Part 3
part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6
Monday morning I wake up to a light breeze with my muscles a bit tighter than yesterday. Hands still stinging, the blisters are beginning to harden. Today’s goal is Padre Island Yacht Club. The club’s committee has graciously hosted the Texas 200 stopover in the past years. Looking at the aerial charts and prepping the gear, water and Gatorade, I see today will be a long day but there is a route that should keep me out of the bulk of the open water and waves. I didn’t make breakfast; I thought I would get a jump on the day and eat along the way. I shoved off at 7AM to a crowd of waving seagulls. It’s like they all came in to say good bye and good luck. As many came to the beach and landed, thoughts of Hitchcock’s Birds came to mind.
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I rowed out of the land cut and into the waves and headed toward the back of North Padre Island. Wind was steady 10-15mph I would guess. The waves weren’t too big and were consistent wave trains, the skeg was working perfectly. It was another glorious day on the water. There was emerald water probably a foot deep for miles. I would row towards the shore then tilt the bimini so I could stand and watch the water and wildlife go by. The crabs and trout were abundant with few mullets or stingrays. The thalassia or turtle grass was everywhere.
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At 3PM I pulled down the bimini and dropped the anchor for lunch. I sat in a foot of clear water and made my tuna tortilla wraps. A little later I passed two guys fly fishing the flats with their boat about 50 yards away. It was a postcard setting for sure. The Bird Island Basin store had just closed as I arrived, missing an opportunity for cool fresh water. This is a windsurfer and kite surfer haven and several windsurfers were unrigging their boards. They offered cool bottles of water that slaked the thirst that had been building. I wasn’t out of water, just tired of warm water and Gatorade. After the pause that refreshes, I headed out to cover the final few inches the aerials showed remaining to reach the PIYC.
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As I rowed along the eastern edge of the ICW, I pass bungalows set back on spoil islands, painted as if they are in New England. I imagine the fun and excitement the children must have during the summers on these little islands. The water is very shallow to my left and the blade of that oar scrapes with every stroke while the right is at a normal depth. Shallow water forced me too adjust my hand overlaps opposite of normal as I pull through the stroke forcing the left oar’s stroke to be shallower. The sun is setting and there is another colorful, spectacular sunset. The sunrises and sunsets in Dallas just don’t do it for me. I reach into the dry bag and grab the bow lights to attach to the Velcro mount. It is getting dark quickly and being this close to reeds and weeds the mosquitoes begin to feast on the fresh meat that’s rowed into the vicinity. DEET is a lifesaver for me on this trip.
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The abundance of fauna seems to have increased as it got darker. Every swish, clonk, clonk sound from the oars were accompanied by a skittering sound of something that I’ve disturbed. I was getting sloppy with the strokes and worked to straighten them out, and felt a loud clonk at the blade. I was looking right at it when it happened. Whatever I hit lit up the water around the blade. Bioluminescence and a headache! The splashing of fish seemed to increase as I rowed into the night.
The lights to my left began to increase from one or two in the distance to larger numbers close by with a glow accompanying the lights. I found a row of navigation aids, now silhouettes in the glow of the onshore lights directing me into the protected channel. Following the channel slowly several buildings came into view, then many more. Condos and houses were built right on the channel. The PIYC was on the right with a couple empty docks. Pulling quietly into the farthest dock, I tied off and rolled onto the creosote soaked boards. Standing and stretching back, legs and neck I see it is 10:10PM. Forgoing dinner, I made one walk around the PIYC to see if there were any couches or chaise lounges I could sleep on. With none found, I made my bed on the dock with little regard if it was proper to be lying out like this, on a pad covered with netting, with large sailboats berthed nearby. As I drifted off I recalled the red skimmers, egrets, herons, mullet, trout and reds I’d seen through the day.
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I was a bright and sunny Tuesday morning when I woke up, missing the sunrise. I made a full breakfast on the dock and sat back reflecting on the previous day, sipping on espresso and watching the porpoise in the channel. I estimated the trip on Monday was about 40 miles. At about 8:30 the yacht club leaders began showing up for a meeting. I was able to get a key to the showers and was able to remove 4 days of grime off me and rinse the salt from my clothing. I met three wonderfully accommodating gentlemen on staff, Jim, Dave and Fred. Refreshed, I organized the gear and refilled the 5 gallon water jug and seven 32 ounce Gatorade bottles.
Leaving the docks I was eagerly anticipating my next stop, Scoopy’s, at the Corpus Christi Causeway. Scoopy’s is an ice cream emporium serving up cold Blue Bell Ice Cream. Once inside, I am reminded of the Blue Bell recall. I had to settle for Blue Bunny, sheesh. The Coast Guard has a good presence in this area. Many boats congregate here and a slow cruise by from a gunboat with weapon mounted on the front while crew is staring at you, is daunting. I guess they realized I didn’t have a bale of weed on my 18’ long 43” wide skiff and motored on by.
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When I got to the south end of CC Bay I held my breath. This was the tough crossing last year that ate my lunch. The place where I succumbed to my doubts about being able to finish then didn’t. This year took a deep breath, relaxed and got to rowing. I settled into a familiar stroke with good wind, low waves, and pretty scenery. It was like rowing White Rock Lake in the summer breezes with better scenery. When I reached the other side of the bay I skirted around Stingray Island into the Corpus Christi Channel. Turning right, I headed towards the Gulf. About a mile further this smooth sandy beach beckoned for me to stop. Once the thought began rolling around in my head, I could find no reason not to. It was early, but I was not sure how far I would have to go to find a place to camp. This would be a good place to end the day.
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I nosed the skiff on the shore and set out the anchor and the full length of line. The beach was a clean gently sloping sandy beach that crested with tufts of grass at the top. Walking to the top I see a dry playa with a ridge leading off to the south to the high area of Stingray Island. I pulled out the lawn chair and cooked up dinner. The sunset kept me mellow and amused while watching the boats slide by. I’d put up the cooking gear and had laid out the pad, netting and was reclining when I heard the blast of a ships horn. A large cargo ship was coming up the channel. The ship passed with the sun on the horizon behind it and dolphins riding the bow wave. The thought occurred as it passed that there should be a big wave, but there was none. As that thought was passing from the mind, the water started rising, rising up the beach with no wave, like a tidal bore.
The boat floated free of the beach and I watched a moment as the water rose. It did not stop. The water kept coming; panic gripped me as it reached close to me and again, kept coming. The water hit my sleeping pad and netting as I jumped up to stay dry. The water engulfed the area where I’d been laying and floated everything I had there. I was running grabbing everything, throwing them higher up the slope. As the water started receding, receding quickly, I realized everything in the water would be sucked into the channel. I saw the anchor line tightening on the skiff as it was being pulled out. I grabbed the rope handle on the skiff as the corkscrew anchor let loose in the soft sand upslope. I would be up the channel without, if it was pulled from my hands. Hanging on and leaning back I stopped the movement further into the channel. I pulled the skiff way up onto the beach, above where the majority of the wave had been. Feeling safe, I set anchor again and reorganized my gear further upslope. Wringing the water from the sleeping bag and pillow, I contemplated where I was and several scenarios of problems ahead. The mosquitoes were relentless as the adrenalin rush subsided.
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Lying on my side after it had gotten dark, I was surveying the lights to my east watching the ferries plod back and forth across the channel. I watched the nighttime display as the stars shone and satellites passed. At about 12:30 I saw a silhouette of an animal moving down to the beach. Not sure if it was a dog or a coyote, I watched as long as I could. I awoke and looked toward the light to see if the animal could be seen. It was nose down following the flotsam line coming towards me. Those fight or flight thoughts are bouncing in my head. I waited until it was within six feet and jump up yelling, out of fear and boldness. That coyote went screaming up the slope and I last saw it as it passed over the ridge into the darkness. About an hour later he brought his friends back to serenade me. They were quiet the first time I asked them to shut up, politely of course, but not the next three times. As I faded back into unconsciousness, I heard a blast of a ships horn. Foggily, I recalled that meant a ship was coming by, that’s nice. Whoa, that means chaos! I jumped up and performed the same drill as earlier ending up hanging onto the boat as the water was trying to suck it seaward. Re-lathering up with DEET, I lay back down. This drill was performed two more times before dawn, in between coyote serenades.
to be continued...
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