I’m proud of what we’ve done and smiling as the conversation begins:
Me: “North Claiborne Bridge, this is Sailing Vessel Agora with 70-foot air draft, we are in line at the Industrial Lock and looking to pass through in the next few minutes.”
Bridge operator: “Sailing Vessel Agora, please stand by… Hey Agora, is there any way you can lower your air draft?”
Like, cut down the mast?, I wonder.
Me: “No, sir, we have a 70-foot mast.”
Bridge operator: “Well, the bridge is out of order, should be running again mid next week.”
Pause… My brain stops, I don’t understand, I’m waiting for some indication this is a joke.
Me: “Can you tell me the nearest option to get through? We are trying to get to Gulfport and on to Pensacola.”
Bridge operator: <no answer>
Random barge operator (again, really super friendly guys): “Hey Agora, really, your only option is to head downriver to Baptise Collette and head up that way.”
Me: “OK, thank you.”
I look it up, and it’s 80 nm south in the wrong direction just to get to the gap. And then we have to go back up the same distance to Gulfport. We were almost done.
I go up on deck to tell the crew the news, and everyone looks at each other, shrugs, and then we turn down the river.
I could not ask for a better group. I’m sure people were frustrated and disappointed, but there was nothing to do but keep going. We spent the rest of the day heading down the mighty Mississippi, which, after the narrow ICW, seemed like a super highway. It’s 100 ft across, 100 ft deep, and because of the intense wind, the traffic is way down, with a lot of barges anchored to the side. Despite the frustrating circumstances, it’s kind of fun.
When we planned on doing the outside passage weeks before, our marina mate Tom (yes, same Tom from the beginning of the story) suggested we stop in Venice Marina via an inlet from the Gulf to rest and get gas. At the time, I said no way, because we were going all the way around offshore. Well, guess what is just next to Baptise Collette?
I’d like to say we pulled into Venice with no problem, but we managed to run aground on the way in and have our mystery throttle smoke and sludge problem, but in the end, we made it. We thought we’d be in Gulfport, and instead, we are pulling in to get fuel and stay for the night way farther south in a small town (population 500). To rest and re-plan the rest of our trip.
I will say we had a good dinner and some drinks alongside what appeared to be a large percentage of the 500 residents of Venice at the marina before heading to the boat to try and troubleshoot our engine/throttle issue and get some sleep.
The throttle issue was not solved, but the sleep issue was definitely solved, even with waking up early and heading out in hopes of a better weather window. There was a lot of discussion about wind and potential giant swells, but we finally got out of the channel and got a sail up! We were sailing (motor sailing with just the jib, but still) and felt good, except for one detail. It’s cold. With the full force of the wind and weather system pushing it, we are all wearing full foul weather gear on top of every warm thing we brought. And it is bumping – we are heading on a tight reach into waves, bouncing all the way to Gulfport. Some sea sickness symptoms and not the best sleep, but we are making good time with the jib. We eventually need to turn up a bit, so we pull in the jib and watch the speed drop waaaay down. We decide to pull it back out and take the less direct angle at a faster speed, but soon start hearing a thumping. It sounds like someone below left a door open. I went down and found Will sitting up in the V berth wide-eyed, “I think it’s the bow.”
I run up on deck and see the new 85 lb Mantus (very pointy!) anchor has come loose and is slamming and swinging into the bow of the boat.
Dad keeps me from running up there directly. We pull in the jib, and I run up to the bow. It’s bad. There are big gashes in the fiberglass of the bow and scratches all the way up the starboard side. I find myself lying over the bow, trying to pull up the anchor, but can’t get it high enough. Christian and Daniel basically dog pile on top, and we eventually muscle it up and get it back in the bow roller after much shouting and struggling. I hold it down, and they bring me a line so I start lashing it down.
I realize it’s probably been loose since we used it to try and get off the ground the very first night. These are just the first real waves we’ve seen in three days. I finish lashing down the anchor a dozen different ways, and a dolphin pops up and looks right at me with what can only be described as a “what the hell are YOU doing” side eye. This is a strange trip.
I get back to the cockpit, and I’m defeated. I’m pissed. I’m shocked. I just can’t believe we can’t seem to go 24 hours without some kind of disaster.
We continue on. It’s cold, frustratingly cold, and on the last stretch into Gulfport, I take an extra shift to save Bill from having to come up into the pounding water, waves, and wind. I realize now I’m punishing myself for the anchor. We get to Gulfport, where Daniel and Will have to leave. We are already past the expected travel time for the trip, and they have work obligations. We give them huge thank yous and good luck, and they get into a rental car and drive all the way back to Houston for work. I can’t imagine that it was an easy drive.
Back on the boat at the fuel dock in Gulfport, we have a new problem. The bilge is full of water and not draining. Turns out the filters are full of mud, which is easy enough to clean, but still a bit of a mystery how we took on so much muddy water. I look at the remaining crew of Bill, Dad and Christian, and there is nothing else to do but continue on as the sun goes down.
Getting out of Gulfport is a bit rough with unmarked channels and a big side swell, but once out of the bay, we are back in the calmer waters of the ICW and heading east to our final destination of Pensacola. Everyone is doing more driving with a shorter crew, but nothing we haven’t done over the past 4 days. It’s still cold, and we’re still tired, but we are getting closer and settling into shifts.
Because we shuffled shifts a bit, I got to see my first sunrise of the trip as we started coming into Pensacola, and at the end of the trip, it was beautiful. Bill and I watched the sun rise over white sand beaches with dolphins following for stretches. The wind has died down, so it isn’t as cold and starts warming as the sun comes up. Dad and Christian get a little breakfast going, and we all chat about the trip and life, but often nothing at all. We can now see the marina that is our final destination, with small figures of family waving us in.
We have one final engine hiccup (still investigating that mystery) as we come into the harbor, but I can see my family as we easily slide into the slip, and the harbormaster helps tie us off. I take the biggest breath of relief as I turn off the engine.
It’s done. We made it.
I rushed down and hugged the boys, Sue, and my Mom. And there are smiles and tears. Everyone is exhausted and excited and relieved and happy and just so damn glad to see each other.
There is champagne and snacks, and more hugs. I toast the crew and thank everyone who made it possible. We did it. And I was able to do it with my dad, which is something I’ll never forget, friends that I may never be able to repay, and with the support of my family and so many others who provided guidance and encouragement along the way. Thank you all – we did it!
Sailing Agora 
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