July 28th. Demopolis to anchorage at MM 168

By 7:25 a.m. I was in and out of Demopolis Lock, number 11 of 12 locks. The engine ran smoothly all day at an average of around 5 knots. I arrived at my destination much earlier than anticipated as due to my typically abysmal arithmetic I thought I had 58 miles to make today, but as it turns out the mileage from MM 216 down to MM 168 is only 48 miles, go figure. Part of my urgency to get an early start out of Demopolis was to make those 58 miles to the anchorage before dark, and of course with me it was no small amount of angst. So I busted ass to get to my anchorage for the heat of the day. What a thrice double ass am I. Another amusing bit of knavery is the fact that I painted my decks brown, although I thought it was tan paint at the time, the decks are most certainly brown. While I was relaxing at Grand Harbor ready to jump off into the Tenn-Tom, a passerby noted that my decks were pretty dark and when he painted his he added a little white to tone it down. "Get fucked," I thought "If the decks get hot we'll just wear shoes, you asshole." I'm just so very smart. So after about a week of thinking the engine heat was solely to blame for the excessive heat in the cabin at the end of the day, the passerby's words finally penetrated my cement scull and found their way into my pea brain. " If the sun is heating the deck then, duh, maybe its also heating the cabin." And like the protoman who needs empirical evidence that "fire burn", I put my hand on the white part of the boat that had been in the sun all day, "not bad", then I put my hand on the brown part that had also been in the sun all day and, "holy shit," it almost sizzled. I then repeated my scientific process from the underside of the decks, and guess what, the underside of the brown parts of deck were radiating the heat from above like a Dutch oven. What a Schlemiel. I had simply repainted the decks the same color as when I first bought the boat and I can only imagine that since the boat came from Michigan that the former owner wanted some extra heat. It had never occurred to me before as I only did day sailing for the most part and was using a/c in the heat of the summer at the docks. In addition to turning my boat into a solar collector, I had also obliterated the non-slip properties of the basket weave with all the coats of brown paint. I had noticed the ice rink quality of the decks one evening on the river when bathing. The soapy water under bare feet made for a comical busting-of-the-ass/ eureka moment. So while in Demopolis I got on the horn to the Mobile West Marine and put in my order for all the paint and non-slip additive I would need to to a dash job on the decks before Chris and I set off for the southernmost point of the U.S. in the hottest and potentially most turbulent month of the year.

I arrived at my anchorage at around 3 p.m. , and apparently a good thing for the early arrival as it took me a solid hour of comical attempts to finally get anchored. Part of the reason I lost my good ole' anchor at the last place was that I ignored the advice of the Nitty Gritty book to employ a trip line. Which is an additional line attached to the back of the anchor for hauling when the anchor or rode becomes fouled. So this time with my brand new anchors I would have trip line. And as I was concerned about the trip lines getting snagged I rigged them to two small fenders to act as buoys and keep the trip line going straight up from the anchor. The anchorage at MM 168 is really just a pull off just outside the channel so I would need to set a bow and stern anchor to prevent swinging into bank or passing barge. Something I had never really done. I made a pass at the pull off and decided where I would like to be and pulled back around nose to the wind which of course in my case is always opposing the current and my progress at a more significant rate than the current is helping. I took the boat out of gear and drifted to a stop then pitched out the bow anchor, and of course the trip line was too short so the fender was pulled underwater out of sight. I pulled the anchor out and tried to edge closer to the bank to a better spot, at this point I had about 30 feet of line on the trip. I circled back around a to a shallower spot and pitched the anchor, this time the fender stayed on to of the water just fine so I let the wind blow me back upstream so I could set the stern anchor. I would allow the momentum to set the bow anchor then pitch the stern anchor when I stop then haul in on the 200 feet of scope on the bow to set the stern anchor. So I waited and drifted and waited but just seemed to keep on drifting. I went to the bow to check and sure enough this genius did not tie off the bitter end of the rode, so now I've got my new anchor and 200 feet of rope lying useless on the bottom. Thank God I had that buoy floating to tell me where to pick up my anchor. I inched over and picked it up, which proved to be rather a pain single handed to head toward the bank, pick up the anchor, and back off the bank before running aground . I tried again pitching bow anchor first, this time tied off, and tried drift and use the reverse to set the bow then pitch the stern and haul in on the bow, but now the stern was in too much water and the bobbing buoy is not letting the anchor set. So I payed the bow line out again to drift back down to retrieve the stern, hauling on the anchor rode and trying to steer the boat towards the anchor and away from the bank. I got everything back on board in a tangled mess with mud everywhere and decided to start all over again. This time I will drive in and pitch the stern anchor first, and it jamed in just fine with buoy floating, as did the bow at long last. A full hour later after a crash course in bow and stern anchor school both anchors were set and I'm on the verge of heat stroke.

100 degrees both in and out of the cabin. I try to get on the shady side of the boat at the bow where the dingy is and make a misstep that results in the longest most clumsy falls ever experienced. It's one of those descents where you have no recourse, nothing to grab, no way to break your fall. I just had to resign myself to falling and prayed I did not get hurt to badly. I went down to my ass then rocked onto by back with my feet straight up in the air. Just absolutely land lubberly and comedic. I felt like a walrus who had tried to walk upright in high heels.

Again I enjoy a scorching sunset as I sip my Crown Royal and contemplate the folly of heading south in summer. Even stupid birds know better.