(OK, I know this is being posted on a canyoneering website, so let me remind you all that Louisiana is full of canyons; they’re just always full of water.)
B2B Run: A 200+ mile PWC odyssey from the Blind River area (near my home) to Belle River (G. L.’s home).
So, with part of the gang doing the Utah thing and another part grounded with work or family duty, pickings were slim for a team of riders. Only one was all in with me – my “down the bayou” buddy, G.L. Legendre, Jr. Riding along with him would be his friend Christina.
I had planned the B2B Run over three years ago, but this was the first time I would be attempting the trip. G.L. and Christina made the trip up north to my house trailering each of our skis. Along with the skis, G.L. brought two Marine VHF radios w/ corded, clip-on mikes, which we used all day for communicating. I believe they were “trophies” he earned during this summer’s B.P. campaign. Loaded up and topped-off with fuel, Kay backed us down the Laurel Ridge ramp; I was not planning to see her again until Sunday evening. We left the ramp at 8:30AM in the lightly fogged, fifty-degree air. We cruised the Babin Canal up to the pump house at Bayou Francois and continued on through the New River drainage canal to the Petite Amite. It was a brisk ride and I was glad to have my wet suit on. Within twenty minutes from our start time, we left the P. Amite behind for the larger Blind River. Even though it was a Saturday, we passed only three boats as we headed east to Lake Maurepas, spotting the occasional heron or egret and a couple of bald eagles.
We hit L. Maurepas a little after 9:00AM and was delighted to find it with only a mere ripple disturbing the surface. Heading northeast, we covered the thirteen-mile distance without incident, making the west end of Pass Manchac quicker than expected. Although our first way-point was at the pass Fuel Dock, we elected to skip it and try for Pontchartrain’s south shore, while the wind (or lack thereof) was agreeable. As we exited the east end of the pass, I deviated off the route to show G.L and Christina one of my old haunts: The Pass Manchac Lighthouse http://www.lighthousefriends.com/light.asp?ID=809 Some friends and I would sometimes take a day off school to come have a drink or two on top of the lighthouse. She is in really bad shape now and it pains me to see her in such disrepair; I now think of the lighthouse as “Louisiana’s leaning tower…” -I will not be surprised to find her toppled in my own lifetime. We snapped a few pictures and got back on track heading southeast.
Unlike Maurepas, the Pontchartrain was not quite as smooth but in no way dangerous. The wave action was just enough to be a bother and give you an occasional wake-up spray of cool, brackish water. Because it was a bluebird day, the New Orleans CBD skyline was a faint mirage on the horizon, calling us southward from over twenty miles away.
As we danced across the lake the Causeway Bridge faintly began to appear, seeming to float on the Pontchartrain’s surface. As we neared the at one time world record structure, it finally grew legs and “settled down”. From the Causeway, we turned due south, to find our first stop for fuel, which was our true 2nd way-point - Schubert’s Marina. Having covered sixty-five miles, we refueled the skis, and then all three of us de-layered somewhat as the air had warmed up.
With our tanks full, we got back into the lake and headed due east to the Industrial Canal. It wasn't very far, about five or so miles, and the control tower at the Lakeside Airport was a perfect landmark to take a bearing on. As soon as we arrived at the mouth of the canal we realized our trip was over. A huge sign loomed in the distance on the right bank: CANAL CLOSED. The Army Corps of Engineers was still at work shoring up the post-Katrina city of New Orleans. After a five-minute debate, G.L. and I both realized we were not equipped with enough beta to find an alternative route (East out of the Rigolets…?) nor were we sure about the logistics of refueling, should we try.
Although the original plan was now scuttled, we both acknowledged the weather was in our favor, we had plenty of gas, and six hours of daylight to burn. We opted for lunch in Madisonville, which lies just up the Tchefuncte River, on the lake’s north shore. I had always thought that crossing L. Pontchartrain by boat was no small matter; to do it by jet ski is almost, but not quite, crazy. We would do it twice in one day! As we made our second leg, this one being twenty-five miles, across the lake, the small breeze that hampered our first crossing suddenly laid down and we zipped across the nearly glassy surface – what a gift. At about five miles off shore, we debated the correct bearing with both of us marking our own. As it turns out, G.L. had marked the Tchefuncte R. lighthouse (good), while I was zeroing in on a sailboat (bad). We eventually found the river and in no time had gotten a table at Morton’s Restaurant adjacent to the city dock.
With a good meal behind us, we formulated a new plan: We would top-off back at the Pass Manchac Fuel Dock and then take the Amite River and loop around to our original starting point. We had no sooner exited the Tchefuncte, when a south wind picked up, hitting us head on. While it’s not the worst water I've encountered, it was by no means fun: Although it was only ten miles of “cutting off the corner” of the lake, I stood for eight of them. As. G.L. was riding “two up”, he had to negotiate the chop sitting down. And although his Kawi hull is equipped for the chop, I don’t think he and Christiana enjoyed that part of the ride. As for me, I stood and worked the ‘Doo, with the occasional rogue wave slapping the side of the hull and splashing me wet at the same time. I was never so glad to see that leaning tower of a lighthouse, which marked the Pass, and smoother water.
We refilled our internal tanks yet again and then made a smooth L. Maurepas crossing heading due west toward the Amite River. We found the Amite in no time and immediately enjoyed twenty-five miles of serpentine perfection. G.L. and I took turns gaining the point position, which depended on who had the inside track of the curve. Christiana seemed to relax too and we all enjoyed a cruise that felt like riding a razor blade through velvet.
Finally intersecting the Diversion Canal at the weir, we headed towards our original track from earlier that morning. As we neared the ramp, I called Kay and by the time we got there she was waiting for us in the parking lot.
While the original plan to make it to Belle River was a bust, the day turned out to be fantastic. It was a great day for riding and the company was even better. Also, our machines operated flawlessly, and both G.L. and I set a new personal, single-day PWC record with 175 miles logged on the GPS.
By the way, love is having your wife meet you at the boat ramp and bring you home to a hot bowl of gumbo. Thanks, Kay.
Click here for the complete web album: http://picasaweb.google.com/billy.crews/B2BI?authkey=Gv1sRgCMSJqLq-2fyrZw#
