05-27-2006
Depart: Rockport Texas 0900, Southbound GICWW
1105: Port Aransas Bridge
1215: Corpus Christi Bay
1315 Corpus Christi NAS Stbd
1400: + 75% fuel remaining
1415: JFK Causeway
1800: Baffin Bay
1920: Moored on platform E side GICWW N 37° 11.531’ / W 097° 25.706’
Weather: Sunny, Winds SSE 20-30 gusts to 45. Bay waters rough, Air temp 90 deg F. Water temp 83 deg F.

The day dawns blue and breezy. The night before we all slept aboard Olivia, comfortable, all ports and hatches open, with the wind blowing hard from the SSE. I contemplate the journey, wondering if maybe it might be best to postpone, and finally fall asleep fitfully. The night before we have a wonderful surprise, with many well wished gifts from the Smiths. I am humbled by their kindness and care. As importantly as finding this very special boat, we have found an equally special friendship with a family much like ourselves. The similarities are striking, and I am reminded that nothing happens randomly in this very orderly and watched over universe.

I awake around 0600 and for a time, figure that perhaps we’ll go another day, either wait it out for a day or two, or return to the Island and come back in a better window. At 0730 we get up and check the weather, the winds seem to have died a bit, and there are many shrimpers on the horizon. Rockport bay is choppy, but doesn’t look too bad. I clean up, and decide, for a variety of reasons to go. Soon the girls and JW2 are awake, and Dee and the girls go up to MickeyD’s to get some biscuits and coffee. I check the engine over, and make sure all is stowed aboard, feeling apprehensive if not a bit nervous. Dee finally returns and hands off the food, I fire up the Westerbeke, we cast off lines and are, underway.

Outside the harbor, it is not yet too rough, and I note the engine temperature around 185 degrees. I put in a call to Art, confirming that all is normal as we slide past shoreline docks heading south towards the GICWW cutoff. We spot the inbound markers, and a large barge is approaching rapidly in our direction. We spot Dee and the girls near where the night before Art and I discussed the turn into the GICWW along with the property caretaker warned us about how bad the turn in was and to line up on the green can. I wave to Dee and the girls, and realize that I have taken off before she has given me any cash…oh well, too late now.

We make the turn without incident, staying ahead of the barge that is trying to catch up with us, but docks at the facility as we continue up the protected channel. I hank on a headsail, and the mizzen sail as JW2 drives in the choppy channel. I also lose my skippers hat over the side….

We slip past houses and repair yards, spoil islands and commercial business. There are many pleasure boats overtaking us on both sides as we continue to follow the shoreline. Soon, the Aransas Pass Bridge comes into view, and we steam underneath at 6.0 mph SOG according to the GPS. The wind is building, and I lose a second hat over the side. Somewhere along the Aransas Pass Channel, I bump the starboard side for an instant careening back into the channel.

At 1215 we enter Corpus Christi Bay as the winds continue to build. We crash headlong between two spoil islands, cutting through breaking waves and out into a mess. The bay is about 4-5 feet and spaced less than a second or two apart - a real shellacking. I put JW2 on the helm, and he follows the buoys as we take wave after wave over the bow, soaking us and obscuring any view of much on either side. The bay is mean and grey, a nasty, foaming cauldron. I periodically take bearings with the data scope off of Port Aransas, and watch the GPS as we continue to pound headlong across Corpus Christi Bay with winds sustained over 30 mph, and gusts that I swear probably reaching 50, whistling through the rigging and past our heads. We shout to be heard, and I go forward to secure lines and sails.

At 1315 we are passing Corpus Christi NAS, with the JFK Causeway in full view, finally finding shelter behind some spoil islands. I take the wheel again, and JW2 goes below and checks the fuel gage, hovering at ¾ tank. At 1415 we are steaming underneath the JFK Causeway, which is swarming with DEA, USCG, TPWD and other alphabet soup guys after the recent chingaso caused by Daniel Bryant smuggling illegal aliens north through the GICWW. I think about Daniel too, and how I tried to phone him the day he got busted, not knowing what he was up too, just wondering if he wanted to bid on a County job. I wondered why he would want to risk everything on such a risky business? Soon we are south of Snoopys, hugging the island, and the water is relatively calm, and I am making 6.5 to 7 mph SOG.

JW2 was resting below as I lose concentration for a moment and bump the main channel edge again as I am checking out a side channel thinking about mooring up for the evening. It is only about 1500 though. I have my shirt off trying to dry out, knowing that I am getting fried. JW2 pokes his head up, then goes back below to sleep again, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

And so I think of my family, my life and how very blessed I am to be here at this instant. We continue to steam south, and are soon taking another shellacking crossing Baffin Bay. The wind is really singing, and I am thankful Art worried and sweated over this engine as we plow ahead quartering on the wind. Now I am really looking for a tie up spot in earnest, not wanting to find one in the dark, in an area that I don’t know at all. I tell JW2 “ we don’t wanna get caught with our proverbial pants down.. so lets find a spot to tie up”. I pass up what looks to be a fair spot near some fishing shacks on a spoil island on the port side.



Soon it’s around 1900, and things are starting to get a little critical, when I finally see an old platform some 75-100 yards off of the GICWW on the East (port) side. JW2 goes forward on the bow, and after a couple of attempts, we nose up, and he ties us off to a conveniently located cleat on the platform, Exhausted, I go below, and we try and get the stove going, but alas, our only fire source, a Zippo lighter is wet and uncooperative, so we fix some cold cut sandwiches, chips and an ice cold beer. I lay down the watch rules. JW2 takes the 2000-2300, I take the 2300-0200, and JW2 takes the 0200-0500. I take the 0600 getting things prepared to get underway, and JW2 can sleep for awhile after we are under way at daylight.

I go forward, and curl up, sunburn and all, leaving JW2 on deck with instructions to wake me up if anything is seen coming. We have a decklight, and a Q beam to illuminate the rigging and surrounding area, should any traffic be spotted. I am of course ready to fire up and move off of this mooring should any large (barge) traffic be out of the channel and bearing down on us. I finally fall fitfully at first, then darkly asleep to the moaning wind and slapping of the waves against the forward hull.

I awake with a start and look at my watch. It is 2245, and I go up on deck and ask JW2 what’s happening. He tells me that he has been watching lights approach from the north for the better part of an hour. I flash the rigging with the Q beam, and call out a hailing on 16VHF. Within minutes, a huge fuel barge being pushed by a tug passes us well inside the GICWW, but surprisingly there is little wake. Too much wind and chop.

I settle on watch, but within thirty minutes get the notion to double up the mooring line, and call JW2 up on deck to hold the Q beam while I go forward and fasten a second bow line to the platform. Back on the watch, I scan the channel, our mooring and everything else every fifteen minutes. Around 0115 a pleasure boat Q beaming northbound passes us well within the channel as I show them our rigging with our own Q beam. Clouds pass and the winds continue to blow, a bit less violently now.

JW2 relieves me at 0200, and I crawl below and fall immediately asleep, waking back up at 0500. I scan the horizon, which is becoming grey in the early dawn. I stow gear, and get ready to get underway. At 0600 I wake JW2, and we pour the red fuel can into the main fuel supply and read off the level – a little less than ¾ full.

Date: 06-28-2006
0615: Depart GICWW location same as mooring, Southbound
0810: Landcut SOG 5.6 mph
1035: Redfish Bay SOG 6.7 mph
1330: Port Mansfield Starboard bow SOG 7.2mph throttle 2500rpm
1430: South Port Mansfield- Fishing Shacks SOG 5.7 mph throttle 2500rpm
1715 Arroyo Colorado: SOG 6.5mph throttle 2500rpm
1800 Three Islands SOG 6.5mph throttle 2500
1815 Laguna Madre: SOG 6.7-7.5mph throttle 2500rpm
2015: Inbound Port Isabel Fingers
2045 Tie up Anchor Marina Port Isabel
Weather: Sunny, Winds S 20-35. Bay waters rough, Air temp 90 deg F. Water temp 83 deg F.


Untie the boat at 0615 and return southbound in the GICWW. All systems operating correctly. Sunrise is red, bloody red, I am reminded of the old sailors saying “red sky in morning….sailor take warning”. Soon we are in the landcut, passing one fishing shack after the other almost all occupied, many flying American flags, and other bright decorations. Satellite dishes, lawns and 4 wheelers, this is suburbia away from suburbia. The familiar in the unfamiliar. I am slightly amused. People smile and wave as this very special craft slips quietly by in the calm waters. Although the water is calm, there is a strong northbound current running, and we maintain a high throttle, going only about five and a half miles an hour against this strange area which seems to be funneling all of the water from Redfish bay into Baffin Bay, the landcut is a femoral artery of the Laguna Madre, it is a narrow area dredged through the aeloian sandsheet, giving large barge traffic access between the two much larger bays.

JW2 comes topside, and I have him drive awhile in the monotony as the miles tick slowly by. I judge them by the numbers on the markers which correspond to each mile…seven, eight, nine miles. I take the wheel for awhile as JW2 rests, and spot a school of sharks 3-4 feet long working bait on our starboard side, the only break in the fishermen and fishing shacks lining this man made feature. JW2 takes the wheel again, and I doze for awhile, and finally, when I wake up we are at mile marker 21, the final marker before Redfish bay.

We enter Redfish bay and pick up speed, tooling along past spoil island and fishing shack, through mats of seagrass, manatee grass. I find myself wondering if this might plug up our seawater intake, but we steam on.

Past the spoil islands and the shellacking starts again, wind dead on the bow. Why does it have to be like this? Bouncing up and down the steep closely stacked waves, sheet after sheet of spray are being driven into by eyes, blinding me as I fight to clear my tortured eyeballs, moaning and spitting vague curses. JW2 fights hard to stifle laughter. I guess it is sort of funny. I look astern, and notice white smoke from the exhaust….smoke I had not noticed the day before. All gages are normal though, and we have plenty of power, so I slog ahead. At 1330 we pass Port Mansfield on the starboard side, and continue south. About 10 miles later it calms out in an area north of Green Island, and so I send JW2 below to check the fuel level. He emerges topside with saucer eyes and announces “we’re almost empty….we have a third of a quarter of a tank of fuel remaining". Oh boy…. Now it’s critical. And there’s no way to sail, the wind is still dead on he bow, and the channel is only about a hundred feet wide.

I spot some folks fishing on the dock of a fishing shack about a hundred yards off to the east, and slow down, ask them; “how far to Arroyo City?” (of course….I already know the answer, but I’m trying to break ice). They tell me it’s a good ten miles…I ask if they have any diesel (already knowing the answer to that question as well. They have gas for the outboard. I ask them (hopefully) if they might take me to Arroyo City in their skiff so that I can get some fuel, offering of course, to pay their time and gas. Miraculously, the boat owner instantly agrees, and we nudge forward, tying the bow to the dock. There are four fishing, two men, two women. In the distant North, from where we came, a huge black storm is moving in. I think of the sunrise….red sky in the morning……

I board the skiff, and we take off towards Port Mansfield, which is apparently, closer. After bouncing off of the mud outside the channel, I wade us back over to the knee deep water, and we’re off again bouncing down the GICWW about twenty knots or so. I talk to the owner who explains to me that he is from my old home town, Mission. He recently bought the boat, and is still learning it and also how to fish the bay. We both eye the storm, and stop repeatedly to put the boat back on plane, losing prop dig in the choppy following sea. He thinks it’s the cavitation plate, but I patiently explain that it’s the result of skipping over the lumpy waves in the same direction as the wind. We turn down the “Y” to Port Mansfield, stopping at the decrepit old marina to enquire if they have diesel fuel. The answer is predictably “no”, but the attendant informs us that directly across the harbor, at El Jefes they do, so we motor over there and tie up. In the distance I hear thunder, and the blackness is slowly engulfing everything.

At El Jefes, I am unable to start the pump, so we go topside and the guy tells us that he can start it from inside. I ask if anyone sells 5 gallon jerry cans, and he tells me to try the tackle shop, about ten yards away. I am dressed in soaking wet shorts, flip flops and raingear from the recent shellacking. On the deck overlooking the harbor, well dressed Jefes patrons, looking for all the world like clones from a Jimmy Buffett story, bright Hawaiian shirts and all are sipping gigantic margaritas and eating cheeseburgers the size of dinner plates. It looks like a great place to relax, and there are even adequate slips, but I am uninterested, focused on only one thing….

At the tackle shop, I am almost disappointed when the lady tells me that they don’t sell jerry cans, but then another customer spies one behind some fishing rods, and holds it up. “Oh….is that what a jerry can is?” she queries….I am now grinning as I pay for the fuel can and get a twenty on top of it to pay my host. Remember, I was without any cash. Back at the fuel dock, I fill the two containers, pay with plastic, and we take off with the storm on our heels. On the return trip, we discuss boating and fishing, and the fisherman tells me that they have had absolutely no luck all day long. Almost back at the boat, and we go aground again, but motor off, and end up once again, at the dock where the rest are busy fishing. I holler to JW2 to help me out with the fuel, and we hurriedly load it aboard, funneling it into the tank. He checks the fuel gage, and we are at ¾ tank. I breath easier. We fire up the engine and just as I am backing off, one of the fishermen hauls in his line, and attached to the business end is a big fat redfish, about twenty six inches long.

We motor south in the channel, and JW2 casually flips a Tsunami lure out behind and begins to troll. Almost instantly, he shouts that “no really.…..I have a fish on”. I slow the boat, and look behind into the gaping yellow mouth of a speckled trout about 20 inches long, so well hooked that we literally drag it aboard, to be converted later on into a tasty bowl of ceviche.

Continuing southbound in the lee of spoil islands we pass Green Island, and come upon the mouth of the Arroyo Colorado, a treacherous spot where constant big barge traffic have played a game of bocchi ball with the navigational buoys, scattering them far off station. And of course the Coast Guard is too busy keeping us safe from terrorists that they probably have little time to fiddle with aids to navigation.....

.... I line up with the dayboards across the channel, figuring that it’s probably the most likely scenario, and prepare to eat the sandwich that JW2 has just passed topside to me. No more than two bites and we grind to a sickening halt, on a muddy shallow. I reach to put the boat in reverse and goose the throttle, but no resistance in the gas-giver. The engine dies, and I am almost unable to start it. When I do, it is idling low, and there is no response to the throttle. I go below, and peel off the engine cover, figuring that the throttle cable has come lose, and after finding it, confirm my suspicions. I put in a call to Art, and we discuss the missing parts, and come up with a temporary fix. I ever so gently apply a set of vice grip pliers, clamping the cable end to the throttle lever. JW2 looks sort of frantic, but I am unworried, it seems like a relatively minor problem……

Firing up the engine, we easily back off of the bar, and I slowly and carefully pick my way back to what I believe is the passage to the channel. Soon we are steaming throttle up, down the ditch. The engine is still making white smoke, but all systems are still normal. Around 1800 we pass the fishing shack lined Three Islands area and out into the Laguna Madre. Behind us, dark clouds follow, but we are now in the sun, and the bay is gold and blue, calm and we can see the shallows on both sides. Fishermen in skiffs are everywhere.

Further up the bay, we take the final shellacking, in a spot where Dee and I had to turn back several Thanksgivings ago on a run to Port Mansfield onboard Le Menagerie in thirty mile an hour winds with a sail the size of a handkerchief and the rudder kicking out of the water…no control, a scary situation with water depths on either side of the ditch less than a foot…..Now we are simply getting spanked with spray after spray in the eyes.

At 1730 I can make out the town of South Padre Island to Port, in the wind driven mist, and then the Queen Isabella Causeway, we’re almost home now. Dark descends, and we pick our way carefully towards the hazardous entrance channel. With the help of JW2 up on the forepeak with the Q beam, I find the markers and turn west. It is now dark, and there is little reference, the other aids to navigation are mostly just poles. I am aground, afloat, aground and afloat again and again as we inch ever westward. About halfway down the channel there’s a Com-pac 27 on a sandbar that has formed mid channel, and I holler to them. They respond that they’re waiting for the “tide and a tow”. Knowing the towboat US operator, and his reputation for nastiness, I feel sorry for them. We finally pick up markers 17, then 15, and just then the Q beam starts to dim. I have seen the green entrance buoy though, the one I need to hug close by, and steam near the McAfee house, and into the fingers. And then….momentarily aground, backing off and hugging the west side nearest the boat docks. We pass the towboat US guy, and he glares. I don’t think he figures any boat our size could’ve, should’ve made it. The tide is low. I am busy with the controls and watching. Suddenly the Q beam flips on, and JW2 blasts the guy right in the eyes. I stifle a guffaw.

Now in the turning basin, and around the corner, I pick out a slip and nose carefully in. JW2 hooks up the bowline, and I get the stern. Perfect. I shut down and go tell Mark that we are in. He is in the midst of a party, but tells me I’m OK to be in that spot.

When I walk back to the boat there’s a Helms 25 hailing us; “Olivia….Olivia….you’re in my spot”. Ahhhh well, I fire back up, untie and spin around out in the turning basin, steam back in and nose into the next slip, where we again wearily tie up. Dee and the girls show up, and we begin the task of offloading supplies, clothes and gear. I check the lines and we head into town as the rain starts to fall.