Getting There
by Richard Baker
I don’t think at first that I really understood the attraction of boating in an area away from your home. I mean, I knew people who did it, and I knew they loved it. But for my wife and me, it didn’t make sense. Here we are, near Madison with these four beautiful lakes, the largest of which is maybe 10 minutes from where we live in Waunakee (and yes, it is the only Waunakee in the whole world). So why would any one want to drive 2 hours or more, when you can boat anytime you can find a few minutes, relatively speaking of course. And then we decided we needed to know more about boating, so we joined this boating club called United States Power Squadrons. The next thing you know, we’re going on a cruise for a week on the Mississippi. The next year the Apostles; then Lake Winnebago; then back to the Big Muddy. Before you know it, you’re hooked, and coming back to a lake with 20 miles of shoreline just isn’t the same any more.
We kept returning to The River. It just seems to call to you, and after a while you have to give in. It’s just so...big. Not big like the Great Lakes, or surely not like the oceans, but there is a relentless power here that is unique. When you consider that it flows constantly, and I don’t mean day after day- I mean century after century, well, you just have a hard time wrapping your brain around the idea of that much water. Now, I hear those of you who have rowed across the Atlantic or whatever laughing at my idea of a lot of water, but cut me some slack, look at where we were boating before.
So, now we load up the convertible, put the top down, and head to Dubuque. The first half hour is a winding two lane, which goes past Martinsville, a town which always made me think of some small Southern town where maybe a Civil War battle was fought; past a farm where the lucky owner has a pond, and if I was him, I would sell every boat I had with an engine and just float in a wood skiff; and then through a berg call Klevenville, that’s so small it doesn’t even have a bar, for Pete’s sake.
Then onto the four lane. And what a road it is! As you pass through the cuts blasted out of the limestone, you can see the different layers and imagine the millennia it took to lay down that much rock; and when you realize that the dirt the farmers are using is at most about 2 feet thick, probably throughout most of southwestern Wisconsin, you just have to be amazed. You can see the marks the drills left as they drilled down into the rock to set the charges that would cause the rock to split where they wanted it to. There are at least two spots where it’s obvious that before long, a huge piece of the soft limestone is going to calve off like an iceberg- what a joy it would be to see that!
One day, as we are coming down the ramp, we fall in behind a 60’s muscle car convertible, and just ahead of him is an older sporty thing, also a convertible, and for a while, we’re a convertible club out for a weekend jaunt.
The llamas always grazing outside of Mt. Horeb usually get a laugh out of the grand kids. A little past that is a farmhouse that, when we first saw it 15 years ago, made us joke about buying it and fixing it up; but now it’s maybe five years from being garden mulch.
I also never understood the attraction to motorcycles- that is, till I got a convertible. Now, I totally get it. You are sometimes gambling with the weather, and of course, you don’t have to gamble- you could put the top up and be like everyone else, but what fun is that? So one day, the clouds are looking mighty ominous, and we’re going up that big hill outside of Dickyville, and I look over the windshield and above me is this small patch of blue sky with all kinds of angry gray around it. Suddenly, I can imagine myself soaring upwards, through the opening, and now I know what dying might be like, and you know what? It wasn’t scary.
But I’m not going anywhere just yet. As we come down the final hill, the bridge is in sight, and Toby sits up as he smells the river for the first time this trip. We check the water level and boat traffic with a quick glance upriver then down. Under the bridge, turn left and we’re at the marina. As I peer over the bank I can see our boat, and it’s still floating, and to me that’s always a bonus. It’s going to be a good day.
See you on the River.
This article originally appeared in the January 2008 edition of Harbor Lights, a publication of the Madison Sail and Power Squadron. Copyright 2008 Richard Baker
Sunday, September 6, 2009
The Boat Eating Bridge
by Richard Baker
Right after the Grand Excursion in 2004 I started to write this story, but then I changed my mind. Maybe it was still too painfully fresh in my mind, I don’t know. Any way, since I wrote the story mentioning Savanna Illinois, I decided it’s time to tell this tale.
It begins on in the Quad Cities, the starting point for the Grand Excursion. Our boat, the first Just Because was a single engine 29’ Sea Ray Sundancer. My wife Cindy Parisi, David Conrad and I were the crew. We were assigned to escort the Julia Belle Swain as she participated in the Grand Excursion. There had been a lot of rain that year, and the river was fast; I had done a test early on with my GPS and found that the current was around 4 ½ miles per hour, which is very swift. It took 2500 rpm to keep the boat in place. Our duty as an escort vessel was to stay close to the Julia Belle Swain whenever she went out; the point was too keep other boats away from the sternwheeler, since they tend to have very limited maneuverability. Keeping close but not too close proved to be troublesome to say the least; Julia moved at around 5-7 mph. It meant that I had to constantly shift in and out of gear to maintain position. We went out several times per day as the sternwheelers all took passengers out for trips over the first two days. Finally, we began the trip to points north.
Our fist stop was to be Savanna Illinois, which was about 58 miles north. If you have ever traveled 58 miles at slow-no-wake speed in an express cruiser style boat, I pity you very much, for it is a long and painful process. But eventually we made it. Our first stop was at the gas dock, where the Bruce the marina manager told us about a boat that had big trouble a couple of days earlier. The marina is on a channel off the main river, and of course now the current was practically roaring through. A pontoon boat had lost power, and the current grabbed the boat and sent it downstream towards a very low railroad bridge about 100 yards past the marina. The boat tuned sideways as it hit the bridge, and the force of the current against the pontoons caused the boat to roll under the bridge. The crew scrambled out onto the bridge as the boat sank. He cautioned us not to let such a thing happen to us.
That night, the Julia had a cruise scheduled for 9:30, so, little as we wanted to go for another boat ride at that ridiculous time of night, we dutifully headed out to the river. The trip was to go north under the Bridge to the first buoy, turn south and go to the railroad bridge above Sabula, then back to the marina. It was maybe 12 miles, around two hours. The Julia has made her turn to the south, now it’s our turn. It was so dark I almost hit the buoy as I swung to the south. Now we’re thinking this isn’t fun; and with all of the junk floating in the high water, that we couldn’t see, it surely isn’t safe; and since no one was going to harass the Julia, we decided to head back. I let Cindy and David off at the gas dock so they could go to our slip and catch the boat. The lights were out at the marina because of the bugs, so Cindy and David headed off in the dark. My usual method in this marina is to go downstream past our slip and turn 180 degrees so I could back in with my bow into the current. I turn towards the far bank; when I run out of room I put it in reverse and turn the wheel the other way; when I’m pointing back to mid channel, it’s back into forward. Except this time, there was no forward. I move the lever back and forth, nothing happens. Nada. No go. Oh oh. So now, the current has caught the front of the boat and my turn is being completed without my permission. I was thinking “I’ll be dipped if that lousy bridge is going to get my boat. My wife was thinking, why I was screwing around at such an inopportune moment and yelled out “what the heck are you doing?” as I scrambled out onto the bow; I informed her that I had no forward gear. Now, they start running, in the total darkness, towards the dock closest to me. At this marina the end of the fingers have tall posts; I lean over the bow rail and grab at the first one as I pass but I can’t catch it. Lucky there was a shorter boat in there, or I would have hit it. The next one I catch. Now picture this- my bow rail is passing across my waist, I have my arms wrapped around my favorite post, and the current is trying to take my 10,000 lb boat away from me and give it to the boat eating bridge. Finally the troops arrive. By sheer luck, I have grabbed a post right next to the only other empty slip in the marina; we call it close enough and finally wrestle the boat into its berth.
I figured the problem was a broken shift cable, but it turned out to be a broken coupler. The stress of shifting in and out of gear roughly 1000 times in 4 days had been too much for it. We called Our Leader Jim Pahl-Washa who was organizing things in Dubuque in preparation for the fleet’s arrival there. He sent Frank Washa down to get us. Back to Dubuque to get the truck and trailer, then back to Savanna to get the boat.
And the Julia Belle Swain- did she make it without us? Turns out, about the time I’m hugging my post, some drunks in a fishing boat start throwing beer bottles at the sternwheeler; the crew turned the fire hoses on them to get them to leave.
So what’s the lesson here? Always be ready for when Murphy stops by. Bad things can happen so fast you won’t even believe it. Be like a Boy Scout and be prepared. And don’t pick on Julia.
See you on the River.
This article originally appeared in the December 2007 edition of Harbor Lights, a publication of the Madison Sail and Power Squadron. Copyright 2007 Richard Baker
by Richard Baker
Right after the Grand Excursion in 2004 I started to write this story, but then I changed my mind. Maybe it was still too painfully fresh in my mind, I don’t know. Any way, since I wrote the story mentioning Savanna Illinois, I decided it’s time to tell this tale.
It begins on in the Quad Cities, the starting point for the Grand Excursion. Our boat, the first Just Because was a single engine 29’ Sea Ray Sundancer. My wife Cindy Parisi, David Conrad and I were the crew. We were assigned to escort the Julia Belle Swain as she participated in the Grand Excursion. There had been a lot of rain that year, and the river was fast; I had done a test early on with my GPS and found that the current was around 4 ½ miles per hour, which is very swift. It took 2500 rpm to keep the boat in place. Our duty as an escort vessel was to stay close to the Julia Belle Swain whenever she went out; the point was too keep other boats away from the sternwheeler, since they tend to have very limited maneuverability. Keeping close but not too close proved to be troublesome to say the least; Julia moved at around 5-7 mph. It meant that I had to constantly shift in and out of gear to maintain position. We went out several times per day as the sternwheelers all took passengers out for trips over the first two days. Finally, we began the trip to points north.
Our fist stop was to be Savanna Illinois, which was about 58 miles north. If you have ever traveled 58 miles at slow-no-wake speed in an express cruiser style boat, I pity you very much, for it is a long and painful process. But eventually we made it. Our first stop was at the gas dock, where the Bruce the marina manager told us about a boat that had big trouble a couple of days earlier. The marina is on a channel off the main river, and of course now the current was practically roaring through. A pontoon boat had lost power, and the current grabbed the boat and sent it downstream towards a very low railroad bridge about 100 yards past the marina. The boat tuned sideways as it hit the bridge, and the force of the current against the pontoons caused the boat to roll under the bridge. The crew scrambled out onto the bridge as the boat sank. He cautioned us not to let such a thing happen to us.
That night, the Julia had a cruise scheduled for 9:30, so, little as we wanted to go for another boat ride at that ridiculous time of night, we dutifully headed out to the river. The trip was to go north under the Bridge to the first buoy, turn south and go to the railroad bridge above Sabula, then back to the marina. It was maybe 12 miles, around two hours. The Julia has made her turn to the south, now it’s our turn. It was so dark I almost hit the buoy as I swung to the south. Now we’re thinking this isn’t fun; and with all of the junk floating in the high water, that we couldn’t see, it surely isn’t safe; and since no one was going to harass the Julia, we decided to head back. I let Cindy and David off at the gas dock so they could go to our slip and catch the boat. The lights were out at the marina because of the bugs, so Cindy and David headed off in the dark. My usual method in this marina is to go downstream past our slip and turn 180 degrees so I could back in with my bow into the current. I turn towards the far bank; when I run out of room I put it in reverse and turn the wheel the other way; when I’m pointing back to mid channel, it’s back into forward. Except this time, there was no forward. I move the lever back and forth, nothing happens. Nada. No go. Oh oh. So now, the current has caught the front of the boat and my turn is being completed without my permission. I was thinking “I’ll be dipped if that lousy bridge is going to get my boat. My wife was thinking, why I was screwing around at such an inopportune moment and yelled out “what the heck are you doing?” as I scrambled out onto the bow; I informed her that I had no forward gear. Now, they start running, in the total darkness, towards the dock closest to me. At this marina the end of the fingers have tall posts; I lean over the bow rail and grab at the first one as I pass but I can’t catch it. Lucky there was a shorter boat in there, or I would have hit it. The next one I catch. Now picture this- my bow rail is passing across my waist, I have my arms wrapped around my favorite post, and the current is trying to take my 10,000 lb boat away from me and give it to the boat eating bridge. Finally the troops arrive. By sheer luck, I have grabbed a post right next to the only other empty slip in the marina; we call it close enough and finally wrestle the boat into its berth.
I figured the problem was a broken shift cable, but it turned out to be a broken coupler. The stress of shifting in and out of gear roughly 1000 times in 4 days had been too much for it. We called Our Leader Jim Pahl-Washa who was organizing things in Dubuque in preparation for the fleet’s arrival there. He sent Frank Washa down to get us. Back to Dubuque to get the truck and trailer, then back to Savanna to get the boat.
And the Julia Belle Swain- did she make it without us? Turns out, about the time I’m hugging my post, some drunks in a fishing boat start throwing beer bottles at the sternwheeler; the crew turned the fire hoses on them to get them to leave.
So what’s the lesson here? Always be ready for when Murphy stops by. Bad things can happen so fast you won’t even believe it. Be like a Boy Scout and be prepared. And don’t pick on Julia.
See you on the River.
This article originally appeared in the December 2007 edition of Harbor Lights, a publication of the Madison Sail and Power Squadron. Copyright 2007 Richard Baker
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
High Water
by Richard Baker
My childhood sweetheart and I celebrate our wedding anniversary on August 18 each year, and this year our good friends Jeff Hamilton and Nancy Sullivan threw us a party. Well, okay- they got married, they invited us, and there was a party. Essentially, it was the same thing. And even though the rain that fell made walking to the excursion boat interesting, everyone had a great time.
However, that same rain caused extensive flood damage to several communities on the river, and those people definitely did not have a good time. The rain continued to fall for much of the next week. This created high water all the way down the river. In Dubuque, where we keep our boat, the stage was at 14.5 feet, whereas the previous week, it was around 6.5 feet. When we arrived on Friday night, it was obvious that the water was up. The ramp normally is at about a 20 degree slope, now it was more like 5 degrees. But the really interesting gauge was the twenty foot tall posts that the dock is tethered to. Usually that post is 2 feet below the ceiling; in fact I often thought that if the water got any lower, it would hit the under side of the roof. Now there was a space of 10 feet above the post to the under side of the roof!
The trip to Clinton that we had planned for a year had to happen now, or we weren’t going to have time this year at all, so we decided to go anyway. Jack Stone and his wife Kris on their boat River Gold and us on Just Because, left Dubuque on Saturday, August 25. The first thing we noticed, besides the fact that there was considerable debris blocking our exit from the marina, was that the river was almost deserted. As we headed south to Lock 12, I began to wonder. Were all of the other boaters a bunch of chickens, or was I foolish to be out here now? I decided that if we were careful and kept a good lookout, we were probably safer during high water than low water. With low water, you could hit bottom any time. It was almost impossible now.
Cindy kept a continuous lookout which helped us dodge several hazards, but really, there wasn’t as much junk as you would expect. What happens, among many other things, during high water, is that the water will float dead trees and branches that normally rest on the bank. They are half water logged, so they float mostly submerged. Hitting a deadhead can cause huge damage.
Lock 12 was interesting. The dam was totally open, the first time I’ve ever seen that. It was the fastest lock through we ever experienced, because the water dropped only 6 inches, instead of several feet. South of the lock, we saw a can buoy that was about a quarter mile from where it should be, and another time there were two almost touching each other, literally 2 feet apart. If you have never seen a Mississippi buoy, they are about 10 feet tall, with about 18” showing above the water. We saw many with only inches showing, and one that was bobbing so that it would disappear, and then show up again, depending on the waves. These buoys are connected with a chain to a LARGE piece of concrete, so to move that much weight, the buoy has to be well under water.
We finally made it to our first destination, Savanna, Illinois. We always have fun in Savanna, and in fact a few weeks ago we were talking about the town at a dinner function, and a woman overheard us and said “Are you talking about Savanna, Illinois?" When we assured her we were, she was aghast, saying ”why would you want to live there?” We told here we were not moving there, only visiting, and I think she then thought we were only goofy, instead of goofy and stupid. The fact is, there is a lot to do there, including bicycling in the Mississippi Wild Life Refuge, shopping in one of the larger antique stores I’ve ever seen; and always a crowd favorite, a visit to the Iron Horse Social Club. This is a biker bar with a motorcycle museum inside, and it is cool. Their motto is “Where Intellectual Trash and Bikers Forgather”, and boy, is that ever the truth. If you ever want to see your life flash before your eyes, walk into a biker bar on a Saturday night while you are dressed as a boater. We faced a sea of denim and black leather; they saw four mid-life suburbanites with shorts and boating shoes and watches. But it was okay, the silence didn’t last that long, and we were soon making friends. In fact, as we were sitting at the bar, a passing woman pinched me in the rear, and when I turned around, she pointed to Commander Jack and said “he told me to do it”. Just another example of the locals trying to make the visitors feel at home. She later came up and introduced herself as “Loony Linda”, a now retired former bar owner of a place in town named, you guessed it, Linda’s. I could go on, about a place named McCool’s, whose slogan is “Please Don’t Let Me Drink Alone”; or a place named Poopy’s, whose slogan is- well never mind, this is a family publication.
Our next stop was going to be Clinton, Iowa where we were hoping to see their new marina, but we found out they weren’t done with it yet, so we decided to stay in Savanna two more nights. Darn.
Someday, let me tell you about the boat eating bridge, also in Savanna. Till then, see you on the river.
This article originally appeared in the October 2007 edition of Harbor Lights, a publication of the Madison Sail and Power Squadron. Copyright 2007 Richard Baker
by Richard Baker
My childhood sweetheart and I celebrate our wedding anniversary on August 18 each year, and this year our good friends Jeff Hamilton and Nancy Sullivan threw us a party. Well, okay- they got married, they invited us, and there was a party. Essentially, it was the same thing. And even though the rain that fell made walking to the excursion boat interesting, everyone had a great time.
However, that same rain caused extensive flood damage to several communities on the river, and those people definitely did not have a good time. The rain continued to fall for much of the next week. This created high water all the way down the river. In Dubuque, where we keep our boat, the stage was at 14.5 feet, whereas the previous week, it was around 6.5 feet. When we arrived on Friday night, it was obvious that the water was up. The ramp normally is at about a 20 degree slope, now it was more like 5 degrees. But the really interesting gauge was the twenty foot tall posts that the dock is tethered to. Usually that post is 2 feet below the ceiling; in fact I often thought that if the water got any lower, it would hit the under side of the roof. Now there was a space of 10 feet above the post to the under side of the roof!
The trip to Clinton that we had planned for a year had to happen now, or we weren’t going to have time this year at all, so we decided to go anyway. Jack Stone and his wife Kris on their boat River Gold and us on Just Because, left Dubuque on Saturday, August 25. The first thing we noticed, besides the fact that there was considerable debris blocking our exit from the marina, was that the river was almost deserted. As we headed south to Lock 12, I began to wonder. Were all of the other boaters a bunch of chickens, or was I foolish to be out here now? I decided that if we were careful and kept a good lookout, we were probably safer during high water than low water. With low water, you could hit bottom any time. It was almost impossible now.
Cindy kept a continuous lookout which helped us dodge several hazards, but really, there wasn’t as much junk as you would expect. What happens, among many other things, during high water, is that the water will float dead trees and branches that normally rest on the bank. They are half water logged, so they float mostly submerged. Hitting a deadhead can cause huge damage.
Lock 12 was interesting. The dam was totally open, the first time I’ve ever seen that. It was the fastest lock through we ever experienced, because the water dropped only 6 inches, instead of several feet. South of the lock, we saw a can buoy that was about a quarter mile from where it should be, and another time there were two almost touching each other, literally 2 feet apart. If you have never seen a Mississippi buoy, they are about 10 feet tall, with about 18” showing above the water. We saw many with only inches showing, and one that was bobbing so that it would disappear, and then show up again, depending on the waves. These buoys are connected with a chain to a LARGE piece of concrete, so to move that much weight, the buoy has to be well under water.
We finally made it to our first destination, Savanna, Illinois. We always have fun in Savanna, and in fact a few weeks ago we were talking about the town at a dinner function, and a woman overheard us and said “Are you talking about Savanna, Illinois?" When we assured her we were, she was aghast, saying ”why would you want to live there?” We told here we were not moving there, only visiting, and I think she then thought we were only goofy, instead of goofy and stupid. The fact is, there is a lot to do there, including bicycling in the Mississippi Wild Life Refuge, shopping in one of the larger antique stores I’ve ever seen; and always a crowd favorite, a visit to the Iron Horse Social Club. This is a biker bar with a motorcycle museum inside, and it is cool. Their motto is “Where Intellectual Trash and Bikers Forgather”, and boy, is that ever the truth. If you ever want to see your life flash before your eyes, walk into a biker bar on a Saturday night while you are dressed as a boater. We faced a sea of denim and black leather; they saw four mid-life suburbanites with shorts and boating shoes and watches. But it was okay, the silence didn’t last that long, and we were soon making friends. In fact, as we were sitting at the bar, a passing woman pinched me in the rear, and when I turned around, she pointed to Commander Jack and said “he told me to do it”. Just another example of the locals trying to make the visitors feel at home. She later came up and introduced herself as “Loony Linda”, a now retired former bar owner of a place in town named, you guessed it, Linda’s. I could go on, about a place named McCool’s, whose slogan is “Please Don’t Let Me Drink Alone”; or a place named Poopy’s, whose slogan is- well never mind, this is a family publication.
Our next stop was going to be Clinton, Iowa where we were hoping to see their new marina, but we found out they weren’t done with it yet, so we decided to stay in Savanna two more nights. Darn.
Someday, let me tell you about the boat eating bridge, also in Savanna. Till then, see you on the river.
This article originally appeared in the October 2007 edition of Harbor Lights, a publication of the Madison Sail and Power Squadron. Copyright 2007 Richard Baker
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Lock Etiquette
on the Upper Mississippi
by Richard Baker
My wife, Cindy, and I recently returned from a 430-mile trip on the Mississippi from Dubuque to Redwing. A trip like this usually has one pronounced side effect—it graphically points out to me the need for public safe-boating courses. While there are many facets of boating on the river that present problems for people in general, one area that seems to surpass all of the rest is using the locks properly.
A successful locking experience actually starts well before you arrive at the lock. A call to the lock on Channel 14 can tell you whether to hurry to make a passage before a tow ties up the lock for two hours, or if it’s already too late. Sometimes the lock master will hold the gates open to allow you to make that passage. Proper radio language goes like this: “Lock 11, how long of a wait for a northbound passage?” Phrasing your request for information in that fashion allows the lock master to respond one time with one sentence. Keep in mind that on a weekend day, he may answer that question a hundred times or more.
If there is a short wait, you should float in the area to the side of the main route out of the locks, while staying within the channel. For longer waits, you can pick a safe area and anchor. Just be sure to monitor your radio so you are ready when it’s time to enter the lock.
Enter the lock when the light turns green, and not before. If it has not turned green, get on the radio and ask if it is okay to enter. The lock master may have forgotten to change the light from red to green. As you enter the lock, remember you are in a no-wake zone. You should be slowly approaching the wall in the area where the lock attendant is standing. My own strategy is to arrive at that point with my boat two or three feet off the wall, and then nose the bow in till the person on my bow has the line that the attendant has lowered to us; then I turn to the wall and put the engines in reverse, thereby moving the stern to the wall. At that point, I put the engines in neutral and leave the helm to grab the line. When I know I’m done maneuvering the boat, I return to the helm and shut the engines down. The lock chamber is a big box without a lid; the exhaust fumes from a running motor can accumulate inside and overcome those near you.
Usually, the attendant will position the boats as far forward as he can, but occasionally, conditions dictate that the line of boats starts farther back. This happened to us two times on our trip. Once was for wind and current; I’ll talk about the other case shortly.
Leaving the lock properly is easy, though most people do it wrong. Once the gates open, and it’s safe to exit, the lock master will sound the horn. At that point, the ONLY one who can leave the wall is the FIRST boat in the line. Remember, first in, first out. The reason is simple. If a boat gets caught by the wind and turned sideways after his engine doesn’t start, which we have seen happen, then we avoid the very dangerous traffic jam as boats behind him try to avoid him. Just wait. It won’t delay your trip for more than a couple of minutes.
You should remain at no-wake speed till you are at least past the end of the wall on the other side of the locks, but if there are boats waiting to enter; it is common courtesy to wait till you are past them to increase speed. Remember, you are always responsible for your wake.
So why did the attendant put us at halfway down the lock wall? When the gates opened, we knew. We had entered on the first southbound passage after a tow had left the lock heading north. Another tow was waiting right outside the gate to enter. The solid wall of steel barges that faced us was a little intimidating at first. Putting us further back on the wall gave us time to adjust to a new situation as we left the lock.
A little courtesy goes a long way when using the locks. Thank the line attendants as they help you; you may even thank the lock on the radio as you leave. Be courteous to the other users also—you will probably see them at the next lock.
See you on the river.
This article originally appeared in the August 2007 edition of Harbor Lights, a publication of the Madison Sail and Power Squadron. Copyright 2007 Richard Baker
on the Upper Mississippi
by Richard Baker
My wife, Cindy, and I recently returned from a 430-mile trip on the Mississippi from Dubuque to Redwing. A trip like this usually has one pronounced side effect—it graphically points out to me the need for public safe-boating courses. While there are many facets of boating on the river that present problems for people in general, one area that seems to surpass all of the rest is using the locks properly.
A successful locking experience actually starts well before you arrive at the lock. A call to the lock on Channel 14 can tell you whether to hurry to make a passage before a tow ties up the lock for two hours, or if it’s already too late. Sometimes the lock master will hold the gates open to allow you to make that passage. Proper radio language goes like this: “Lock 11, how long of a wait for a northbound passage?” Phrasing your request for information in that fashion allows the lock master to respond one time with one sentence. Keep in mind that on a weekend day, he may answer that question a hundred times or more.
If there is a short wait, you should float in the area to the side of the main route out of the locks, while staying within the channel. For longer waits, you can pick a safe area and anchor. Just be sure to monitor your radio so you are ready when it’s time to enter the lock.
Enter the lock when the light turns green, and not before. If it has not turned green, get on the radio and ask if it is okay to enter. The lock master may have forgotten to change the light from red to green. As you enter the lock, remember you are in a no-wake zone. You should be slowly approaching the wall in the area where the lock attendant is standing. My own strategy is to arrive at that point with my boat two or three feet off the wall, and then nose the bow in till the person on my bow has the line that the attendant has lowered to us; then I turn to the wall and put the engines in reverse, thereby moving the stern to the wall. At that point, I put the engines in neutral and leave the helm to grab the line. When I know I’m done maneuvering the boat, I return to the helm and shut the engines down. The lock chamber is a big box without a lid; the exhaust fumes from a running motor can accumulate inside and overcome those near you.
Usually, the attendant will position the boats as far forward as he can, but occasionally, conditions dictate that the line of boats starts farther back. This happened to us two times on our trip. Once was for wind and current; I’ll talk about the other case shortly.
Leaving the lock properly is easy, though most people do it wrong. Once the gates open, and it’s safe to exit, the lock master will sound the horn. At that point, the ONLY one who can leave the wall is the FIRST boat in the line. Remember, first in, first out. The reason is simple. If a boat gets caught by the wind and turned sideways after his engine doesn’t start, which we have seen happen, then we avoid the very dangerous traffic jam as boats behind him try to avoid him. Just wait. It won’t delay your trip for more than a couple of minutes.
You should remain at no-wake speed till you are at least past the end of the wall on the other side of the locks, but if there are boats waiting to enter; it is common courtesy to wait till you are past them to increase speed. Remember, you are always responsible for your wake.
So why did the attendant put us at halfway down the lock wall? When the gates opened, we knew. We had entered on the first southbound passage after a tow had left the lock heading north. Another tow was waiting right outside the gate to enter. The solid wall of steel barges that faced us was a little intimidating at first. Putting us further back on the wall gave us time to adjust to a new situation as we left the lock.
A little courtesy goes a long way when using the locks. Thank the line attendants as they help you; you may even thank the lock on the radio as you leave. Be courteous to the other users also—you will probably see them at the next lock.
See you on the river.
This article originally appeared in the August 2007 edition of Harbor Lights, a publication of the Madison Sail and Power Squadron. Copyright 2007 Richard Baker
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Hello
This is the first attempt at something like this for me, so I'm not sure about a lot of things. My idea at this point is to post some articles I've written, so it's not going to be a daily sort of thing.
The subject is the Mississippi River because my wife Cindy and I boat on the river. What I hope to bring to the subject is a perspective from someone who wasn't raised on the river. The value of that is the fact that I am not at all jaded about it, because it's all relatively new to me. I hope my stories make you feel like you were there, and I hope they convince you to come to the river and experience it for yourself.
I'd love to have the first story posted right now, however I'm writing this on my backup computer, since my main machine is in the shop getting scrubbed because of a virus attack. I used to be pretty sure that theives were the lowest form of life on this earth, but now I'm thinking that people who create these viral invasions may be one notch lower on the evolutionalry scale.
See you on the river.
The subject is the Mississippi River because my wife Cindy and I boat on the river. What I hope to bring to the subject is a perspective from someone who wasn't raised on the river. The value of that is the fact that I am not at all jaded about it, because it's all relatively new to me. I hope my stories make you feel like you were there, and I hope they convince you to come to the river and experience it for yourself.
I'd love to have the first story posted right now, however I'm writing this on my backup computer, since my main machine is in the shop getting scrubbed because of a virus attack. I used to be pretty sure that theives were the lowest form of life on this earth, but now I'm thinking that people who create these viral invasions may be one notch lower on the evolutionalry scale.
See you on the river.
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