Part 5:
The Final Chapter

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 the self-proclaimed Vikings as they celebrated one of one of the best nights of the trip

The next morning came early and it was cold. I woke up in damp underwear and vaguely remembered diving into the river again for no other reason than that Benton had dared me to and said I would never do it; I guess I have never out-grown the nine-year-old within me. Dellus was a bit peeved but was glad I was not swept away with the current, he got over it. He brought us both back to basics and we cleared our campsite, I put on dry and warm clothes, we doused the last remaining embers of the fire and were off again although we will never forget that night. We had only been on the water for five days but the weather that morning felt like it was a month deeper into winter than when we had left Tennessee. The wind was bitingly cold and the spray felt like ice-sickles puncturing our faces; for the first time we were markedly miserable. The river was mile after mile of bump after chop after dip after dive of wind-driven, unforgiving, relentlessness. We wanted to reach New Orleans so bad but could not travel more than fifteen to twenty miles an hour because the water was beating us. By the time we did reach the big easy we were having serious doubts about the rest of the trip but neither of us was going to communicate such thoughts with one another. We were so glad to see the city it was almost heartening enough to make us feel warm. Of course there was no marina or place to pull over anywhere on the river although we could see people wandering aimlessly around a river-walk area only a hundred feet away. We eventually found some sort of military dock, not sure if it was Navy or Coast Guard, and pulled up to it desperate for advice.

It is difficult to think of a crew of three with low morale but we had it! Our faces, because of sun and wind and water, looked like those pictures you see of people that climb Mt. Everest and we felt like them too. At least these guys did not laugh at us the way the men in Baton Rouge had. They told us that there was nowhere on the river for a boat as small as ours to stop but then suggested we go through the lock and dam canal system that led into Lake Poncetrain and promised us that there would be places to dock and rest there. They told us where the channel started and when we found it we had to wait behind a couple of bigger boats as they passed one by one into the lock system. When our turn came we thought we were being ignored and then noticed a telephone number posted outside the first gate that said lock master. So we called him and said he could not see us but we assured him we were there and he told us to wait while he opened the lock and when we passed into it we could see people on structures high above us pointing and laughing. We were used to this and by now had begun to laugh with them. They were very nice and let us right through just as if we were as important as the rest of the traffic they deal with every day.

And the lake was huge! It took us an hour to even find a marina and when we did it looked devastated. We found the dock master and inquired about gasoline and perhaps a slip to put the boat in just to get off of the water and maybe even eat at a real restaurant. He explained that before hurricane Katrina his marina -- called the New Orleans Yacht Club -- had been a posh, vibrant, and lucrative business but now was more of a refugee camp for people that had lost their homes but been fortunate enough to have had a boat. He told us we could leave our skiff in any slip we liked because if it was open, no-one was using it anyway. It was sad to hear this two full years after that disaster; I do not think America, even now, understands how completely devastated that city was and that is a shame, as is the way our government has ignored such a vital and crucial city as it has tried to recover. Anyway, the dock master could not guarantee us any security for the boat, which was loaded with all the stuff we had that was vital to us. We talked a bit about our options and Dellus checked his GPS to see how far we were from the mouth of the Mississippi. We were about forty miles from the last township on the river before the gulf called Venice, LA. The dock master assured us there was at least one, maybe even two, small hotels there that had dock-space. After all, being the only city right on the mouth of the Mississippi inevitably created a lot of boat traffic. We decided to go back through the locks and into the river again and press on to Venice where we would finally be able to rest.

The shoreline on this leg of the trip was more familiar, almost deserted. The tanker traffic was still heavy but there were no barges to speak of. Things were changing again and we could tell we were getting close to the gulf. It was now about two in the afternoon so at least the sun was warming us up a bit. Our morale was creeping up -- especially with the thought of sleeping in a bed -- and we were talking again about things that did not pertain directly to the mechanics of the trip which was a relief. I even think we all managed a smile at some point during this last two hour push. The dock master was right, we found a marina, docked our boat, and checked into a small but practical hotel. And as excited as we were about a real hot meal, we were more excited about a shower and actual beds to sleep in. We were all asleep by eight o’clock and none of us even stirred until ten the next morning. We were glad to see the sun that day as we pulled back onto the river and after the wonderful rest we had had the night before each of us were newly invigorated. It was an easy thirty minutes to the Gulf of Mexico and we were all so excited that it felt like a blur and then there we were, at mile-marker one. We took pictures and even traveled a few more miles south just to make sure that we had been there. We did not talk much but I know that each of us had a lot going on in our heads. There were two porpoises that rode in our wake for a while until we got too close to the mouth again and then they disappeared. Dellus asked Benton and I if we were ready and we looked around one last time, then at each other and nodded our heads. And just like that we were on our way again.

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