|
Day 3: PIYC to Paul's Mott Paul's Mott has an almost mythic air about it with relation to the Texas 200 - it's nothing special, just another barren, windswept finger of shell beach in a long string of barren, windswept shell beaches, but it seems to have a near magical draw to it. It's the first "real" wilderness area - outside the ICW and about as far from civilization as we get. There are multiple paths to get there, each having a special set of conditions. And finally, it's just a cool spot all the way around.
We hit our 6am launch time at 7, right on the nose. The run to Paul's Mott is a long one, and would have been longer had we stayed at Camp 2 instead of pressing on to the Padre Island Yacht Club.
The water around the entrance is very shallow - I dumped my boat there in 2009 and Michael had dumped his just the night before. Best to follow the channel markers.
'Ducks on the water with the iconic Corpus Christi bridge in the background.
I liked it so much, here's another.
And another, this one with Sean in Scout.
We passed under the bridge and out into Corpus Christi Bay. The winds were light so we were running unreefed - being becalmed yesterday did nothing to improve our spirits.
Some idiot had started the tradition of slapping channel markers way back in 2008. This is a dangerous and stupid thing to do, and we should stop.
Kellen - he sits too far back in his boat, digs the transom in and slows him down.
More buoy slapping. The good news is the state of Texas seems to be taking action - where there were hundreds of buoys in 2008, there were less than a dozen on this trip. With luck, this foolishness will be a bad memory in a few years.
'Ducks at sea. We had a 12 mile and 3 hour jump on the rest of the fleet, so there are a lot of 'Duck specific pictures today.
Kellen again. Dude is damn photogenic.
Blue Dog and Chevy Duck - we need to make the Loaner Boats more individualistic if we ever do this again.
Blue Dog has a fine look about her - and she's fast, too.
We pulled over at Mustang Point - the perfect spot to decide if we were going to do the dull and boring Intercoastal Waterway, the scenic yet uninspiring Middle Passage, or run the terrors of Port Aransas.
We were an impressive fleet, that's for sure. We knew we were going to run Port Aransas, and we wanted to do it as a blob to limit our impact on the ferries.
I thought for a second Paul was dead - but then he'd be floating face down, wouldn't he?
Time to mount up - the Grahams had arrived in their Mayflys and we'd gained Pehr and his Piccup Pram as well.
Another unmitigated disaster of a group launch. Trying to group up was becoming a running joke.
OK, THAT'S a fairly tight formation. Maybe you can teach an old 'Ducker new tricks.
Probably the best picture I took of Rick the entire trip.
Welcoming committee at Port Aransas - complete with bagpipes.
We pulled over for a quick re-gather after running the ferries of Port Aransas - Everyone was accounted for. This is the lighthouse there, just after a speedboat had gone by.
Michael slapping a nun. We slapped the crap outta that nun.
Jason and Paul, chit chatting away.
Rick, double reefed and kicking a wake.
I was in a pissy mood and wasn't paying any attention to where we were going, I'd have sailed right behind Mud Island and into Allyn's Bight if I hadn't looked up. As it was, we were aiming for Blind Pass and got into skinny water.
Bill was the first to find deep water. It was really quite pretty back here - very picturesque.
We single-filed it through Blind Pass.
Poor Kellen had been in the lead and asked a fisherman where the deep water was. The fisherman steered him wrong and had directed Kellen into a mud patch a hundred yards across. All the 'Ducks came ashore and pushed him across - another win for 'Duck-kind.
Another break at the end of Blind Pass - it was just a run to Paul's Mott now.
Nice fleet shot of Kellen, Josh, and Rick.
'Ducks at sea. Maybe we were getting this Group Sail thing down.
Kellen again - still photogenic.
I took this as Josh was negotiating the shallows of Paul's Mott - notice how the waves are breaking.
The trick is to ram the beach and drag your boat across - if you try to sail around the mott, you end up having to beat your way back to camp. As it is late in the day, the winds are up and sometimes you can't make it in. As it was, we had to send a rescue boat for Wade.
That's camp. Nice camp.
Nearly 41 miles today. Over 10 hours. My butt was cracked the other way.
Big John, resting easy. He tried to crack my skull with a training cutlass on the first day - little did he know I have a very thick skull, indeed. Protip: Never trust Big John.
Ryan, looking a little worse for wear after Day 3. Cheer up - it's all fun and games from here on out.
Here's all the 'Duckers - a fine and swarthy pack o miscreants we are.
Martin H had a couple bottles of 'shine on his boat (gotta love the south) and Bill led us all as we took a nice snort.
Gordo and Papa Swain. Gordo had cold beer - he is a friend, indeed.
It was under this mast, in 2012, that I, dressed in a full-on Pope suit, married two people. The mast had since fallen (but the marriage is still sound) and a bunch of the guys dug out a nice hole for it and seated it, hopefully permanently.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, there's always tomorrow, and it's only a day away. Tomorrow has the most creative sailing of the trip, with multiple tricky passages and near certain death. We poured over our charts in anticipation. I'd been grumpy the entire trip, up to Paul's Mott - like I said at the start of this page: There is something magical about this place.
|
