YOU DID THAT ON PORPOISE

     We finally left Fairhope after two months of relaxing, boat work, and traveling to Norco, LA to tend to our brother/-in-law Gary.  He’s recovering from the loss of his Left Foot (remember the movie with Daniel Day Lewis)  and working on PT and hoping for a prosthetic for Christmas.  Feeling much better after getting rid of the infection. 

     Fly Creek (Fairhope) didn’t want to let us go.  It was low low tide (a north wind blows the water out of Mobile Bay) so when we threw off the lines and reved the engine we didn’t move. We were stuck in the mud.  Jan was determined to go, so she rocked the boat and I gunned it, and we slipped out of their grasp.  Even the channel to the bay read less than 5 on the depth finder.  After a rollicking sail south 20 miles, we turned left into the Intracoastal, passed a dredge and a shrimp boat in the channel and again had trouble finding more than 6’ of water.  STRESS! Things were cool (actually very cold) as we headed east through the condos and barrier islands of Gulf Shores, Orange Beach, past Pirates Cove, into Santa Rosa Sound, and east towards Destin(y). What a (vacation) Elysian playground.  White beaches, dozens of dolphins, beaucoup bays, sounds, inlets, and coves.  When the sun shines it’s gorgeous even in the cool December.  And the sunsets are unparalleled.  “ I want to see the ocean bend/ The edges of the sun and/ I want to be swallowed up/ In an ocean of love”  Lucinda Williams.  Second cup of coffee, warmed cinnamon roll, ½ of a cigarette, picking out the red and green bouys into the morning sunblaze.  Finally above 60 F.  “If you think I’m happy, you’re right.”  Six Days on the Road. 

     This morning, a free airshow of the military “flying bricks with a rocket strapped to them”  (F- 16s?/ 17s?/ -19s?.  The dolphins/porpoises  (www. dolphinworld.org/stories/dolphins-vs-porpoises-story.htm) are very friendly and inquisitive and swim with us in our bow wave.  Coming out of Destin cut into the Gulf, Jan was engrossed in their play and I was distracted by the funky schooners and ketches in the harbor so we missed a green bouy and bumped hard sand. This was in a winding channel with a 2 knot current on a falling tide on the first morning outside in the Gulf.  Whew, another close scrape, and, hopefully another lesson learnded the semi-hard way.  Pass nun gut auf!

  We plan to cross the Gulf this weekend from Appalachicola to Clearwater, Fl , an offshore journey of 150 miles. It should be a journey of a day, a night, and a day.  “Such a night”. We’ll wait for some northerly breezes to help us on our way.  Wish us luck.  Happy Holidays to you all, each and every one.  Dave and Jan abd. S/V Visitor   Wetappo Creek- Fla Pamhandle

Hell and Heaven

4:10 AM-  A shotgun shack on West B Street, Norco, LA. In the neighbor’s back yard, a rooster  cries plaintively into the foggy darkness. “Little rooster crowing, he must have something on his mind”.  A mile to the north a freight train howls its sad lament.  On Highway 61, sirens swirl their shrill cacophony.  A mile to the east, the stacks of the mammoth refineries spew noxious noise and smoke and flame.  Two blocks to the south, over the banks of the levee, huge freighters and barges and tugs and tankers plow through the roiling waters of the muddy Mississippi.  The pre-dawn hours are a special time, half dream, half memory, half cold clarity (do the math), full of fear and longing and regret and sensual  memories. Next to me on his sick bed (well couch, really) lies Jan’s brother Gary who is struggling every moment in the advanced stages of diabetes.  He has lost fingers and toes because of an inability to heal and fight infection.  Most of his  left foot has been  an open, festering wound for at least a year now.  He has lost his wife, his home, his business, his vision, his dogs, and is partly estranged from his kids. “When you think you’ve lost everything, you find out you can always lose a little more. I’m just going down the road feelin’ bad, Tryin’ to get to heaven before they close the door.”  Imagine how you feel after three days of the flu.  Now try to do that for a year or two. He’s still Gary though, and he’s hanging in, and we’re hangin’ with him.

In marked contrast to that scenario, Fairhope, Alabama lies midway down the east coast of Mobile Bay in an area of quaint splendor, ancient oaks, well-tended estates, waterfront homes, and a casually funky small town with an artsy-fartsy ambience.  From Norco , we travel  east through New Orleans, and then along the coast of the Gulf of Mexico past Pass Christian, Gulfport, Biloxi, and Pascagoula.  Our boat is at a marina on Fly Creek (Devil’s Hole on the chart) which is surrounded by tall grasses, huge trees ,shrimp boats, the new yacht club across the creek, and a grassy park next to the bay looking west. Just down the road is the previous home of Ed "Stock" Stanky with a pentangle that says HOME PLATE. From our foredeck, we watch the sun set and look for the green flash most nights at five o’clock “Down around Biloxi…..off towards new Orleans”.  We are back and forth from Norco, so we’ve been getting some work done on the boat (i.e. painting the cabin sides etc.) and have had a couple of really fine sails in the prevailing southeasterlies.  Haven’t really gotten that fishing thing going yet, but I’m working on it, Rog.  30 miles to the south of Fairhope lies the white sand beaches of Gulf Shores, Orange Beach, Perdido Key, etc.  We spent a few nights down there at the Florabama and Pirate’s Cove taking in the Frank Brown Memorial Songwriter’s Festival some highlights of which were Billy Joe Shaver, Sonny Throckmorton, Wild Bill Emerson, and the full moon over a wild windy Gulf beach at 1 am.  Well, the kids gotta have a little fun, to yet a minute.  We’re going to try to make the west coast of Florida for Christmas.  Hope you all are safe and well.  Dave and Jan

view from the fo'c'sle

bottom feeders feeders suppliers

G to the G

local color

Eddie Stanky

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Eddie Stanky
Stanky as player-manager of the Cardinals.
Second baseman / Manager
Born: September 3, 1916(1916-09-03) Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Died: June 16, 1999(1999-06-16) (aged 82) Fairhope, Alabama
Batted: Right	Threw: Right
MLB debut
April 21, 1943 for the Chicago Cubs
Last MLB appearance
July 25, 1953 for the St. Louis Cardinals
Career statistics
Batting average	.268
Hits	1,154
Runs batted in	364
Teams
As player Chicago Cubs (1943–1944) Brooklyn Dodgers (1944–1947) Boston Braves (1948–1949) New York Giants (1950–1951) St. Louis Cardinals (1952–1953) As manager St. Louis Cardinals (1952–1955) Chicago White Sox (1966–1968) Texas Rangers (1977)
Career highlights and awards
3× All-Star selection (1947, 1948, 1950)

Edward Raymond Stanky (September 3, 1916 – June 16, 1999), nicknamed "The Brat", was an American second baseman and manager in Major League Baseball. He played for the Chicago Cubs (1943–1944), Brooklyn Dodgers (1944–1947), Boston Braves (1948–1949), New York Giants (1950–1951), and St. Louis Cardinals (1952–1953). He was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and his original nickname, "The Brat from Kensington," is in reference to the neighborhood where he grew up.^[1]

Contents 1 'All he can do is win' 2 Manager of Cardinals and White Sox 3 Success as college baseball coach 4 See also 5 References 6 External links

[edit] 'All he can do is win'

Stanky was famous for his ability to draw walks; he drew 100 walks each in 6 different seasons, twice posting 140. In 1946, Stanky hit just .273, but his 137 walks allowed him to lead the league in OBP with a .436 figure, edging out Stan Musial—who led in 10+ batting departments. His best season was probably in 1950 with New York, when he hit an even .300 and led the league in walks (144) and OBP (.460). On August 30 of that year, he tied a Major League record when he drew a walk in seven consecutive plate appearances. He accomplished the feat over a two-game span. His Giants manager Leo Durocher once summed up Stanky's talents: "He can't hit, can't run, can't field. He's no nice guy... all the little SOB can do is win." Yankees shortstop Phil Rizzuto still complained years later about a play during the 1951 World Series where Stanky kicked the ball loose from Rizzuto's glove. Whenever he was the runner on third base, Stanky developed the habit of standing several feet back of the bag, in left field. If a fly ball was hit, he would time its arc, then take off running so as to step on third base just as the catch was being made. In this way he would be running towards home at full speed from the beginning of the play, making it almost impossible to throw him out. This tactic was made illegal following the season. Stanky was also (in)famous for what came to be called "the Stanky maneuver", where he would take advantage of his position on second base to distract opposing batters by jumping up and down and waving his arms behind the pitcher.

Swallow the (Captain) Hook

Well, we made it.  Sorry to leave ya’ll hanging (from the old days of serial novels when they would leave the protagonist hanging by his fingernails from a cliff –cliffhanger- and you would have to wait til next month to buy the next installment to find out what happened).  We are all safe and cozy at Eastern Shore marina (it’s a working marina so we feel right at home) across Mobile Bay from Mobile in a little burg called Fairhope on the banks of Fly Creek. The Fly Creek Café is a stone’s throw away (I wonder:  how big does a stone have to be to be a rock?),  with colored lights and a guitar man in the evening.  How quaint. Fairhope was organized in 1894 by the “Fairhope Single Tax Colony”, followers of Henry George and his single tax philosopy:  “Single Taxers hold as a self-evident truth (I wonder: isn’t truth always self-evident even though we can’t handle it?)  that all men have equal rights to the use of the earth…)”.  Google this- it’s interesting- although it smacks of dirty rotten low-down Marxism. 

     Jan is in Norco, LA (just west of Nawlins) playing nursemaid to her brother Gary who is quite sick.  The Decker’s are some of the finest people I know- Gary, who suffers his afflictions with courage and (mostly) good humor ( even though being a diabetic he can’t have ice cream), and Jan, who always thinks of others before herself.  The salt of the earth ( oh, Jan can’t have salt). "Life is mostly froth and bubble/ Two things stand like stone: /kindness in another's trouble,/ Courage in your own." I’m very busy sanding and painting the masts in preparation for erecting them ( I avoided that one, Bill).  Then we’ve got to tune the rigging, work over the engine, fix the shower drain, get charts, etc. etc.  So we think we’ll swallow the anchor here in Fairhope for a few weeks instead of cruising west past Pascagoula, Biloxi, Gulfport, Pass Christian, Cat Island, Lake St. Catherine, Lake Pontchartrain, to N.O.  From here, we’ll probably cruise east along the Fla. panhandle to Carrabelle or so, and then go offshore to Venice, Fla. to miss the lowlands of the Fla. armpit, home of the great institution FSU- Go Seminoles. It’s just possible that the 35 knot NW winds and 9’ seas of the past weeks have had a sobering effect on me (which is very good) and instilled a desire to have everything shipshape before we wander out on the Gulf.  Bawwk- bawkk- buk- baawwk.  

"Wah IS that thing"

Barefootin this is fun!'

This is no fun

Dave earns his moniker

Jan's fixer-upper

Here pelican watching is a great pastime and we saw dolphins on the trip over.  People’s are fishing here alla time.  One night I saw a guy on the dock with a bright light shining down in the water and he was pulling a fish up with every cast.  Most he’d toss back but a few were keepers. I must go to school on this salt water deal.  Unless something exciting happens at the docks here it might be a few weeks until we slip our moorings and continue this saga.  In the meantime all of you stay warm and be good.  If you can’t be good be careful.  Peace, out.             D&J   abd S/V Visitor

PEACEFUL ANCHORAGES

We jump down the river here to a point where the birds are telling us that we are approaching the Gulf.  We start to see more seagulls and flocks of terns with their swept back wings and forked tails like Sabre jets diving into the water and rising on the wing with small fish in their beaks.  The herons are still just as numerous as they have been since the 45^th parallel.  Jan and I have found ourselves saying “I wonder….” So from here on we will pose these questions to ya’ll in the hope that you might post a reply with the answers.  I wonder why the herons are so prolific when the cranes are almost extinct.  Large sandy beaches are in evidence along the shore exciting us for the gulf shores.  The southern reaches of the Tenn-Tom are quite monotonous with wooded banks bordering a placid stream.  The oaks, ashes, hickorys, and white pines of the north have given way to the live oaks, pin oaks, rutaceae, honey locust, and southern pines which are just starting to be adorned with the somber streamers of Spanish moss.

     I think we have neglected the geology of the river valleys which are an open book to the past. Beautiful  layers of ochre, sienna, pumpkin, rust, and chalk slant up and down river in testament to the ancient seabeds and upheavals of yore.  Along the southern Appalachian thrust belt, Post-Cumbrian glacial drift formed the detritic medial morains  we see today.  Along the western shore, exposed stratigraphic aquifers have given local geologists hopes of implementing widespread carbon sequestration, but the diaspora of permeable synclinoria have put paid to that notion.  At some widely scattered entropic locations, encrustations of equimolar mixture have provided limited habitat for the  sadly endangered Tuscumbia darters, engendering heated controversy as to the efficacy of the erosional projections of the Office of Ecological Eschatology (OEE).  Strata of feldspar, quartzite granite, limestone, and marbled ecotropic shale are all visible along the banks.  What an incredible history lesson of the earth since it’s creation six thousand years ago!

     We have been intrigued by the metaphor of the river’s surface, which is all that we see.  We see the reflection of our “real” world in the surface tension of the waters, and can only imagine the murky world below:  i.e. what our black hull must look like to the fish.  I wonder, do the aboriginal tribes of Australia really believe that the dream world is the “real” one?  Whoa, as I type, we see our 1^st alligator! No lie.

     Fun place names to say (everyone read aloud):  Tishomingo, Caloosahatchee, Pascagoula, Nawlins, Biloxi, Choctaw, Tuscaloosa, Demopolis, Pass Christian (pah criss-ti-owh), Chickasaw, Bayou La Batre, Zutphen.  At least I’m entertaining myself.

     In the last weeks we have seen:  three coyotes with their black-tipped tails, “skinny legs and all”,  one swimming across the river:  one large chunky beaver on shore (which were introduced to this area in the early 1900’s for natural land reclamation i.e. their dams would drain the swamps????flood them???):  a dozen deer (The best of which was a nice 2 pt. buck who came around the corner as I was fishing, spooked and swam frantically across a ½ mile wide lake and bounded splashing out of the shallows on the other side),  and a fawn crossing the river;  two goats on a small island;  three water snakes swimming;  2 old guys hauling in a huge catfish that we estimated must have been at least 60 lbs(really- now you won’t believe anything I say);  and 3 javalinas at close range.

This morning we were given proof that Alabamians are among the craziest people on earth.  At just sunrise (6:30 am)  in fog as thick as Dave’s bean soup we heard a boat go screaming by our peaceful anchorage on the Tensas R. cutoff.  We thought, “Okay, somebody’s  running their gofaster  on the early morning slick.”  I got up, poured some juice, took my happy pill, and put the coffee on.  Then, in quick succession, at least 30 boats rocketed past, their drivers in snowmobile helmets and camo gear, at, oh, say, 40 mph.  Visibility- 20 yds;  into the Mobile river where a tow might pass once an hour;  logs as big as Schwartzenegger’s thighs;  sailboats anchored;  floating refrigerators.  Word. Crazy. RPBBs(rod-pumping bass busters).  Gary D. says they pay $100,000 in bass tournaments.  I’m goin’ fishin.  D- over and out.                                                                             

White Cliffs of Dover

STILL SOME WILD

CLOSE ENOUGH

FAWN

RPBB

JUST THE FAX MA'AM

check out the name

we took the dinghy down here

Mississippi cellphone

Who's feet? Diek'or Ashley's?

  VAGABOND [vag-uh-bond]   Origin Like this word?

vag·a·bond

 /ˈvægəˌbɒnd/ Show Spelled[vag-uh-bond] Show IPA

adjective

1.wandering from place to place without any settled home; nomadic: a vagabond tribe.

2.leading an unsettled or carefree life.

3.disreputable; worthless; shiftless.

4.of, pertaining to, or characteristic of a vagabond: vagabond habits.

5.having an uncertain or irregular course or direction: a vagabond voyage.

noun

6.a person, usually without a permanent home, who wanders from place to place; nomad.

7.an idle wanderer without a permanent home or visible means of support; tramp; vagrant.

8.a carefree, worthless, or irresponsible person; rogue.

Tennessee-Tombigbee Waterway (Tenn-Tom):  234 miles.  First conceived circa 1760 by Marquis de Montcalm.  In 1810, citizens petitioned U.S. Congress for a waterway.  First Federal survey in 1874.  Project authorized  in 1971, work began in 1972 and was completed 12 Dec., 1984.  $2 billion.  Largest civil works project ever by Army Corps of Engineers, it is 5 times longer and has a total lift 3.5 times greater  than the Panama Canal.  They removed 307 million cubic yards of earth, poured 2.2 million yds of concrete, and used 33,000 tons of steel.  Also much larger than the Suez Canal.  The lock walls seem to us to be about 80% aggregate of 2”-4” stone.  28 fixed highway and railway bridges with a min. vertical clearance of 52’ cross the Waterway.  414 feet of difference in water level between Pickwick Lake Ky. And Mobile (sea level).  12 locks measuring 600 feet long x 110 feet wide.  2,640,000 cubic feet or 164,815,200 lbs of water is moved each trip through a lock. This project is famous for its cost. We thank the US taxpayers and the USACE for its past and continuing efforts to make this trip possible.

Our engine on the boat is the original Ford Industrial Engine built in Degenham, England in 1959.  These engines were used in Fordson Major tractors and various lorries (trucks) of the time. 200 cubic inch displacement, 4 cyl., 60 HP, Simms diesel injection, Barr marine manifold.  We used a bit over 100 gallons of fuel traveling 1,000 miles at an average speed of 5.5 mph give or take the current.  Fuel on the water is approx.. $4/gal.  We can carry 150 gal. fuel, about 100 gal. fresh water, a LOT of food, but only one six pack of beer at a time says Jan.

The boat was designed by Philip Rhodes, built in Hong Kong 1960, is 38’ long, 12’ wide, and draws 4’ 9” of water.  It is ketch rigged (has two masts), weighs 13 tons and is built of solid teak (even the dovetailed drawer sides).  It can sleep 6 in the v-berth, main saloon, and private aft cabin.  Refrigerator runs on 12V or 120V shore power, water heater runs off engine heat or 120V, toilet is electric 12V (best purchase we made), stove/oven is propane, water pressure is 12V or shore hookup, 75 watt inverter runs off dual 12V deep-cycle batteries, and in the miracle category, all Dave’s plumbing and electrical work works!  OK, one flare fitting. 

We have Verizon phones and a Verizon mobile hotspot connected to a HP laptop with 2 billion megaRAMROMbyte drivers and have had virtually total coverage all down the rivers.

Jan is a 59 year old retired school teacher/consultant, weighs &%# lbs., is as tough as nails under her luscious, sweet exterior and is always cheerful and willing.  She might just be the best FIRST Mate ever, so I’ll let her finish this blog.

JAN:

Well, why say any more? 

We usually try to hang in there and not go to marinas because that can dwindle my monthly pension check quickly.  Since starting out, we have gone to about 4 of them , at an average of $45/ nite.  Sometimes, though, we will make a quick stop at a marina and ride our bikes into town for that six pack I allow Dave to have.  

Each night, we have to make a plan for the next day.  How many locks we may have to enter and what the current is to determine how far we can and want to go.  Then we have to study the charts and reference our books to pick some anchorages.   Usually, they have been found but it is not easy these days finding enough water to anchor in.  Tonight, for instance we had to kedge off two sandbars before settling in.  Our first priority is to be out of the river and away from “those stinking barges”.   Tonight I thought I could jump off the boat like Bogie and Hepburn in “The African Queen”  and push. 

Dave has equipped this boat with all the necessities to make this trip comfortable.  He makes sure that the boat is in “ship shape” and we have our Herons in a row so I feel safe and secure.  I cannot believe that he has helped me to fulfill a dream I’ve had for years- one for the bucket list.  He writes a darn good blog and I hope you are all enjoying it as much as I am.  I can never write even a smingent as creatively as he has so I won’t even try to walk in his shoes.  We are old hats at hanging together and get along swimmingly and love the pants off each other.  “So if you find someone/ Who gives you all of their love/ Take it to your heart/ Don’t let it strayaayyaay. No matter what you think about it/ You’ll never be able to do without it,/ Don’t throw it all away/ Don’t throw it all away.”  Bob Dylan

It would be great to hear how you all are doing so jot a note (post a comment on the blog) every once in a while, K?    Love ya’ll J and D