Friday, October 4, 1991

 My favorite blue shirt floats momentarily before sinking out of sight in the Arkansas River taking with it my rain slicker.  My canteen is gone too, and I haven't even had time to get a drink of water out of it.  Funny how you really get thirsty when you know you can't have a drink.  But considering the circumstances, I am lucky more damage wasn't done.
 I awoke this morning to a lovely fall day with plans to go on a shakedown cruise on the Arkansas River in preparation for my grand dream of sailing across Arkansas.  I plan to take the first leg of my journey during my three days off at Thanksgiving.
 During the last five years, I have read everything the library has to offer about men and women setting their sails for far off places or even sailing around the world.  Those books have provided hours of vicarious enjoyment, but I find myself eager for my own adventure.  Of course, the problem with finding my own adventure is time and money.  I can dream all I want about sailing around the world, but reality is that I have neither the time nor the money.   I decided I could either wait another 12 years for my dreams or attempt a modest, little adventure now.
 Many people have been across Arkansas on the river, but I would guess that few have made the trip in a 13 foot sailboat without a motor.  Sailing across Arkansas is an achievable goal.  The cost is minimal.  The time can be managed if I spread out the adventure in several segments, three days here and two days there always taking up where I left off until I have sailed the full width of the state.
 My shakedown cruise will prepare me for the challenges of the river.  Today will give me good experience with the winds coming off the mountains and with going through a lock.
 
9:45 a.m.
  I turn down River Road off Highway #10 and pull into the launching area.  One other vehicle is there, a truck belonging to a bank fisherman sitting in his lawn chair close to the ramp.  He doesn't seem to be having any luck.
 I quickly step the mast, bend on the sails, and load my lunch - some Saltine crackers, three cinnamon rolls, two raw carrots and a canteen of water.  I throw in an extra life jacket just for good measure, and my rain slicker.  It is my favorite slicker because it is one my dad gave me.  Originally it said "GP," for "Georgia Pacific," on the back, but I put tape across that so that it looked like a sailboat.  That rain jacket has been with me in the cold rains of the Chesapeake and the tropical storms along the Florida Keys.
 As I step into my boat, the man in the lawn chair says, "This ought to be a good day for it.  The wind is really blowing."  I reply, "I hope so.  The last time I came here, I had to paddle the whole way."  And off I go.
 I have finally learned how to get away from dock gracefully.  That is not so easy in solo sailing.  I put the sails up, then spin the boat around so that the sails fill.  Then I jump into the boat and grab for the tiller as it pulls away from the ramp.
 The wind is not hitting the water very well.  I can see it blowing in the trees on the mountains, but it swirls and whirls around so that it hardly comes down where I am.  I sail very slowly toward the I-430 bridge, and eye the dam and lock in the distance.
 Dark clouds appear overhead.  They are low, rain clouds. I am glad I have my rain slicker, but worry that this might be a miserable sail.  Nevertheless, I need the experience because when I start my trek down the Arkansas, there will be no turning back in case of a little cold rain.

10:15 a.m.
 I look at the lock and dam again and my anxiety begins to rise.  I have been through that lock in a ski boat, but never in a sailboat without a motor.  I wonder if boats without motors can go through.  I wonder if I will have trouble there.  Will they run the lock just for me?  But I have read the books and the charts and know what to do. It should be easy, but I find it very, very difficult to approach that lock with just sails and oars.
 I try to talk myself into changing plans and sailing upstream and forgetting about going through the lock.  After all, the wind seems to have shifted, and it might rain.  But my better self decides that I have to face my fears.  A big part of my sailing experience has been facing my fears and overcoming them.  I remember how afraid I used to be every time I took my sailboat out alone.  If I am ever really going to go cruising on a big boat, I have to be able to overcome such fears.  If I am to sail across Arkansas, I will have to face many such locks, so I had better practice today.  I trim the sheets and head toward the "Danger" sign posted near the lock.

10:30 a.m.
 As I approach the lock, I see the sign which reads, "Small craft approach slowly.  Pull chain in recess, and wait for signal to enter lock."  I discover the recess and pull the chain.  Immediately a loud buzzer starts sounding near the lockmaster's tower as if a prisoner had just escaped from Cummins.  Soon the buzzer is turned off and other groaning sounds start.  After a long time of floating near the recess, the lock gates begin to slowly swing apart.  I can see a red light flashing on a signal that looks like it could have been taken from any traffic intersection.  Obviously a yellow light and a green light are coming so I wait.  Sure enough, yellow flashes a few seconds, then the green followed by a long, loud blast from an air horn.  I pull on my oars and enter the long, narrow-walled concrete canyon.
 I row past the massive gates, now safely tucked away in their positions in the lock walls.  I pass several mooring posts so that I can get near the far end of the lock.  Before I tie up, the gates begin to swing shut.  I am the only boat in the lock.
 Tourists are standing in the gallery and pointing at me.  I'm sure I am a sight!  So I holler out to them, "Isn't this great?"
  A lady yells back, "Are they going to open that thing just for you?"
 I say, "I hope so."
 The lockmaster mounts his golf cart and rumbles across the closed gates headed for the other end of the lock.  He stops right above me:

Lockmaster: Have you ever been through this lock in that boat before?

I think, "Oh no, he's going to tell me how dangerous this is or that I can't go through without a motor."

Mickey: No sir.
Lockmaster: Do you know the rules?
Mickey: Well, I think so, but maybe you'd better tell me what they are anyway.
Lockmaster: After you pull the chain, wait until I sound the long blast on the air horn before you enter.  Be sure to tie up to one of these floating buoys like you have there and don't tie to a ladder.  I will give a short blast when you can leave.  Always look out for other boats.  Pleasure boats have to wait for commercial vehicles if one is there.  If you are waiting to enter and see a tugboat and barge coming out, you'd better get out of the way. They can't maneuver those things very well and may crush you.

 There was nothing new in the rules, but I will sure remember that part about being crushed by a barge.

Mickey: Did you ever have anyone come through here without a motor before?
Lockmaster: I've worked here seven years, and you are the first.  No, wait.  I do remember one year when the river was flooding at over 300,000 cubic feet per second, and a man came through on a 14 foot flat-bottomed boat with only a paddle.  Said he was going to Louisiana.  I don't know if he made it or not.  I never heard of a drowning downstream so I guess he did.
Mickey: I am thinking about sailing across Arkansas.
Lockmaster: Be careful about the current. Probably middle of the summer will be best.
Mickey: What is the current like at Thanksgiving?
Lockmaster: You can't tell.  If we get a lot of rain next month, it could be at flood stage.  Just call the Corp to get a check on the flow.
Mickey: Thanks, I'll remember that.

 He rumbled across the other lock gate and soon the moaning and groaning began in earnest.  It sounded like a gigantic Loch Ness monster was hissing and wailing just on the other side of the wall.  The water slowly began to drop.  I counted the markings as the dark colored wet wall grew taller and taller.  We must have descended about 18 or 20 feet!  It was an incredible, awesome feeling.  Finally the dark wall quit growing, and the lock gates began to creak open.  When the short blast sounded, I put my oars to the water and made my way out with a pleased feeling of accomplishment as if I had moved all that water by hand.  My heart beat a little less rapidly as I oared away from the tourists who continued to talk and point at me.

11:00 a.m.
 I see several blue heron wading along the rocks.  As I near, they noisily fly away.  I have never heard one make its noise before so I am thrilled to hear it.  But I don't know just how to describe the ungraceful sound.  It's not a quack or a croak or a chirp.  Maybe "squawk" is the best word to describe it.  It was an angry sound.  I had disturbed his fishing.  I love to see them fly.  They fold up that long neck like a sink drain.  But they drag their too-long legs behind them like the advertisements pulled behind Cessnas flying over a Razorback game.  I expected the fine print on their legs to say, "Eat at Fajita Willies," or, "Sue, will you marry me? Bill."

11:30 a.m.
 Nearing Burns Park I am sailing close by the revetments, trying to catch as much wind as possible.  The further I stay away from the upwind mountains and hills the better my chance for clear air.  I like sailing near the shore so that I can look closely at the rocks, grass, and trees.  I admire the red cliffs of Burns Park.  A sunken barge is in the edge of the water like a fallen soldier at Normandy.  I wonder how it came to be grounded here.
 Several times the wind whips up suddenly catching me off guard.  The boat heels over so far that I take on a little water.  I use my sponge to get the water out.  I wish for a larger cup or a bucket.  Getting water out with a sponge is slow.

11:50 a.m.
 I decide to head back upstream.  When first I turn around, the wind blows strong right at my back which is a fast point of sail.  Running before the wind thrills me as I race the waves and beat them.  The water sprays up around the edges of the boat as if to share my joy.
 As I sail around a turn just past Burns Park, I have to point off to the right a bit to keep on the tack I want.  But that makes be draw closer and closer to the rocks.  The wind is blowing hard, blowing me ashore, blowing too hard now to tack easily.  Maybe if I wait just a minute this gust will die down, and the turn will be easier.  But no, I am definitely getting too close to the rocks.  It's time.  I let the jib sail run free and push the tiller hard.  The wind catches the front of the boat and slows me so that I can't make it through the tack.  The boat stops in irons, dead into the wind.  Now the wind is blowing me backward, out of control.  Oh no, I am about to blow onto the rocks, dangerous rocks on a lee shore... the worst kind.  I make one last try in desperation, pumping hard on the tiller to help move the front of the boat through the wind.  It finally swings through the wind just inches from the rocks, and I begin to claw my way from the rocky shore.  I must remember next time not to sail so close to a lee shore.  This gusty wind is dangerous.

12:15 p.m.
 I am back to Murray Park now, but another powerful gust catches me off guard again.  The jib sail is cleated tight, but I can let the main run free and attempt to right the boat.  But even with the main free, the boat continues to tip.  I am riding the high side and getting higher and higher.  I am taking lots of water now, and the boat won't come back down.  I am sitting almost on the bottom of the boat.  Now the sails are in the water, and I am perched on the side of the boat.  I can't believe it; knocked flat in the Arkansas River!  The boat is lying on its side.  I step over onto the swing keel and jump up and down on it.  I have to step back to the very end of the keel to get the boat to start its slow righting.  I can see my yellow "GP" rain slicker with my favorite blue shirt wrapped in it float out of the boat and sink.  The extra life vest is floating away now, but I am not concerned.  I just want to get this boat righted!  As the sail clears the water and starts up, I step back into the boat without getting wet.  But the boat is about half full of water now.
 I am in the middle of the Arkansas River in a boat with 600 pounds of water in it and no bucket!  Will it even sail this way?  I look for my canteen, but it went to the bottom too.  On the far shore is a sandbar.  That will be a perfect place to run the boat aground.  I let the sails out and run before the wind straight for the shore.  The boat lurches to a stop on the sandy bottom.  I step out into the shallow water with my heart still pounding.  At least I am safe again.  I tip the boat over so that most of the water runs out.
 I take down the jib sail and tie it down with extra rope.  This won't happen to me again.  I have difficulty getting the boat off the sandbar because I have to sail into the wind.  Another lee shore!  But finally I swing downstream and move out into open water, and turn toward home.