energy, fish, minerals, etc., appropriated by bad business models for society which are sold to us by politicians who become entangled in the power and greed, and almost always result in poor economic and social outcomes for local people, the destruction and/or pollution of the environment, and large sums of tax dollars wasted. I will keep telling these stories because we need more lessons about truths, realities, and complacency towards the natural environment. When I think about my contribution to an environmental enlightenment story, I feel that I’m living the story ‘Emperor’s New Clothes’ playing the role of the child unaffected by power and politics who tells the Emperor his fine new clothes are not real, he is naked. My hope remains that we can listen and learn together, and then create a better storyline for natural environments and therefore our future.
Back on the river, I had to pull into the Guntersville Municipal Dock because I lost engine power when it throttled itself down to 1000 rpm. I wasn’t sure what happened, but at least the overnight stay was free and there is a collection of nice eateries at this dock. The next morning the engine powered up normally and I eased into Alred Marina. Another fine young boat mechanic came onboard to check the engine. I thought I’d lost the heat sensor, but he explained that the thick mats of floating eelgrass regularly clog water intakes and cause engine computers to engage their safe modes. I cleaned the intake filter, and the issue hasn’t re-surfaced, ‘touch wood’. That is an adage spoken to sustain good fortunes and thank the gods, and arises from touching trees, a conduit to the gods. The mechanic and marina didn’t charge me for that visit reinforcing my reports that most marina folk are helpful, generous, and kind. While my tip was significantly less than the threatened failed temperature sensor and its installation, I was thankful because as boaters know, a boat is a hole in the water to pour money through.
Decatur, AL was my next stop while I waited for the train to pass and the bridge to lift. This is another riverside, heavy industry city with factories, power plants, and quite a collection of barges and towboats. I originally planned to stay here, but the smell of cat food bellowing from a huge facility made me keep moving - “Decatur, Home of Meow Mix”.
After multiple incidences of blending eelgrass in my boat thrusters, I broke the sheer pin in the bow thruster that day. I pulled into Lucy’s Branch Marina, the next safe stop with fuel, to assess my situation. Sadly, I didn’t get to experience the Saturday night live music at Lucy’s Barge followed by Sunday church service at the bar with the same musicians. I did meet the local liveaboards. Every marina has people who live on the water or spend long periods living there. I wouldn’t call their water homes ‘boats’ because many haven’t left the dock recently, as in years. It won’t surprise you that these folks can be unique characters, and Lucy’s Branch had a good collection. Tim brought his boat here a few years ago because it was a cheaper place for him to work on the boat. He described his battle with muskrats who decided his engine exhaust opening at the water line was a perfect space to call home and crawled in to enjoy the space plus a tasty meal of rubber hosing. They brought in stick snacks too. I heard the story because I asked why the two openings were jammed up with boat fenders. He also explained that the scrapping noise often heard in these marinas was the pesky Asian carp that like to munch on the algal growths on boat hulls (likely the ones that sat for long periods). He addressed this problem with a pellet gun. Nancy and her four cats lived next door. The cats came up on deck but never leave the boat and return to her when she calls them. She doesn’t work at the moment, but her husband does, and I didn’t see or hear him until he left for his 2 AM shift. Life in the marina is full of interesting people and their stories.
Tim’s muskrat battles reminded me that during my PhD research I had a similar, constant back and forth with muskrats eating my piezometers, a.k.a., plastic tubes installed in the ground to sample water. We don’t know why wild animals eat our plastic creations, but plastic consumption is widespread, often inadvertently as small particles, or microplastics, which are also threatening our health. Our plastic pollution is another story for later.
I had two big locks to traverse the next day. First up was Wheeler Lock and my first locking with a towboat and its barges. Lockmaster: “Good morning Crown Jewel, can that pleasure craft lock through with you?”; Captain, “I don’t mind’a lick.” So, I jammed myself in behind the Crown Jewel full of trepidation because I had no bow thruster. It went well and I sped off only to reach a full stop at the Wilson Lock. This lock had a wall collapse on one chamber which was restricting traffic. The wait would be 3 hours and I was instructed to ‘grab a hook on that wall’. One small towboat, Bobby Jones, was on the wall waiting. It helps the big towboats and their barges enter the lock. Because the single working chamber was small, the barge assemblages had to be disconnected and locked through in smaller groups. It was quite a production, and the towboats weren’t too pleased with the Corp operations here. I didn’t get to meet the Bobby Jones crew, but I heard the pilot was a woman and a rarity in that profession. I am always addressed on the radio as ‘Captain’ and Leslie from the Tenley Anna told me that towboat captains called her ‘Lady Captain’. Chief Deck Officer Kevin of the Debbie Graham came over for a visit when they tied up to the wall. He was interested in the WW and my expedition, and I learned about the towboat world. He was once a Pilot but gave it up because the long hours, 12-hour shifts and 1 month on / 1 month off, wasn’t good for family life. He had come back for the money and was re-earning the hours necessary to be a pilot again. The captain came over for a visit too, both were done their 1-month stints and awaiting rides to get them homebound. Kevin asked if I liked pot roast dinners and then commandeered a plate of food from the towboat’s cook. I was very thankful to see a ‘home’ cooked meal!
I eventually got into the lock and rode down with the Crown Jewel who had caught up to me. Next was a long run up to the Safe Harbor Aqua Yacht marina just off Pickwick Lake at the head of the Tombigbee River system. I took the next day off to replace my $67 USD sheer pin (I had it shipped in from New Jersey), but not without some help from the shop mechanic who had the special tool used on the locking collar. I struggled with it for an hour, and he replaced it in a few seconds. Yet again, helpful and kind folks at these marinas.
I borrowed the marina’s courtesy car, a much newer vehicle this time, to grab some groceries at the Pickwick Supermarket. As is normal in these rural places, there were no vegetables harvested this decade, but I still filled my cart with lots of other things including water. I have a water tank onboard, but it can’t be maintained as potable so I must buy water for drinking where I can’t get city tap water. Sadly, buying water requires more plastic bottles and mostly small, 1 gal or less bottles, because a refill for my 15L drinking water container is rare. Even sadder is the absence of recycling in the USA so far.
I had dinner out with a Looper couple, Cheri and Pete, who were headed to the Looper rendezvous. They wondered about the strange sulfur smell around our marina. There was a big containerboard (paper) mill nearby, which reminds me to tell you that there is heavy forestry activity along these rivers. I’ll check that out later when I can get some internet.
I set my compass bearing for 180 degrees the next morning and set off down the Tombigbee River system.
Until next time from somewhere down the crazy river.
Allen
Demopolis, AL
