Part 3:
Day 3

Our author and his 2 friends, Dellus and Benton, continue their journey on the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico and back in their 21-foot Carolina Skiff. It’s a spur-of-the-moment, throw-caution-to-the-wind, put-life-on-hold adventure. They had each other, lots of food, and an unbelievable number of empty gas containers. We left them after their second day on the water as they share shots of whiskey and their astronomy knowledge …or lack thereof.

We had gotten very good at setting up and breaking down camp, and this morning were proud to be packed and on the water by 6:50 a.m., another day wiser but, more importantly, better able to deal with wisdom the river was going to teach us. Somewhere inside my optimistic mind, I secretly hoped that we would finally find a real city with a marina. Perhaps it was from spending the last decade of my life by the sea, but I really believed there would be somewhere on this great river sympathetic to boats. And Vicksburg, Mississippi was not it. That was our next stop and even on Dellus’ GPS there was a big star that said “Marina.” Let me assure you, there was not one in Vicksburg. We looked, called the Coast Guard—because we needed gas—and the local police. We were sent on a goose-chase and were just about to take our chances downstream when we came upon a riverboat captain that actually listened to us.

"...I buy my gas up the road at the Station"

“There ain’t been no marina around here for 30 years” he said. “And, I been here 70 already,” he explained, “and the only way Vicksburg will ever have a marina again is if the mayor buys a boat!” Right away, we knew we were finally talking to someone who could help us. He laughed, as did we, because we knew exactly what he meant. “Hell, I buy my gas just up the road at the station,” he said. “I’ll take you there if you want. I ain’t got no charter til one,” and it was only 10:40. Benton stayed with the boat and Dellus and I went on an improvisational tour of Vicksburg, Mississippi, becoming privy to all kinds of information that I was happy to drink in though we really needed fuel. I have mentioned again, and again, about this being a learning trip but I never knew that Vicksburg held the second largest government cemetery in the country after Arlington. This man was a blessing. Not only did he fill us with a wealth of information about the surrounding area, he took us to a gas station where we filled our 40 gallons worth of traveling fuel to the top and then he drove us down Main Street and took the time to explain the way things used to be. He made his money from people that spent their vacations exploring Civil War sites and was glad that people of our age were interested. He even took us to he local watering hole where Dellus and I were listening to everything he had to say until we remembered Benton was back at the dock watching the boat. We had to go. We paid for our drinks, bought corn dogs for Benton and were on our way. This was the Americana I was looking for!

Back at the dock we were relieved, though not surprised, that Benton had made friends. There were two women and two men there that the Coast Guard had pulled from the river because they had no way of steering their boat (if you could call it such). They were very nice people as far as I could tell, but had simply strapped a few empty oil barrels together and made a raft that they were floating down the river all the way from Minnesota. The Coast Guard did not like their plan and, to tell the truth, I can see why. I applaud any individual or group that wants to thwart convention, but knowing, in retrospect, what the three of us would deal with for the next three days in a real boat, I understand why the Coast Guard wanted them off the water. Their flotilla had plenty of buoyancy, just no of manuevering; they had a bicycle hooked to some sort of propulsion device but that would not help them going into and past Baton Rouge. I am not a fan of government interference, but if the Coast Guard had not stopped them, they could have very well died.

“Almost there” became what it seemed we were always looking for and for the first time of this trip I began to wonder how good of an idea it was.

We wished them luck—and meant it—and were off again; we had our own battles to fight. We felt we had wasted too much time already in Vicksburg but had at least learned something. We asked our friend where the next place to get fuel would be and he said, “You’ll reach Natchez in a bit and after that the next place is Baton Rouge.” Lots and lots of water is what this venture ended up becoming with people telling us something was just around the bend, or over there, or just keep going, or you can’t give up now, you‘re almost there. “Almost there” became what it seemed we were always looking for and for the first time of this trip I began to wonder how good of an idea it was. Natchez, another important Civil War junction, was a bust. We ran past it in just four minutes at only 25 miles an hour; no fuel here unless we crawl up on the banks. We pressed on, feeling comfortable that we had enough gas to reach our next camp site and could make it to Baton Rouge the next day if need be.

Just then, the river spoke to me. We were in a calm place and the water was barely rippled yet we used it to move at a more hurried pace and everything fell into place. Benton and I began to speak about this river we were conquering and how it was only formed 10,000 years ago with the last Ice Age and what, if anything, that all meant. Dellus, still driving, told us to shut up, but the three of us had always been equals and there was no leader; we always just followed each other if that makes any sense. Benton was in rare form now and dressed himself in full raingear, which reminded me of a fisherman from Glouster, MA fighting five degree weather in wind-drawn rain. Neither Dellus nor I ever hid behind our gear, but, when it became clear there was something afoot, we protected what we needed to. Dellus, as a captain should, always seemed impervious to cold, even though the temperature dropped every day we were on the water. It was as if his purpose was not only to watch over his boat, but to take care of his crew and persevere. And it did get cold inside that first and into the second week of November. Winter found us on the water.

“Warning! Do Not Enter! Caution! Stay Back 1000 Feet!”
So we went in.

It was cold but the water was pleasantly flat for most of that day and we were logging miles fairly quickly. About 3:30 I took the helm while Dellus looked ahead of us on the GPS and informed Benton and me that a few miles ahead there was a danger marker on the river. He clicked on the marker to get more information and all it said was, “Do not stop or anchor within five miles.” We wondered why, of course, but decided we had plenty of gas and sunlight to make it past whatever obstacle was there before beginning to stake out a campsite for the night. It did not take us long to figure out what the danger was because we immediately noticed two cooling towers from a nuclear power plant coming up on our right side bank. We passed by a canal that veered off in the direction of the towers but did not really understand what was so dangerous that it had been notated by GPS. About two miles past this first canal we noticed a second flowing back into the river and began to understand what was going on but were curious and still not scared so we decided to investigate. There were huge signs at the entrance to the second canal that read: “Warning! Do Not Enter! Caution! Stay Back 1000 Feet!” So we went in. Benton, of course, always the first to panic, objected but Dellus and I could not help it. What an opportunity to thwart convention. It did not last long. Soon after we had entered the canal very loud sirens began to blare and at first we actually thought they were going off because we had tripped some sort of alarm. Benton started freaking and for some reason instinctively jumped behind Dellus (as if that would save him if we all went down!), who, very calmly turned the boat around and headed out of the canal and back into the river. The alarm had not been for us. It was a warning that the power plant was about to release the water they had used as coolant. So, from a safe distance we watched, and felt an extra foot or two of water surround, engulf, and then gently set us down. With a huge sigh of relief and our eyes on the setting sun, we decided we had won for the day and that it was time to find the night’s site. Every camping site on this excursion had seemed to surpass the last and this night’s was no exception. We came upon another island and, feeling it out— which you have to do a lot of —decided to stay within the channel this time and spotted what looked like yet another dream come true. So we pulled into the island on our right, chasing the spot we had chosen from 300 yards away and the closer we got we noticed lots of dead trees and branches protruding up above the waterline. We wanted this spot, as it was perfect. It was just on the point of the island and was nothing but hundreds of yards of damp sand with a full forest beginning only 20 yards away from our desired landing. We wanted this spot and navigated between the fallen trees to get it. Benton and I got out our poles while Dellus listened to our directions and gingerly navigated us in towards the shore. We made it and I jumped out with a rope, looking around for something to tie us onto. After about a minute I yelled back to the boat, “This is beautiful, but I need more rope.”

Benton threw me another rope and I conjoined them and then, again, told them I needed more line. We began to wonder if this perfect site was worth it, never before had we used so much rope, much less tied three together. Luckily, we tied the boat to an enormous log that probably weighed two tons. What made us skeptical was that the log was easily 200 yards from the boat. Dellus and Benton both checked my knots and found them satisfactory so once again we began the process of carting supplies to our site. This place was amazing! Looking back towards where we had just come from was the most incredible view of stretched-out sand as it disappeared into the water. About 200 yards away from us, there were more than a thousand cranes (which we would later play with). Behind us was a plush forest with water winding around it on both sides. We couldn’t see where the fork joined up again but knew that somewhere, it did. We got the fire going and the camp set and then could not resist the urge to explore. We set out to find the birds we had seen on our way in and really, childishly, to reach the point of the island. I followed the two of them for a bit and then just let them go to have a brother moment because, although we each considered ourselves brothers, there is no substitute. I went back to camp and tended the fire and then heard birds. It’s hard to describe what a thousand birds leaving earth sounds like, but if and when you’re lucky enough to hear it, you’ll know what I mean. I wondered what was going on with the guys, though happy to have time alone to sit by the fire and ponder stars. A few minutes later Benton ran up and was breathing heavily.

“Where is Dellus?” I asked, and all Benton said was “I don’t know, he fell down.”

“And you left him?” I continued.

“The birds all flew and they were crapping on us so I left,” he replied. Just as I stood to go look for him I saw Dellus, from the blackness, headed towards us. Then I heard him yell “Glad you had that fire going, Mark. I followed it all the way here.”

“Are you OK?” I answered.

“Yes, but my asshole brother left me while I was trying to take pictures.” He was closer now. “We crept right into the middle of them and then Benton ran for some reason and they all took off.” At that point I began to tend to the fire again and think about dinner while the two of them argued with each other about who was the biggest chicken when, all of a sudden, Benton caught my ear with “Where’s the boat?” Panic stricken, we turned our eyes down to the river to look for the fluorescent stick we had left on the windshield and did not see it at all. Benton and I started running immediately and Dellus went for the rope which he found slack, holding nothing. We were already in the water by the time Dellus reached the shore, spotting the green light and swimming for it with all our might. We both cut ourselves kicking into wood only one foot beneath us, but kept going because there was only one option: Get to the boat.

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