Southbound at last!

Leaving port is always bittersweet. The comfort and security of a dock is always a comfortable thing. It is the unknown of getting out on the water, that causes equal parts eager anticipation and tightened bowels. The eager anticipation quickly moved to tightened bowels. My mantra of no matter what happens, this is the adventure of a lifetime, sunk as deep as the spud pipe was in the mud of Watergate marina. Which, by the way used up almost 6 hours of our prep time. Finally at 1445, 230 for you landlubbers we cast off with a cast of dozens recording our departure on camera. John Glenn's parade down the streets of New York, couldn't have caused as much interest and enthusiasm. Were they there to show us their support or were they there to hopefully see mayhem? They got mayhem. The starboard engine stuck in forward, the steering stuck hard over one way, and both the port generator and main engine overheated. thank God Watergate seems to be an adult marina, so no tender ears were assaulted by the salty language emanating fro the pilothouse. It was only a small bit of damage to the swim platform of the classic wood Chris Craft as a 100+ ton steel towboat took its' measure.If not for the fearless crew and boat of the Marina, we may still be stuck in the mud at the mouth of Watergate. And special thanks to the numerous people at the gas dock for putting themselves in harms way to save their boats by pushing us off with only their bare hands.
Finally out in the channel and southbound, sideways but we were on our way. With it taking 45 minutes to go the equivalent of one city block, the 1800 miles to Galveston seemed far in future for someone over 50.
Red Wing and cocktails with Mr. Wilson here we come. arrangements to pick up Kathi, Sheila and Dolly were made and we settled in or our adventure. food and beverages were plentiful, we had stunning accomadations, and the weather couldn't have been nicer. But as our trusty GPS pointed out, we were only making 4.3 miles per hour, divide that by 1800 miles! A trip to the fires of hell, or as they call it on other boats, the engine room, opened my eyes and made me glad I brought 2 forms of antacids.
The list follows:
The spare generator quit, forcing us back to the port, which required a hose over the side and a utility pump, that had to be plugged in every 10 minutes to fill the water tank that leaked.
the control cable for the starboard engine was stuck.
The port main had to be shut down frequentle to drain the air that came in because of the cracked cooling channel, the boats radiator.
The propellor shafts that had no packing were adding enough water to truly test Peanut Hollinger's ancient pumps. The sight of me stripped to my skivvies with a safety rope tied to my waist with a flashlight in my mouth dragging hose through 2 feet of water in the stern tank have not been recorded!
Kudos to Buck the trip engineer. During the 12 hour trip to Red Wing, 53 miles, he spent about 10 of them in Hell, I mean the engine room. He lives in Fl., so he said it felt like Clearwater in the summer.
Due to the excellent line handling of the head deckhand, lockages were remarkably smooth, especially with the schmoozing of the lock personnel by the head deckhand.
The lights of Red Wing beckoned and the signs at the city front prohibiting overnight parking meant nothing to us, because it was 0300 in the morning and talk of mutiny was spreading through the boat.
I want to send a shout out to Dave Hammond, his towboat, the M/V Washington, took it easy coming by us this morning, for the very professional head deckhands ass was dragging and the tie-offs might not have been up to his usual standards.

So, here we are, amidst the bluffs of Lake Pepin-in God's country!