Well, I spent the day repairing the pivot bolt hole and a few other odds and ends on the boat.  Then I took it for a trial run at Fishtrap Lake and guess what?  NO leaks, that I could find.  Yahoo!

So I tried again - 24 hours later.  Will went with Sarah and me to Ashland to help with putting up the mast.  This time I made sure everything was ready before I put the mast up.  And I had devised an assisting device - an 8 foot 2X4 to use to hold the very end of the mast while I hooked it in its place on top of the cabin.  The gig worked great, and we whipped the mast right up.

Fortunately the launch ramp was still clear from all the work I did on Sunday.  In fact, lots of other people were launching and retrieving from my cleared spot.  I launched about 6:30, waved goodbye to Sarah and Will, and headed out into the Ohio.

Finally, I was really starting the long-awaited adventure.  Alone on the river.  My little motor started right up (I had not even put up the boom or the sails or tiller yet.) and started puttering down stream.  About 300 yards away, the motor coughed and died.  Not a good sign.  It seemed to be locked up.  I added some oil to the gas, and it seemed to settle down and run fine for the rest of the day.

For two hours I puttered slowly down the river.  Alone at last.  That may be the most notable aspect of this little adventure.  When people heard about it, they always asked if I were going alone, and were usually shocked to discover I was.

My favorite response was to ask them if they wanted to go with me.  The almost universal response was, "No thank you!  I don't want to go!"  To which I responded, "That's why I'm going alone."

But at church the Sunday before I left, I tried that line on 86 year old Edith Mae VanHoose as she left church using her walker.  "Do you want to go with me?"  She replied, "Yes, I'll go with you rather than make you have to go by yourself."  She was the only one to volunteer to go, but I didn't take her up on the offer.

For ten days, I was alone on the river and never felt lonely.  I think that means I am a loner in my basic personality.  Of course, it helped to be able to call Sarah on the cell phone every day and check in.  Though our conversations were usually short, it did provide some connection with the outside world.

"Alone" means self-sufficient, and that is the key characteristic of any long-distance sailor.  You have to do it all yourself and depend only on yourself.  That's part of the challenge and the biggest part of the satisfaction.

Traveling down the Ohio River on a serious trip without the big-dollar aids of powerful engines and comfortable quarters IS the meaning of the trip for me.  It's also a connection with the kind of travel done by 99.9% of humans on this earth over time.  Only the most recent past has seen the advent of engines and comfort.  Most people have traveled by sail and human power, and done quite well at it.

The biggest difference is time.  It takes a long time to go without modern conveniences.  Lots of people sail the oceans of the world today in sailboats without engines.  I just read an article in Cruising World magazine about a 23 year old boy from England who bought an old boat, restored it and is traveling now down the Eastern Coast of the U.S.  And his is an engineless boat.  Larry and Lin Pardee traveled the world in their engineless 24 foot sailboat in the 70s.  You can do that.  It just takes more time.

And time is a problem for me since I am still squeezing days away out of meager vacation allotments.  True cruising should be done at a leisurely pace, without deadlines.  But alas, that is impossible for me just now.  So I do the best adventuring I can with a modest little river trip close to home and in the 10 days I can spare.  It's one of the reasons a trailer-sailer boat is so important.  Pick up and go. Come back and punch a clock.

After I actually got underway, I realized that my 21 foot sailboat was very cramped with all my STUFF.  Stuff seems to multiply anyway.  It would have been a real challenge to have another person's stuff on board and for two people to maneuver in the small cabin below decks.

Traveling with someone else also means scheduling.  And that's the rub.  It's hard enough for one person to take the time off and make all arrangements.  When two people have to do it, it complicates the planning by a hundredfold.  Alone, I can go when I'm ready.  Come back when I'm ready.  Worry only about my schedule and getting free from my responsibilities.

So alone was good.

Ashland is home of Ashland Oil and hundreds of coal barges.  Lots of towboats are working the river and even more barges are tied up at docks all along the shore.  This is probably one of the busiest sections of the river for barge traffic. I'm sure because of the coal business nearby.

But I only passed two barges during my 8 mile run downstream.  I have always called them tugboats, but I learned on the marine radio that they are called towboats.  That's a funny name because they neither tug the barges nor tow them; they push them.  I think they earned the name because the earliest versions actually towed the barges.  Today's versions should more accurately be called "pushboats."

These two would be the first of 65 towboats to pass me headed upstream or downstream on the river.  Some throw bigger waves than others.  Empty barges, riding four feet higher in the water, hardly make any waves.  The loaded barges fighting the current going upstream are the ones that displace the most water.  Sometimes the big waves continue to disturb the river for 10 minutes or more, sometimes long after the barge is out of sight.

Most towboats consist of a 5X2 load - five barges long and two barges wide.   But I occasionally saw some three-wide and a couple five wide and five long!

The loaded barges going upstream actually push a mound of water in front of the barge.  When I passed by closely, I could see the rise in the water level a good two feet right in front of the barge.

Looking at the map earlier in the day, I had picked out Pond Run as a likely spot to spend the night.  I liked to call these creeks or runs "hurricane holes," but sometimes I called them a "honey holes."  They had to be wide enough for me to enter and offer protection from the main current and waves on the river.  It was not always obvious from the charts which creeks would be big enough to serve as a "hurricane hole."

I arrived at Pond Run about 8:30.  I slowly motored into the creek about 50 feet wide.  As I made my way from the river, a jet skier passed me using his best no-wake speed.  He told me that the creek was shallow outside of the aluminum poles sticking up.  The poles marked the only deep channel.

A marina with lots of houseboats occupied the far end of the bay.  As I looked for a place to anchor, a man waved me into an empty slip.  He gave a friendly greeting as I eased up to the dock.  I asked how much it would cost to spend the night.  He said, "Nothing.  If you won't tell, we won't."  So I didn't, and they didn't.
 

Photo of the neighboring houseboat where I enjoyed supper the first night

Photo of my sailboat tied at the dock at Pond Run
 

Then he invited me to have a hot supper with several of the boat owners gathered at his nearby houseboat.  Well, I couldn't refuse a hot supper.  Six or seven boaters were gathered for the informal meal.  They swapped stories and were obviously old friends.  They bragged about what a fine group of folks they had in that marina.  Lots of camaraderie and good natured ribbing there.  They even bragged that they had a hot shower!  I filed that bit of information away for the morning.

Over hot dogs and chili and the offer of a cold beer, which I declined, the conversation roamed from how high the river was recently to the problems with the shallow water in their bay.

Every time another boater came in from the river, several of them would make their way to the right slip and help ease the boat to the dock and tie it off.

I had a lot of stowing and packing to do so I excused myself early and returned to my boat to tidy up.  The cabin was still cluttered with gear, boom, sails, ropes, and the tiller still stowed below.  I moved things around and prepared a spot for sleeping.

As the dark came, I settled in for my first night afloat, thankful that I was tied to a secure dock in  a safe harbor.

Mile 331   Pond Run at Worthington
Mile 323  Ashland
           8  miles made good

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