We had several first sightings today:
(2) a palm tree—or maybe it was a shrub on the riverbank; and
(3) not one but two wide-mouthed, pointy-toothed alligators.
All symbols of our distance from home, from Michigan. The alligators were plastic and chained to the rails outside the restaurant at Demopolis, but still . . .
The Demopolis arrival was another unique experience. We called ahead and were told there were no slips but we could tie up at the fuel dock after it closed at 5:30. We arrived at 4:00 and were told we could not come into the marina until 5:30. When asked for suggestions, we were told to wait outside the marina or anchor nearby, which we did. After the sun set we were allowed to enter and tie up at the gas dock with assurance that we’d be assigned a slip in the morning. We rose early in the morning, and waited for instructions. At 9:00 we were told we’d have to leave, there was no room. At that point it was too late for slow boats like Osprey and Laura Lee to reach a safe anchorage before dark, so the captains insisted that we be harbored there. Places were found for us after some discussion. We’d hoped to shower and do laundry, but the lines at the shower and the cockroaches running everywhere convinced us to keep all linens and clothing (except what we were wearing) on the boat.
The marina was crowded with Loopers who’d been waiting for the floods and debris to abate before proceeding, and Wednesday looked optimal to 10 to 15 of the boats. We all agreed that is too many to fit in the lock and fill the few anchorages within a day’s travel. A schedule of departures was worked out, and Osprey left in the first flotilla at sunrise. When some boats that hadn't been in the marina at Demopolis filed in, we filled every bollard on the lock’s walls. There was a party atmosphere inside as we waited for all ten boats to be secure.
After the lock, the boats divided into groups according to speed and we proceeded, along the curves and bends of the Tombigbee River watching the browning trees and the greenish-brown water go by for 8 1/2 hours while the temperature edged up to the low 50 degrees. From time to time we’d hear a captain on the radio warning of debris. Our favorite was, “Osprey, Osprey, Osprey, this is Destrier. Watch for the monster off my starboard quarter.”
As our anchorage, Bashee Creek, approached, we crossed our fingers and did a good-luck dance hoping that it had enough water and that there would be room for us. Otherwise, we’d be spending an anxious night on the side of the river wondering if the passing tows would see us. We nosed into the narrow creek and thankfully found it deserted and deep. We set bow and stern anchors to keep both ends from resting on the bank.
Richard and his grandson, Thomas, from the Laura Lee dinghied over and offered to take Riley ashore. He plunged over the rail into their dink. He came back thickly covered with dark, goopy mud up to his belly. As he and I unhappily endured the hose-down that ensued, we watched two sailboats arrive. One had a little poodle aboard that eagerly plopped overboard as the crew anchored. He swam to the bank, took care of his business, and swam back to the boat rinsing off the mud as he paddled through the water. We have to teach Riley to do that!
That night the X%/&!! generator was on strike again and we had to enlist every blanket on board to keep warm, but we were safe and secure.


