MM 168 to Bobbys Fish Camp at MM 118

All along this journey I have greeted the sunrise at morning and bid it goodnight in the evening and have wondered at each shift which was a bigger blessing. At 6:20 a.m. I had both my anchors weighed and was back on my way to what I hoped would be a nice 50 mile day with no locks to contend with. My destination was Boby's fish camp, which is the last possibility to get gas before reaching Mobile. The place was actually started and still run by a man named Bobby Dahlberg, with whom I had already been on the phone with a couple of times to make sure I had enough depth at his famous docks. The Nitty Gritty book said there was only 5 feet at the fuel dock so I was a "little" anxious, but Bobby himself assured me there was more.



The boat fared well on that 98 + degree day and averaged about 4.9 knots for an easy 9 hour, 50 mile day, and by 3:20 p.m. we were all tied up at the fish camp. Today I had decided to inch up to the dock facing upstream to let the lovey south wind that had been fighting me for the last two hours blow in through the companion way and help cool things down a little. Unfortunately, Bobby's does not have power so I couldn't run my a/c. I went to settle up with Bobby's daughter, who now takes care of much of the business, in the wonderfully cool office/restaurant and found out two bits of bad news. Firstly and worstly that the restaurant was not open today. It looked like such a prime location to get my honest-to-God down home river side cuisine fix. And secondly there was supposed to be a sixty foot trawler coming into the dock later. Not until they arrived did I realize just how shitty this news was. In the mean time there were several projects I wanted to tackle. So I did another oil change which was probably my fifth since the start of the trip. I mounted cam cleats to the wheel for the Cape Horn wind vane steering system, and I replaced some rotten bolts on the big pad eye anchors at the stern which I was planning to use for jack line anchors on the sea journey. Jack lines are lines that run from front to back along the decks on either side of the boat onto which you clip your harness tether as a safety for going forward of the cockpit. By the time I had completed my little jobs it was around 6 p.m. and I was absolutely drenched in sweat and beat. Just about then the sixty footer arrived.



I hopped of my boat and stood by on the fuel dock to help them tie up. After I helped them tie up I realized that their behemoth of a ship was now completely blocking my lovely breeze. And later as I was choking on diesel fumes I learned of course that as Bobby's does not have shore power they would be running their generator all night and what south wind managed to get around their tub would be bringing the sweet cancerous diesel with it, wonderful. I tried to move as far forward as I could, about 5 feet, I was fucked. Thankfully ,as was usually the case, by the time the sun went down the wind completely died and then mercifully changed direction. All they guys on the boat were really nice fellows. One of them was actually going to have trouble sleeping knowing the fumes were wafting my way. I joked I could come sleep on their boat, and he laughed and said then I would get even more noise, vibration, and the fumes to boot. Another guy recognized the name of my boat and said it was inspiring him to get back to work on the memoirs he was writing for his grandchildren.



I filled my two little jerry cans of gas at the fuel dock and missed my courtesy car trips to the cheaper inland fuel, but felt a little better when I caught a glance at the bill the guys on the sixty footer were getting. And as the sun went down I toasted the merciful end to it's scorching rays.