A New Home

It’s been five months since we learned of our parent’s diagnosis. We’ve dealt with many changes in that time. Obviously the biggest change was our parent’s move to a long-term care facility. As we’ve visited over the last few months, there are good days and not so good days.

Another big change was moving back to land. We had put many things in storage before we set off last summer, many others we had sold or donated. Now, at least a year before we had expected, we’re furnishing a new place. And then there’s preparing our parent’s house to be put on the market. Deciding what is of sentimental value vs monetary value vs no value, has been emotionally draining. Juggling that between visits to our parent’s care facility, has been a bit more than we expected, but things are starting to calm down now.

As we try to adjust to the new normal, we have made a couple of visits to Kotona, though only at the dock. Cleaned off the spider webs, aired out the cabin, enjoyed the quiet and gentle swaying in the breeze. She hasn’t left the dock since October. But soon, that too will change.

Amy is adamant about not giving up on our retirement cruise; postponing for a time, but not giving up. And before illness set in, our parent was completely encouraging. “You should do it, while you’re young enough to enjoy it…”, I think was the quote. The lease at our current marina is up and we thought “…we could move a bit further south.”

About 35 miles down the Tenn-Tom Waterway is the next small lake and a smallish, well regarded marina, that has a few sailboats and a great staff. Family owned for the last 40 years, they made us feel at home on our first visit. And it’s quite a bit less expensive, a big plus now that we’re maintaining a household on land again. It’s also about the same driving distance as our current marina. And perhaps most interesting for me, as you might have guessed, is the quiet. When summer gets into swing it may be more active, but for now, on a weekday in the spring, blissfully quiet.

But to enjoy it, we have to get the boat there. Thirty-five miles doesn’t seem like a long way; we’ve had longer passages, but only slightly. The different (scary) thing about this trip is that about 24 miles of it will be through a section that is roughly 300 feet wide with riprap rock banks on both sides. In the event of a breakdown, there’s nowhere to pull in, nowhere to anchor, not nearly enough room to sail, cell phone signal is sketchy at best, oh and did I mention barge traffic? So, change oil and filter, change transmission fluid, check and tighten belts, check fuel filters, check impeller, watch everything carefully on the way to the fuel dock 3 miles down river, and trust our boat.

In the South, late March is sometimes more like summer than spring, but not today. The thermometer read 37F on this Thursday morning, as we packed the last of our gear, coiled up the shore power cord, and said goodbye to our dock friends. We pulled out about 8:15am, and made our way to the fuel dock, knowing we could turn back if a problem arose.

Happily, nothing presented itself, and we made the call to press on. We had a three day weather window, and while Friday and Saturday would be warmer, they would also present us with a moderate headwind. Today, though a bit chilly, the wind would be behind us almost the entire trip. And going today would give us a chance to relax a bit in our new marina.

“We’ll go under that bridge when we come to it.”, was our catchphrase for the day. We did the math. We know what our clearance is. We know that at ‘full pool’ each of these bridges is higher than our mast, and that the current water level is still a couple of feet below ‘full pool’ giving us extra clearance. Doesn’t matter, it’s still just a bit unnerving passing under a bridge. Baltimore’s Key Bridge collapse, two days earlier may have upped that anxiety a bit, though we had no illusions about who would win in a contest between us and a bridge.

But pass under we did; highway bridges, railroad bridges, one after another for a total of five. It did help to break up the trip a bit, though. Mother Nature has done a good job with the Divide Cut. When it was constructed in the late 70s, it was said to have looked much like a strip mine. Today, above the riprap banks, it is lush and green and almost park-like. But 24 miles of lovely park is still a bit monotonous when you’re moving at 5.3 knots.

We took turns at the helm. We don’t have an autopilot yet, but it’s on our list. So every hour or so, we’d switch. It was clear and sunny, but under the shade of the bimini, it stayed cool well into the middle of the day. During the off-watch, Amy read excepts from the Tenn-Tom Cruising Guide and did a crossword, I checked the engine, looking and listening for any signs of trouble. Nothing presented itself. In fact, the word ‘uneventful’ is how we’d describe this portion of our trip. We logged almost 30 miles before we saw another boat.

After about six hours, the channel began to widen. The riprap banks changed to tree-lined banks. Soon Bay Springs Lake was under our keel, and Kotona was nearing her new home. The lake is about 9 miles long, and while not particularly wide, it is well known locally, and in the Great Loop cruisers community, for its excellent anchorages and quiet coves. We had already made note of some of those anchorages as we looked at the charts, and had marked a few as ‘definitely explore’.

About halfway down its length, the lake bends slightly. As you make that turn you can see the Jamie Whitten Lock in the distance. Not far now. A couple of bass boats made their way across the lake, and a heron flew so close you could see the fish in its beak. Just to the right of the lock, you could see a state park beach. That marked our turn to starboard and the home stretch of our trip.

We docked and secured Kotona around 3:30pm. Just over seven hours underway. A peaceful pleasant journey, another change, and a new home for our boat and us. We checked in at the office, had a chat with the marina owner, and met one of our dock neighbors. Later, we would celebrate with our favorite chicken & rice recipe and a cold beer, and have an excellent night’s sleep. Tomorrow would be a few errands and then return back to our responsibilities, but for now - peace and quiet.

Kotona means ‘at home’ in Finnish. We always feel that way when we’re aboard, but it was particularly strong on this trip. We know we won’t be able to get here as often as we’d like, but we also know that when we can, it will be coming home; and that may be just what we need to help us cope with the changes yet to come.