Thursday, June 19. It was check up day at the ophthalmologist's. We'd talked about it for the past week and had come to the conclusion that we would take the doctor's advice - we were ready to get out of Dodge, but if he said we had to wait another week or two, then that's what we'd do. It's what we expected. It had been five weeks since he fixed Tom's right eye and eight days since he fixed the other one, so we were eagerly waiting to hear how they were both coming along. The damage had spread from right eye to left eye (I don't know how but they say it does) and the retina tear in the left eye took over 500 laser zaps to fix it. After the doctor examined both eyes, he said, "I don't see any reason why you should wait around here any longer. I'd like to see you again in two months." We'd been sprung!    

At 6:15 on Friday morning we watched Dog River Marina diminish from view as we motored into Mobile Bay, which was now as smooth as glass, an entirely different side of it's personality from the day we arrived. It didn't take long to get to Mobile's downtown waterfront, usually busy and chaotic, but at 7 a.m. most workers weren't even on the job yet. 

Soon we were in the Mobile River, where we sailed along without a hitch until 9:30 when we came to the CSX Railroad bridge at mile marker 13. We'd just seen a train going south on the tracks alongside the river so we knew the bridge had been closed for the train to pass. Now the bridge tender was "having a little trouble" getting it to open. We drifted for 10 minutes and then shut off the engine. In a little while he came on the radio and said, "just a few more minutes," so Tom started the engine. Ten minutes later he shut it down and we floated, motionless, on a calm, windless morning. We waited between heavily forested banks, mostly hardwoods and cypress, that cast an olive green reflection along both sides of the waterway. It was getting hot. The air felt heavy. At eleven o'clock the old steel bridge finally started to creak and swing open and we were once again on our way. 

As the sun rose, so did the temperature. Dragonflies the size of sparrows hovered against a powder blue backdrop of the afternoon sky. It was the first day of summer. Summer in the south.

We made good time, running at more than 7 knots, and with a push from the current we got as fast as 7.7 knots. I expected to be running against the current but instead it was with us. Maybe it had something to do with the tide in Mobile Bay.  

At 2:45 we forked into the Tombigbee River, an arm of the Tenn-Tom Waterway. It's a deep river, especially at sharp bends (75 feet in one spot) and it makes a serpentine path through south Alabama's woodlands. As the day wore on, the temperature and humidity rose even higher and I began to feel like a steamed clam. It was after five o'clock when Tom turned off into a small tributary to stop for the night. When the anchor was set, I turned off the engine and we were in complete silence. There was no sound and there was also no breeze. It was the kind of day you don't have to move to break a sweat, you only have to breathe. I pulled out an ice pack and rubbed it over my face. About 7:00 dark gray clouds moved in along with a little wind and a quick shower to cool us down a little.

Saturday was a degree or two cooler, meaning I didn't start to sweat before nine in the morning. At mile marker 86 I heard a rumbling noise upriver and it grew louder, no doubt because of the power plant on shore, but it was creepy because of an optical illusion. It appeared that the water came to an abrupt end just ahead and looked as if we'd fall off the edge of the earth or be swept over a waterfall. The rumbling noise of the plant only added to the illusion. 

On the other side of the Coffeeville Lock I couldn't help notice something about all the boats zooming back and forth, and there were a lot of them. Each was nearly identical to all the rest: A low-profile bass boat, a huge outboard motor, carrying two men wearing life vests, without exception (I think they're strict about life preservers in Alabama because in every lock we went through, we were advised that we must wear a flotation device). I saw not a single pontoon, or sailboat, or trawler and no women and no kids. We were definitely the odd duck. 

We made our anchorage for Saturday night  in a little offshoot of the river within the Chocktaw National Wildlife Refuge. We backed up into the overhanging trees, where Tom used a fallen log as a makeshift stern anchor to keep us out of the narrow waterway. There was NO breeze. Except for two or three little bass boats that buzzed by, there was no sound other than the drone of katydids until just after 7:00 when the first frog croaked. By eight the frog chorus was in full swing and the serenade lasted through the night.