Two days on the Okeechobee Waterway later, and we’ve definitely seen some memorable sights. Andy has now found his favorite stretch of waterway steaming (west of the lake), I have really found my crocheting groove for the useless sake of more bags for the little bag ladies (they follow in their mother’s, aunt’s and Mimi’s footsteps there, I’m afraid), and we’ve racked up 20+ alligator sightings, all while making good eastward progress.
We left LaBelle mid morning yesterday as the bridge allowed, and motored the day away. We kept ourselves busy with some phone calls,
some cow spotting,
a couple of locks,
and some ‘gator scouting.
We pulled in for the night at the Roland Martin Marina, which was a trip. A tiki bar, showers, laundry, a modest pool (reason numero uno for choosing it!), a live band until midnight, and all of the bass fishing aficionados one could want. It’s a culture I knew absolutely nothing about, and after eyeing the equipment and overall scene for the afternoon and morning, I’m still quite unclear on a number of key points. (The boats don’t look safe- ARE they safe? If you’re hauling in slimy fish all day, why are the decks all carpeted? Is traction worth the stench? What’s so great about large mouth bass? Is ALL of that really rigmarole just for bragging rights? When do you start drinking? Why are they so low in the water? What happens when a giant wake comes? WHERE ARE ALL OF THE RODS?! (Seriously- dozens of bass fishing boats and I didn’t see ONE fishing rod.)) One thing that I am sure of, however, is that fishing also requires a huge truck.
After a beautiful sunrise while making our way out into Lake Okeechobee (along with a few fishing boats, if you know what I mean), we motor sailed across to the Port Mayaca lock.
Once in the eastern Okeechobee Waterway, our excitement began. Our ‘tipper’ came along in his skiff, filled with 50 gallon water barrels, which he transferred to our deck before filling them up. He had a measuring stick on a halyard up the mast connected to a weight marked for the bridge height: when the weights hit the water, we were good to go. Heel we did- 6 barrels, plus 6 people (he had an assistant) and all of our jerry cans on the port side did the trick. I held my breath nonetheless, and our antenna pinged a bit, but we went safely under.
With that rush came the subsequent crush of realization that we were almost ‘home’, back to Indiantown. Sigh. Since we don’t haul until Tuesday we had earlier decided to keep it entertaining by overshooting the yard by 15 miles and staying at the St. Lucie Lock campground for a couple of nights. They have slips for docking, and a playground for the kids, so it’s a great spot for de-rigging, etc.
They dropped me at Indiantown and I drove the car here to meet them so we’d have wheels for tasks later. Watching my people and my home float away was quite awful, really, after two solid months of being together 24/7. I felt like my daemon was getting stretched too far away, for those familiar with His Dark Materials. Some piece of me felt too far for comfort, and the saddest part to realize, as I sat waiting for them to round the bend into view, is that it’ll be a feeling that becomes normal again in the wash of activity and commitments of the re-entry to come. To quote my favorite Tina Fey line once again: ‘Blerg’.
Here’s what I do realize though: we get to do it again! And again! This experience has created the greatest carrot to dangle for future family adventure time, and our Chickadee will sweat it out (literally) and wait for us.
For the short term, tomorrow’s list includes stowing, cleaning, little projects, and my favorite ‘chore’: eating down the stores. It’s where we shine, really. I’ll spare you the pictures.
Eastward…
Right!